I don't want any flames, as this is my first FanFic EVER! Also, I'm not depressed, just (hopefully) good at writing depressing stuff.
I'm Max Ride, my real name is Maxine, but I go by Max, and yes, I am Max as in Senator Ride's daughter. When my dad became senator, I thought it would be an adventure, that's how my parents made it sound. But it's anything but. When your dad becomes a senator, you have to kiss your personality good-bye, because you will be in the public eye. You must be a perfect, well groomed child. Before my dad was senator, I could talk as long as I wanted, I could walk around with two totally different socks. I could play "Skip to my Lou" (one of the few songs I know on the guitar) to my parents, and they would cheer like it was a rock concert, and I was their favorite star.
But after the election, the guitar was hung on the wall to collect dust, more of a decoration then an actual instrument. The fuzzy, multicolored socks were pushed to the back of my sock drawer, never to be worn again. I was taken out of school, the theory being that I would find a bad influence and ruin my dad's picture perfect family reputation, and instead would have a private tutor come to our house.
When we were just a normal family, we would go camping in what is now my safe haven. We would have the most fun ever, roasting weenies, stuffing as many s'mores into our faces as we could. I was surrounded by orange and brown leaves. Trees that seemed to stretch on for a life time. But it all stopped when he stopped being dad and started being "Senator Ride".
This would all be fine and dandy if I were a boring square, but I'm not. I don't know what I am, but one thing's sure: there are no edges, no straight lines, nothing to make me like them … like my parents.
Right now, I'm in my room, looking out at the storm crashing above the forest, trying to block out the angry words of my parents below me, something about 'always being at work' and 'how hard it is to senate without a supporting wife'. I think he made that word up; senate, as in a verb.
I'm used to fights like these, they happen just about every day now. I wish they would stop, just go to the marriage counselor that my mom keeps suggesting. The problem is that my dad is too darn stubborn. He keeps saying that he doesn't need some shrink to pretend to care about his issues, then prolong the psychology mumbo jumbo to the point of boredom because they get paid by the hour. I feel the same way.
Our maid once was cleaning my room and saw my journal lying open on my bed, she read a bit, got scared out of her mind, then told my parents. You see, my journal is filled with depressing poetry, and all kinds of borderline emo crap. I don't really feel that way, honest. It's like writing is my outlet. If I write happy stuff, I'm sad; if I write sad stuff, I'm happy. Therefore when I write this emo crap, I can just bear to put on a smile when my parents walk by.
But in the end the maid gave my parents my journal and my mom just about had a fit and decided she couldn't bear to talk to my "depressed self", so I met Rhonda, who was my counselor. She told me that I was taking the pressure of my dad's position, that I wanted to be noticed as me, not the senator's daughter (which let me tell you is 100% crap.) I didn't want to be noticed, even as the senator's daughter.
Anyway, back to the present. I looked at the storm outside. Imagine an empty highway, but one single car. Now imagine a huge thunder storm crashing straight above the car. The rain drops pounding the car demanding entrance… a sort of numbness, but my entire life. Now, imagine the car is dirty, but the rain washes it off. The rain washes my numbness away, so I wasn't numb anymore.
I could feel the pain of my life, aching in my chest. I needed to end this, to end this life and start another. I wrote the note, I packed the bag, and I took the last look at my old life, as I lingered at the edge of the forest, getting ready for my new one.
Yes I know its short but I needed to stop it there, for dramatic effect and suspense. Please, please, PLEASE, review, the only people that have ever read my writing were people who knew me and wouldn't ever tell me it stunk.