When I was younger, too young to survive without friends but too old to play amongst the imaginary kind, the kids never accepted me. I was a bold kid who knew exactly what she wanted to do and it had to happen, no matter what any one else wanted. Call me spoiled, as my father never really showed me love. He'd drown me with gifts, a new gown every week, or the nicest shoes you could buy. But he never said the words that I heard from my mother all the time, the words I would have much rather drowned in.

Kids, they can be so cruel. It seemed like they never left me alone, no matter where I went to hide or who I chose as my friends. My mother made it all better though, saying that they were just jealous. I was a pretty girl, with a good head on my shoulders. That those other kids weren't anything close to me. She wasn't really there, it was all in my head. A nagging motherly tone that I would forever hear, but she loved me. And I knew that's all I needed.

Kindergarden was awkward, I never wanted to go to school. I wasn't happy at home but school wasn't any better, none of the children wanted to play with me. Maybe it was what their parents had told them.. something along the lines of, "Stay away from that Leonheart girl. She's a witch!"

And they were right.

But things got better the next year, I made a close friend.

A poofy haired girl, one I had never spoken to before, was having trouble with her eraser. Those damned pink ones were never good, they just left black marks everywhere, ruining all of your work. Everyone was gathered around her, wishing to help out the best they could. But you guessed it, almost everyone had those damned pink erasers. I rose from my desk and trotted over, white eraser in hand, and erased all of the black marks away. She was happy, and I felt grown up. Because yes, I did know how to properly erase a mess.

How we became friends after that, I can't really recall. But after just one recess she introduced me to some of her own friends, and I grew to love them all in time. I couldn't imagine living without any of them. If fact without them, it wasn't really living at all.

"Kit, we're moving. Cid is resining and gave me his job. We'll be gone in a week."

A week was all I had to say good bye to my best friends, a single week. We'd become so close over the last 3 years, not fighting even once. And now I had to leave them, entirely unsure as to if we would ever speak again.

The day I left was a tearful one, I cried the whole 3 hours in the car on the way to the airport. I hugged my loyal teddy bear to me, and wiped my tears on it. At least I'd have my stuffed friend, at least he'd never leave me.

The good bye I got from my friend Steph was a magical one at best. As we were driving away, she rode her bike behind us, steering with only one hand. You see, she needed the other arm to wave to me and it was a moment I'd keep locked in my memory forever. But she swerved a bit and BAM, she flew into a fire hydrant. I hoped out of the car and helped her onto her feet again, knowing that as funny as it was at this moment, it'll only get funnier in time. Best help her out and laugh later.

And trust me, I still laugh even in death.

When we arrived at my new house, it was beautiful. Much nicer than the other house I loved so much, but that was to be expected. My father was now as rich as could be, he could safely compare himself to the wealthy president. And although I should have been happy, knowing that I could live more extravagantly than before.. I just felt empty. Raw. Alone.

The place was so different. The climate was warmer, it was surrounded by the tallest and coldest moutains, but the town was much smaller. Everyone knew everyone, which wasn't always a good thing.

Word travelled fast that there was a new girl that had just moved in on snob hill. A few girls stopped by and introduced themselves, but I still didn't fit in with any of them. I had a chip on my shoulder, had begun reading shakespeare over summer and dreamed of bigger things. But I was so shy, painfully shy. And the girls were either too immature, too girly or too innocent.

Crap was the worst swear word they had ever heard before in their lives. And that was so over my head, I grew up in a house of constant swearing, and verbal bullying. My mother and father never got along, they hated each other but stayed together for me. Some of the words I didn't even understand, and still to this day I think about what they meant. My mom would tell me that my dad was evil, a horrible man. And my dad would say the same about my mom. I was asked to pick sides so many times, but I didn't know how to decide.

They weren't happy people, at least not when they were together. They fed off of each others pain, and as horrible as that sounds, I don't think they'd know what to do if they had left each other and were happy. I wouldn't have known what to do either.

Because of how I felt inside, but never told anyone about it, I began writing songs, poetry and stories. At first, the poems were happy ones. I'd live in a whole different world whenever I wrote. It was my escape..

But after the move, things darkened.

My writing went from hope for love to wanting to die. But they never saw, my dad never knew.

And it only got worse with the beginning of grade 5 on the horizon, I just didn't want to leave my safe place. Where would I fall?

And how much worse could things get?