A/N: This is something to cure my writer's block. I know I'm supposed to update Bang Bang, and I'm sorry for not doing so. I promise I will-eventually.
This is not a one-shot and will be continued, considering how short this chapter is. Enjoy the following!
Alone.
You can never comprehend the meaning of that word by just hearing it in a sentence. No matter how many times you hear it, no matter how many times you use it, you will not know what it really is. You would have to actually be alone to understand.
To be alone brings loneliness. With loneliness brings depression. Depression turns into misery, misery brings despair, and so forth.
Words cannot describe how it feels to be alone, lonely, depressed, and miserable. They only give you a sample, like a crumb of the whole thing. It's worse than hunger, nausea, and all other kinds of suffering combined.
How would I know? I am alone.
I'm not one for whining. I take all the crap life gives me and only complain and grumble in my head. That's pretty good for a girl my age and what I've been through. No one sees me like that, though. All they see is a teenage girl with no life, no friends, and no sense of style. I don't give a flip. I don't care about people much. All they are is group of hypocritical, blunt, self-centered idiots. I hate them, and wouldn't care if they all got hit by a semi. (I sometimes wish that would happen)
I have a right to complain; I do. I have a right to scream and yell all I want. No one will hear me. No matter how hard I try, whatever I do won't affect anyone. No one cares. No one wants to care. I don't even care.
I walk around the house alone most of the time. No one's there. Few times does Dad come home to sleep in his own house: my Hell. I never see him when he does; I'm usually in my room with my door closed and locked with hard rock music roaring loud through the cracks of the door. I don't see how he gets any sleep when I do that. I wish he wouldn't.
I have learned to not like my dad. I don't need to anyway. He doesn't care about me, so I don't care about him. I used to always enjoy the five minutes each month when he spent time with us. I wouldn't say much. Dib would say something every thirty seconds or so, just to spark a conversation. He obviously felt awkward. Dib knew Dad never had and never would approve of his paranormal interests so there wasn't much to discuss.
Paranormal investigation was Dib's life. He was devoted to finding the unsolved mysteries of the world. He'd obsess over aliens, Bigfoot, ghosts, vampires and such, then talk about the like every day at an unbearable fast pace. He'd prove things he discovered all the time. I was the only one who believed him, but I never showed any evidence that I did. Now I regret it.
I regret a lot of things now. And I hate it. I hate it almost as much as the world around me. My life has almost always revolved around hate, and I admit it: I like it.
Why do I hate the world?
The answer is simple. If only people would notice this flaw in themselves and change it, then the world would be a much better place, and I'd probably not have as much pessimism and hate as I do now.
Everyone is too dang self-centered.
People focus on what THEY want, what THEY need, what THEY'D like to do, and other things concerning THEM.
If people actually took the time to pay attention to the world around them, instead of themselves, then more things would be accomplished. More people wouldn't feel so alone, because someone actually cared about them.
Sadly, life is the opposite. Life is self-centered.
Life doesn't care about you and I. Life doesn't care if you're alone, lonely, depressed, and miserable.
Life just stays watching you suffer, watching you cry in despair. It enjoys all of your suffering. It taunts you with every bad thing it can think of.
I hate life back.
I continue to go through the hell called life, proving that I won't let it smirk at my destruction…
…just as life conquered the only two people I actually cared about.
The first victim decided the next one's fate. It declared my internal suffering as well. I have a permanent scar on my soul from the first's passing. I wince every time it comes to mind. It haunts my mind like one of those ghosts Dib used to rant about.
Though that incident happened when I was very young, I can still remember it in perfect detail. I wish I didn't. I wish it didn't happen at all… But I can't change the past, so, fortunately for me, I have to deal with it.
Easier said than done.
