Dear Readers,

I don't know why I'm writing this. Perhaps I believe that those few readers that do review deserve an explanation for my absence- and absence that may remain that way, leaving Deus Ex Machina unfinished. The whole time I was writing it, from beginning to most recent chapters, I was struggling with my feelings for a bo0y that doesn't feel the same. It was difficult, and stillis. Now, though, I have friends to help me; comfort me. I have friends to tell me things that make me stop the tears.

But, God, is it painful, feeling this way.

But it's even more painful because I know, I know, that no matter what I do, he will never feel the same. Never. Writing is supposed to be a creative outlet, so I suppose I stopped writing Deus Ex Machina because I didn't want to end up making it to dark and depressing than it's supposed to be. Also, I found that I couldn't bear to write about happy couples perfectly in love. I just… couldn't. And, as for the time being, I still can't.

Another thing I'm struggling with is controlling it. And it is the me- the REAL me that people never see. The ne that manages to give myself a cut on my knee with a floppy disc just because I hated myself. The me that loves the pain that my nails can give my arms- the me that doesn't fear the sharpness of an unfolded paper clip scratching. The me that didn't notice the bleeding on my toe; the me that didn't notice the cuts on my legs until much later.

The me that is losing the will to live.

I know this sounds crazy, but, God, I am. At least, I think I am. I don't know how to put it… It's hard to describe. Sometimes life is happy, but in my house, with my life, it never lasts. And people just can't understand why I feel this way. To them, I am the luckiest girl in the world. To them, I am the straight-A student with a perfect family. To them, I am the girl who loves video games. To them, I am just another girl.

Yeah. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

If I'm so lucky, then why do I hate my life so much?

Maybe it's because my parents hate me. Maybe it's because I can't tell them that I don't want to- and won't go to college. Maybe it's because they don't understand me, they don't and won't accept me. They like to pretend that if they don't accept who I am, then I will change. Maybe I hate my life because of my dead grandmother, my dying grandmother, and my dead great-grandfather. Maybe I hate my life because no one is like me, so no one understands what it's like.

I'd like to think that I can blame Travis. I'd like to think that this is all his fault. But I don't think it is. So what can I do? Nothing.

I can just welcome the pain.

Now, I must coin a phrase as my signature;

Erstwhile Delight.

Erstwhile means in the past or formerly- at a former time. Delight at a former time. Formerly I felt delight. Not anymore.

And so, "The Luckiest Girl in the World" bids you goodbye.

And I hope that you never know from real experience what Erstwhile Delight means.

-Knife thrower.