I've been stuck here for 264 days. I sit in the same desks, see the same people, even breath in the same assortment of smells, almost every single day of the week. At first it was exciting. All of the good stories always happen in High school. Then it got bearable, since suddenly my verity of stories started to expand. Suddenly it was brutal. I didn't even have time to read about other people's troubles because a down pour of my own decided to see if I would melt. And then it became unsurvivable. I had no choice but to try and escape the monstrosity that I have the misfortune of calling my life, so I decided it was time to write my own novel.
It was so difficult at first. Trying to think of a storyline that everyone would love, and feel happy about. But after a while I'd decided to screw all of those optimists, ( not actually screw them, physically. Screw them as in, not care about them anymore.) And so I decided instead, I would write a depressing novel about a girl, who was kicked out of her wonderfully pathetic public school, sent to an overly protected boarding school, then faced the terrible task of breaking up with a really hot boyfriend. Hello world. My name is Juliette Ferrars, and welcome to the eyesore I like to refer to, as my life.
