I don't actually know their names, so I looked up other fanfics like this and adapted the names for them all.

I never used to be like this, you know.
Once, a long time ago, I was quite a happy kid. I liked baseball and Barney the Dinosaur and trains, and I especially like ice-cream. I'd beg my mom for one every day, but it would nearly always melt before I got to the middle.

Now my soul is like a melting ice-cream, wiping away all happiness, while that meaningless void people call God licks away, making sure to get every bit of my soul yearning to be free.

My room was full of posters of happy people. Cartoons like Spongebob, with his freaking retarded nose and laugh.

Now, I have We Are The Fallen, Cthulu, Satan, and drawings of the world perishing, like it is soon to be.

My wardrobe, heh. Conformist clothing. Target , Nike, Banana Republic, Wal-Mart. I'd never be singled out from the crowd for any reason, never ogled at like I am now. I'd be some happy-go-lucky rainbow kid, sucking his lollipop, oblivious to the govermental issues, conformists taking over. I'd be there, holding my mom's hand, just licking.

Now its black. Black all over. Like a rotting, decaying corpse.

I was just a stupid, naive little kid. The only thing I hated was brocolli. Now its everything, everyone. Every single being, they said, was made for a purpose. My purpose is to watch everyone else get on with their purposes. I'm just the static in the back of the TV, the thorn in the foot, the invisible stone people trip over. Sure, I'm smart, but I gave up on that a long time ago.
When I met them.
They introduced me to the dark. The right people. The kids who were going to say, 'I told you so!' when the ceiling comes crashing down on everyone's heads. Henrietta took me to a cult meeting. Evan bought me the clothes I needed. Georgie introduced me to the music. Me? I went along with it. And I'm glad I did. They may call us depressed, and sadistical, and weird, but that's us. I hate them.
When I came home that night, all dressed like my soul: dead, my mom and dad went crazy. They said no way whatsoever was I to hang out with these kids. I didn't listen, of course. I went out and bought skulls and candles and an Oijia board. I painted my nails and room the same colour. Black. Like the poison we always breath deep, the poison parents are infecting us with. Their stories of happily-ever-after's and once-upon-a-times. Happiness died a long time ago for me. Why should kids believe it?
Mom, AKA The Conformist Queen, took me to a psychiatrist. She reccommended some pills. Pills? I've had enough pills of lies to last me a lifetime.
And so here I am. Justin and Britney wannabes stare at us every day, playing their conformist sport, going to their conformist shops. They don't understand, and we don't want them to.

They're all just a bunch of conformists anyway.