Alone

I look at the blood slowly dripping down my freckled skin. The cuts I just made on my forearm hurt like hell, but at least it distracts me from emotional pain. I put down the bloody razor blade and look up to see myself in the mirror. My eyes are red and puffy and all of my makeup is smeared all over my face. It was obvious I had recently been crying. I look away from the mirror, ashamed by how ugly I am.

I have never liked how I looked. I've always thought my gray eyes looked dull and boring next to my golden wavy hair. My forehead looks way too long, my chin too short, my neck too thin, and my face too wide. I feel like the ugliest person in the school. Maybe even the ugliest person in the world. I blink out the tears that have been building up in my eyes and focus on cleaning my cuts. After about five minutes, half of my arm is covered with band aids and I have a long sleeved shirt on.

~oOo~

I smile as the dry winter wind blows against my skin. I love the winter. Not only is it beautiful and festive, but it's also cold. When it's cold it's normal to wear long sleeves and long pants. When its warm outside, you're an looser if you wear a jacket or a sweaters. In the winter, it's so much easier to hide my cuts.

I sluggishly make my way to my car, still tired from waking up only twenty minutes before. I climb in and sit down on the drivers seat. I just sit for a few minutes. Why do I even have to go to school? All you do is sit in class knowing that people are just talking shit about you. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and start the car. I jump at the loud noise the car makes and start breathing heavily. "Idiot." I mumble to myself as I quickly back out of my long driveway.

~oOo~

I step into my school thirty minutes before it starts and I make my way to the band hall. I open the band room doors and release the breath I didn't realize I had been holding when I see nobody else in the room. None of my friends really understand my love for music. They all think music is lame and useless. I have grown up in a house of musically talented people.

My mother, Athena, plays the violin beautifully. Sometimes – depending on how she feels – she plays a song or two. Sometimes the songs she plays move you to tears where others make you smile ear to ear. My father used to play trumpet. After he died, my mom constantly listened to tapes of watched videos of him playing with his band. Sometimes, she would lock herself in he room for hours and just listen, wishing, just wishing she could bring him back.

As for me, I'm a percussionist. A lot of people think it weird for a girl to be good at playing drums but it's the one thing where I just don't care about other peoples opinions. It's just what I love to do. I don't know why, but every time I pick up a stick, I just get this feeling. This feeling of joy and excitement. A feeling of confidence.

All of these thoughts jumble around in my head as I play. I'm not playing anything in particular, I'm just messing around. After a few more minutes I put my sticks down and nearly scream as I hear clapping coming from behind me. I close my eyes and become Annabeth Chase. Not the one who goes home and cries her eyes out and cuts, the one that boys – for some reason – are head over heels for. The one that is the most popular, sexiest, smartest, funniest girl in the school.

A/N : Hey guys! Sorry that it is like the shortest chapter ever! I just wanted to

know if y'all think that I should continue. Please don't leave mean comments

about spelling or grammer, I'm twelve years old :P. Please leave ideas for my next

chapter (if you think I should continue).

Thanks XOXOXO

~Sydney~