The Keys
Chapter 1: Hurricane Kimberley
Into every life, a little rain must fall. In my case, it must be Hurricane Kimberly. Let me tell you something: I, honestly, don't really remember the last time I was happy. I mean, not even a smile, happy. It must have been before Greg died. Greg was my father; I was only five when he died. I was pathetic. Back then, I used to breakdown about everything, but now, I'm more of an emotionally empty person. That's fine with me. If no one can penetrate my shell, I am perfectly content staying alone. You see, if no one can touch me psychologically, and I just stay cold, I can't be hurt. I'm content being alone... Yes, I have no friends, no pals, or buddies, but I don't get heartbroken. I don't love. I am a stone.
My name is Kim Zitch. I am practically fifteen years of age and I live in a single room apartment with my mother in Vegas. It's one of those real shit pits y'know? It's $750 a month. That's the cheapest mother could find. She's a big... I dunno. Just weird. She's either boozing or at her grocery bagging job at the near by Smith's. So I have two jobs, I work the graveyard shift at McDonalds and every Monday, Wednesday and Friday I skip school to work a double shift at Burger King. So, life never changes here. I wake up at eleven and wait outside McDonalds until my shift is on. Three times a week I wake up and wait around BK until it's time for my shift. On occasion I'll watch the cat in 3B for a couple of bucks while the granny's out of town or something.
I really have no friends. To be honest, I have, like, zero social status. Like I care. All those little preps can kiss my ass. As for school, I go to Farnum High. It's this shitty public school- but hey, I have no right to complain. I'm flunking nearly every class, except for Phiz. Ed. (but you see, it's like this: the coach and my mother are drinking buddies and so every time I see her, I find my mother trying to bribe her to raise my grade with a doughnut or cookie. All of this is done in a drunken rage. God bless the U.S.A.) I'm kinda feared on the school scene. The good girls whisper as I pass, and move out of my way when I'm going to my locker. I think some of the jockstraps fear me too. Rick Tether eyed me once, but I stared him down. Now he avoids me. Fine with me, one less idiot to deal with.
I don't like to paint my nails or anything, I'm not girly. The closest to girly I get is when I draw. It's the only thing I actually enjoy doing. I don't like to read, just draw. I draw in realistic, cartoon, still-life, anime, 3-dimention, etcetera. I'm really pretty good. I normally draw celebrities. But when I can't find a PEOPLE magazine, if absolutely necessary, I'll settle for one of the smut magazines my mother buy for an imaginary father. I'll draw on pretty much everything, and seriously, everything. Like once, on a Thursday, this preppie bitch was sitting in front of me in Math. I was bored so I took my Sharpie out of my pocket and started to doodle. I used up the rest of my papers and also arm space and didn't think anyone would lend me any paper, so I improvised. Lightly, ever so lightly, I began to draw a picture of one of the guys from 'The OC' (the preppy hag had a picture of him on her binder) on her faded red Hollister shirt. It was fun, I must say, the look on her face was totally priceless. I got suspended a week for that. At least it spared me the task of making up a bullshit excuse to tell my mother. Like I said before, I love to draw.