Chapter 1; Introductions
The end was fast—painless. Peaceful even. She was with the people who truly cared for her, God and all of his people. She had met with old friends, even reunited with Grandma Ruth momentarily. But it didn't last long. Every time she left, someone was there to bring her back. In this case, it was me. Couldn't these people get the hint? She didn't want to be here, no matter how many times she had done harm to herself, the torture hadn't let up. She was 17 years old, which of course meant school, also known as hell on earth.
She was an ok student, A-B average, teachers were pleasant even though in their minds, they were obviously wondering why they worked alongside phsycho maniacs like herself. Her father was a drunken, abuser, down-right scary. She had met with the Social Worker many times, but no matter how hard she begged, and pleaded, and groveled, they wouldn't take her far from here. She was vulnerable, didn't know how to stand up for herself. In the end she stayed the same…she stayed Miley Cyrus.
Miley was a dark character, no not evil, somewhat depressed, highly unhappy, but most of all…suicidal. She was an average loner. Many kids made fun of her, the scars on her wrist obviously noticeable. She wore all black. She wasn't a pleasant girl to be around. She wasn't mean, in fact she was very kind—one of the kindest people I've ever met—especially to children, and she was just…quiet. She sent off a bad vibe. Now, you'll find out more lately, but from here we should talk about me.
I was your average cookie-cutter, popular. I was of course a bully, mean to the core, snapped at someone who walked to close. I'll admit I was terrible. I played every manly sport in the book: basketball; baseball; wrestling; lacrosse; and football. Most of all football. That's the sport I got my most credit for. My world revolved around the sport…or so I thought. But eventually, a girl dressed in black, made me see how wrong I was.