DISCLAIMER: 1) I don't own FMA. Okay? The only thing I own in this story, is the story itself, the girl named Kasey/the person's body her soul enters, and the other reality people (all the people I mention in chappies 1 and 2), and the poem in chappie 3 belongs to Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 – 1834)

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PEOPLE, LISTEN UP! For christ sakes, read past the first god-forsaken chapter! I kid you not, the FMA part comes in in chapter four, F-O-R-E. Got it? Good. Now go read this damn story!

P.S.: I hope you caught the joke, nimrods.

Accident

Let's get two things straight. 1) YOU DON'T KNOW ME. 2) I DON'T CARE. Got it? Good. You will never know me. Even though I am the same, you will never, ever, see the real me. The tortured me. The sad me.

Argh. Dammit. Hold on, let me get my train of thought back. Got slammed into the lockers again. Not that this is anything new, but it gets annoying after a while. The sight of my ugly, twisted reflection catches the corner of my eye so I don't realize where I'm going.

WHAM! Didn't see the open locker apparently. So, here I am, laying on the floor all spread out with my backpack next to me. I can hear myself mumble "Lookit all the preeeeetty colooooorss..." And then a gasp. My eyes refocused and I blinked.

"Kasey! Oh my god, are you okay!" Ashley said, looking at me with wide eyes and her locker door with a small dent in it. Never knew I had such a hard head. I lifted a hand to my forehead for a second and brought it back into my line of vision with some blood on it. Fan-fricken-tastic.

Ashley was like a goddess compared to me. Long, blond hair reaching her waist with a pair of small glasses that sat neatly on her nose and never moved. Eyes ranging from shades of jade to a sparkling green. Tall and lanky, this girl was made for stardom. Or model-ism. She bent down and offered me a hand up, which I had never declined before until now. So, after standing up she winced and looked at me funny.

"What, do I really look that crappy?" I asked.

"Uh... well, you did look somewhat better... for a minute," Ash replied.

"So, roadkill pretty much?"

"After being run over a few times."

"Lovely. Am I still bleeding?"

"Yeah. You should have that checked out."

"I... heard you scream something... about Kase-" The tall guy who had just jogged up to us cut himself short. John stood maybe about 6 or so feet tall, and had his hair dyed blue-black. Eyes the color of storm clouds, he just stood there with his baggy black hoodie on. I could already tell his pants were probably falling off his waist. His normal black Vans clad over his feet. He stepped forward and looked at the cut on my forehead, which had just recently quit bleeding so when he moved my stray hairs aside it brushed the wound and once again it started bleeding.

"I'll just have it checked out at the office. Ashley, would you mind stuffing my bag in your locker for a bit?" I asked, wincing as John checked over the cut on my forehead more closely. Damn, for being my friend he was a bit protective.

"Erm, no, not really..." Ashley mumbled as John walked me down to the office to get checked out. Once again, I caught my reflection out of the corner of my eye. I had memorized my reflection perfectly, and I saw only ugliness. Curly, red and brown hair that was usually pulled back up into a ponytail, just because it was easier. Pale, only slightly freckled at the bridge of my nose. Sharp, blue eyes with the warmth of a flame but the coldness of a shard of ice. Eyes that could turn to green or gray. Generally, they stayed a gray-blue color, and if one looked past the fake happiness they'd see a deep, reflective lonely sadness. Or so I'd been told. But in the end, I was just plain ugly. John and I stepped into the office after I had mentally scanned my face. The secretary took one look at the trail of blood running down the side of my face from the cut in my forehead, and grabbed the First Aid kit.

Some minutes later, I was in my first hour. Kushner's class. God, this lady could drone on for a while. Not that I had anything against her, but I don't think she likes me much. My head pounded like an African war drum. Ooooohhhhh... God this hurts. Wish I had some aspirin. Oh, crud, did the guy in front of me just crap himself or is that some really REALLY bad gas! No offense to Aaron, but really man! You have the brute strength of a wrestler and the hair like one - most likely a stomach like one too - but COME ON! THAT'S MY NOSE YOU JUST KILLED! ...I think my eyes are watering...

Oh, lovely, the bell. Great. More loud noises. This helps out the headache a whole lot. I just grabbed my stuff under my arm and trudged out the door, mumbling incorhently to myself as the walk between the two schools passed by me slowly and I walked in the door to Shluckbeir. I half stumbled into Kowalczyk's class like a drunk. This'll probably make a great impression of myself.

Kowalczyk is the Spanish teacher at our school. I should've said on the first day, 'I'm sorry Mrs. Kay, but I can't speak a lick of Spanish. The only way I passed last year was because I did all the work. I hardly understand this tongue, and for these reasons it bores me even more. Now, give me Japanese or German and I'll sit here are maybe actually TRY to learn something. Thank you for your time and patience.' Sadly, I am not crass enough to say this, even though my family thinks I am.

"OH! Mother..." My voice got a higher pitch on the last part because Brandon came up and smacked me rather hard on the back, which caused me to jerk my head, and then slam it back down on the desk. So, I kinda sat there and twitched. Brandon stood there in his 5'2-ness, with his slightly spikey-ish brown hair. Eyes like quick-silver, and a rather friendly personality to match his looks. Usually in a shirt with some design or saying on it, always baggy pants, and black shoes with green laces. The freckles on the bridge of his nose appeared as if someone sprinkled cinnamon on his face and it suck there. He looked at me funny as I twitched like a guy would if he got kicked where the sun don't shine.

So, that whole class I tried to quiet down my pounding head and sat there. Koawlczyk at least understood I was in terrible pain. For once, the light shines down uponeth me! Woo! For like, 3 minutes anyway. I'm not looking forward to band as I usually am. Which stinks. What seemed like after two seconds, I felt two softer smacks on the side of my face and I cracked an eye open. Brandon stood there and pointed at the clock. Oh, joy, time to leave. At least time flies, for now.