Chapter 1:New Beginnings and Dead Ends

"Simple living is my desperate cry

Been trading love with indifference

And yet it suits me just fine

I try to hold on

But I'm calloused to the bone

Maybe that's why I feel alone

Yeah…

Maybe that's why I feel so alone."

-Creed

A/N: Story inspired by the songs Knives and Pens by Black Veiled Brides and Monster by Meg & Dia. Chapter is dark/rated for gore, bullying, and the injustice of life.

My story begins on my seventeenth birthday. Usually the worst day of my miserable life, I have no idea why I even got up that morning. I could have avoided everything if I was just more of a coward…or maybe less of one.

xXx

October 31st. Ole Hallows' Eve. Yep, I was born on the night of witches and goblins. I didn't expect much. Nothing good, actually. Especially not from home.

I woke up that morning with a sense of dread, hearing glass bottles clinking together downstairs and knowing Janice was still up. Probably still drinking, I thought.

I rolled out of bed with a groan and slipped some black skinny jeans on. They were loose, and I knew that meant that I'd lost weight.I walked over to my dresser and opened the pizza box that was sitting slightly ajar on the top shelf. There was only one slice left. I had ordered this pizza a week before, what with Janice guarding the fridge like an angry militia man holding up a bank, and made it last up until this morning. Yeah, it was old, but at least it hadn't turned green yet, right?

My phone beeped on the charger, alerting me to a text message. It was from Max.

Meeting at the usual?

I smiled, and replied a brief yes.

Max was my only real friend. She was the one person I could actually have a serious conversation with, without my typical bouts of sarcasm. We've been friends ever since we were about four, and we met under...interesting circumstances. I was four years old, at a park by my house when these older kids started picking on me. Max came over and drove them off by throwing sand in their eyes.

Not caring if it was cold or if the pepperoni crunched, I ate the pizza in a hurry. I ran through the typical morning routine of dressing; I donned my Black Veiled Brides T-shirt, all the while running a brush through my thick, black hair. My red bandanna decorated my throat, and my silver lip-ring went on my mouth, the one I stole from the local piercing shop. I paused, my hand instinctively searching for the silver pentagram pendant I always wore; the best gift I've ever received. Relief flooded over me as my hand found it, and I slipped my favorite black hoodie on, which completed the outfit.

Grabbing my black Disturbed messenger bag, which I had loaded with my cell-phone, mp3 player, keys, and my journal, I headed to my door. The moment I drew back the silver lock, the wretched odor of alcohol hit me like a wall. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

I made it down the hallway, ignoring the mess of clothes and other various paraphernalia that didn't belong to me, thinking I would be able to leave undetected. As luck would have it, Janice heard me.

"Chris! Chris!" I heard the squeaks of the couch coils, knowing Janice was attempting to stand. Beer bottles clinked with her efforts, and I'm sure some of the liquid spilled on our already filthy carpets.

Ignoring her, I stepped out the front door, turned on my mp3 player, and started my walk to school.

xXx

Somewhere along the way, as I was blaring "Don't Stop" by Inner Party System, two rough hands grabbed my shoulders, roughly throwing me forward. I landed heavily on the ground, my face in the grass. My headphones were ripped from my ears, and my mp3 player continued playing without me.

"Hey loser," a gruff voice replied. I recognized it immediately.

I sighed. "Hey Chad," I retorted. "Get bored beating up puppies?"

In reply for my smart-ass remark, his boot connected with my side, sending a heavy pain through my hip-bone and body. I gritted my teeth.

"No," he replied, with another heavy kick. "Kicking dogs," he kicked again, and I curled up in a small ball, feeling the burning ache explode in my rib-cage, "is my favorite..." another kick, this time to my knee-caps, made me gasp aloud. I heard his footsteps as he circled around me. "...thing to do!" Chad gave one final kick, this time to my spine.

I arched my back as the pain from his kick raced up and down my backbone. I curled into a tight ball and soon his footsteps faded, snickering such brilliant obscenities, such as Emo, and faggot, and I was left with the aftermath of the pains recession.

When the pain faded into a bearable ache, I sat up slowly, and looked around for my mp3 player. After an instant of initial shock, and thinking Chad made off with it or crushed it, I spotted the device several yards away. Chad, being the dick that he was, must've thrown it. After a moments hesitation, I stood, wincing as the freshly inflicted bruises were pulled taut, pounding against my skin with discomfort.

My phone beeped again in my pocket. I pulled it out and Max had texted me again.

Where the hell are you? I'm already in class.

I replied: Got held up. On my way.

I limped over to my mp3 player and painfully bent over to retrieve it. The screen was a bit scratched, but it seemed to be okay. I stuck the ear-buds into my ears and was met with My Chemical Romance's "Teenagers." It was ironic in hindsight.

I removed my cell phone from my pocket to check the time: 8:30am. First hour started at 8:00am. I sighed, defeated. Maybe I should have just stayed home, I remembered thinking. Maybe dealing with Janice wouldn't have been so bad, for she was more than likely too drunk to realize that seventeen years ago, she had given birth to me.

By some miracle, I made it to school. The hallways were quiet aside from the usual hall monitor, and they either glared at me for my unintentional tardiness, or ignored me completely. First hour was up the stairs to the left, and it was a killer on my wounded knee-cap. By the time I limped into first hour, my left knee-cap was a pulsing, live-wire of pain. The door slammed closed at my arrival, and all heads turned in my direction. The teacher had been in the middle of reciting a math equation, one that I never could've solved, much less fathomed.

"Ah," the teacher started when he turned to see what the students were staring at. He dropped the book he was holding down onto his desk, of which he was seated upon. "Chris Woods. How nice of you to grace us all with your presence. Please, have a seat. Anywhere you'd like, of course." A false smile came to his lips, but it was really just a smirk of annoyance. I never could stand those bright white, perfect teeth of his. I wanted him to gain cancer of the mouth at some point. "It's not like this is a classroom or anything." He rose from his seat, almost as if I were royalty that he was obligated to stand for.

Ah, Mr. Sanders. He hated me so much, but at the time I really didn't understand why. Was it because I was different? Because I was smart? Or maybe it was because I was a smart-ass, and talked back to him? I didn't like dealing with peoples crap, especially when it was aimed at me.

"Hmm," I started. "Well, Jeff, Thank you for clarifying that." I smirked back, and sarcasm dripped from my mouth like venom. Anger sparked in Mr. Sanders eyes, like some sort of beacon for hostile ships to come to a volatile sea. I mentally laughed at both the image and his misplaced anger. "And I'll be honored to take your request and sit where I'd like."

My seat of choice was Mr. Sanders own chair. I sat on the cushion with a sigh, but my comfort was short-lived. The fresh bruises on my body pounded in unison, and I tried not to grimace.

Mr. Sanders face got hot with rage, and his cheeks sprinkled with red. He hastily walked around his desk, glaring at me all the while. "Chris," he about roared "go to the principal's office. Now!"

So much for a chair.

xXx

Five minutes later I was found myself seated in the office, listening to the snapping of bubble-gum and Classical music from the computer. The slightly over-weight secretary was seated at her chair, attempting to look busy by filing papers. This was because I was in here, amongst the typical trouble-makers. She was more than likely reading Internet porn, or playing some card game online, wondering why she couldn't get a date.

I leaned to my right on the chairs armrest, resting my head on my elbow. The bruises hurt terribly, but I was used to the ache of freshly damaged skin. When you lived your entire life with an abusive, drunken, whore of a mother, there were no other options that didn't include running away.

Now, I'm sure you're curious about where my father fits into this mad equation that is my life. You're just dying to know about him, who he was, where he is, blah blah...we'll get to that soon enough, promise.

"Chris Woods," the principal called, her voice indifferent, as usual.

I slowly stood, and limped into the office, keeping the door ajar in case I needed a quick exit.

Principal Snodgrass was a small woman, barely five feet tall. Before I go any further, her name really is Snodgrass. That always makes me thinking of a field mouse snorting crack up his nostrils...but that's beside the point. She usually wore a business suit, (you know, the ones with the skirts) and she always has her hair back into a tight, mouse-brown colored bun. She has this long neck, piercing brown eyes that could cut through iron, and her pale lips were always pursed with disapproval.

Her overall appearance always reminded me of a Vulture. I'm not saying Principal S. circles dying prey or feeds off the dead, (okay, maybe just a little) or that she has a bald head and talons, (who wouldn't want to see that?) but I am saying she has this serious air about her, almost as if the world consisted of black and white, all colors drained.

I limped to the seat in front of her desk, dropped my bag on the floor, and slumped down into the comfortable leather arm-chair. My head was supported by my right arm, which irritated my bruised flesh, and with my overall disposition, I made it clear I would've rather been anywhere else.

"Chris," she started. "To what do I owe this visit?" She folded her hands in front of her desk, and I wondered if there were claws beneath those pale, pink fingernails.

I remained silent. There was no point in trying to explain- the punishment would be the same.

She raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Sanders said that not only were you thirty-eight minutes late, but you also disrupted his class by acting out when he asked you to take a seat." Now, since whoever is reading this journal, whether the pages are torn or not, you can see that the words are nice-sounding. With her tone of voice that day however, she was talking down to me like I was a drop of rain on a sunny day. "Chris, can you explain to me why you were late this morning?" Not even a please.

Still, I said nothing.

"If you do not answer me then I will be forced to assume everything Mr. Sanders reported was true." It was a statement, not a question. She would do it anyways.

My mouth remained closed, but the flame of indignation in my chest wouldn't die down.

She picked up a pile of papers on her desk, stacked them with neat movements, then laid them back down. It was almost as if she was trying to give herself something constructive to do with me in the room, or find some semblance of order in the chaos I brought her. Those thoughts came later, for in that moment, I almost laughed aloud at how pointless the gesture was.

"Chris, the detentions I assign you seem to have no effect," she said. I snickered, thinking No shit, Sherlock. "So instead, I'm going to have you go to counseling, in place of them."

Now this got my attention. I hated the thought of pretending to pour out my heart and soul to some sweaty-faced, slack-jawed man who hated me as much as I hated him. "Counseling?" I scoffed. "I don't think so."

Again she raised her eyebrows. "I'm afraid you do not have a choice in the matter."

My jaw almost dropped open in surprise, but I kept my face completely blank of what I was really feeling. Anger. How dare she claim I have no choice? "I'm afraid I'm not going."

"If you do not attend counseling at least once a day, I'm afraid I will have to call your parents."

I chuckled, thinking all the while how pathetic of a punishment that was, not to mention how futile. "Good luck with that," I muttered, under my breath.

"Excuse me?" Oh, now she hears me.

I looked her straight in the eye, and all the sarcasm evaporated from my voice. I was sick of these bullshit games. "I said I'm not going,"

She picked up her phone and began dialing a number on the key-pad. I raised my eyebrows, inwardly wondering if she was ordering a pizza. I mentally tabulated a list on WHY it wasn't so good for someone her age to be eating deep-dish. "Hello? Mrs. Woods?"

The jokes left me immediately. I looked up in shock, knowing it was clear on my face. Janice actually answered the phone?

"This is Principal Snodgrass calling about your son, Chris?" There was only silence as "Mrs. Woods" replied.

"I apologize," Principal S. answered, genuine empathy sounding in her voice. Briefly, I wondered what Janice was telling her.

The Principal paused her apologizing, and I could faintly make out Janice's slurred words on the other end of the receiver. She was still drunk. No surprise there.

"Your son," she emphasized the word, almost as if to subconsciously remind Janice that she gave birth to me. "Has obstructed Mr. Sander's class by acting out, and openly defied me. His attitude is unacceptable and utterly intolerable. The detentions I assign-"she paused in mid-sentence, pursed her lips, and moved the phone to her other ear. "Mrs. Woods?" The Principal put the phone on the receiver, and cleared her voice, almost as if she couldn't believe what I knew to be true. "It seems your mother has hung up on me."

She probably broke the phone, I thought, all the while counting the fibers in the carpet. At least they gave me something constructive to do.

"Should I call your father?" I raised my head and met her demeaning glare, one that openly stated 'I am better than you, and nothing will change that.' I hate those people .

If I could only find a way to make those eyes fear me...

The thought startled me, but I smiled. Hey, I could at least imagine it, right?

"Do you find something amusing, Mr. Woods?" Mr. Woods. That sounded like she was addressing my "father" in court or something. Never would I be Mr. Woods.

Later, I realized that she could see that the thought of making others literally afraid of me, made me amused. It was clear even then what I would become.

My smile widened as I replied to her. "Oh, just day-dreaming."

She arched her eyebrow, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was a defense mechanism she followed through on when she felt threatened. "That is probably why you are failing your classes," she cleared her throat again. "Now shall I call your father or will you agree to the counseling?"

I'd had enough. I bent forward and placed my elbows on my knees, clasping my hands as if I was a criminal mastermind about to confess my sins. My gaze locked on hers, and I wondered for a moment what she thought of me. "Principal S," I began "You want me gone, don't you? You don't want me in detention because you're tired of seeing if I'll choose to show up." I paused for a moment, calculating what I was going to say next. "You don't want me here, and if you could, you would just expel me." I couldn't help the smile that splayed itself across my face at her obvious fury. "But, you can't do that because, in my words, you don't have enough dirt on me. Am I right?"

She didn't reply, but I gained satisfaction in the fact that she looked away first. The Principal picked up her phone, punched in a number calmly, and after a few minutes of listening to a phone ring, she placed it back on the receiver.

"Trying to call my father?" I laughed. "He's a busy man, a lawyer. He doesn't have time to deal with me. So trying to reach him would be hopeless."

A knock made the Principal stand. She stood, straightened her skirt, and strode towards the door. I didn't bother looking back, finding her paper-weights much better company, along with the myriad of paperclips.

I heard a man's voice greet her, and then footsteps.

"Chris," the Principal began, all the while walking back around to her desk. A man in a tan suit followed her, stepping past me to stand next to her. Of course he went past me, for even back then, I wasn't worth it. "This is Mr. Phillips. He will be your counselor."

I'd had enough; counseling and faking small-talk wouldn't help me. "I'm out." I declared, all the while picking up my bag. My back was to them before I could see the looks on their faces; I'd already been given too many hated looks already.

"Chris!" Mr. Phillips called, but I was already gone.

xXx

I made my way to my locker on the third floor, noticing that neither Principal nor counselor followed me. That just proved that they didn't really care, hence I would bestow the same honor.

Amidst the throng of students changing books, applying lip-gloss, and groping one another against the lockers, I searched for my own space. I located the number, and blew out a hot breath of air from my mouth. Graffiti covered a locker right around where mine should've been.

"Please don't be mine…" I murmured.

But, of course, it was mine. Graffiti adorned my blue locker door in bright-pink, red, and black. There were words that read "Emo," "Fag" and other obscenities. Anger rose in my chest as I swirled the dial, yanking the handle open with a furious flick of my wrist. Flowers fell out, both paper, fake, and real, and among the petals were razor-blades. The bell to second hour rang, and whispers hit my ears with the mockery of how evil man could be. At least, that's what I think now, for in the moment I was too distracted with the crap that spilled out of my locker.

I looked down at the flowers and the glint of metal that stuck out amidst the plants. Painted on the back wall of my locker where yet more obscenities, splayed out in red; In the locker however, was a pink, fluffy tiara, a mockery of a crown. A note was attached, and it read: Happy Birthday, Emo Princess.

I crushed the note in my hand.

I grabbed a fresh journal from my locker, slammed the door, then started at a hurried pace down the hallway. Not out of embarrassment, or shame. No, I was way passed that.

I could hear the laughter and the hushed snickers of kids as I passed them, but I ignored them. What else could I do?

It felt like it took hours before I finally exited the school. It was nippy out, (haha, nippy) and the wind blew with a cold chill that sent a shiver up my spine, which seemed to make my bruises pulse ever harder.

Ten minutes later I was entering an abandoned train station, my usual haunt. Years ago, a train derailment had occurred, killing several and injuring many more. It had been ruled an accident, but I wasn't so sure. Either the conductor had a heart attack, or foul-play was underfoot.

The station itself seemed all but forgotten, a gloomy area most would rather forget. All the better, I thought, for privacies sake.

I sat on the cold pavement, back against a stone pillar, and withdrew my journal from my bag. I flipped through its cracked pages with a faint smile, reveling in its ink-strewn papers. In this journal, one of many, held my life's story.

I wrote down the details of the day in dark-red ink, and when I was finally done, the journal was almost completely filled, and dusk was approaching. I gathered my things into my bag and stood, wincing as I stretched the already irritated muscles and bruised flesh. I was starving, aching...but in a far better mood than I had been when I started, hours ago.

Thunder boomed overhead as I started on my way home, my mp3 blaring "The Bird and the Worm" by The Used, when something caught my eye. A girl with the most perfect, pin-straight, blonde hair stood in the mouth of a dark alley way. She seemed familiar. As I watched, she turned her head to the left and right, then all but ran down into the alley.

I removed the buds from my ears and turned my mp3 player off. My curiosity piqued, I stuffed my mp3 in my bag and walked after her. I wondered all the while if it was a ghost, a figment of my imagination, or a girl caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, as the old cliche went. I also wondered if I could help her.

As I walked down the alley, a sense of foreboding fell upon me. It was almost as if I knew something awful was going to happen, but I pressed on anyways, heedless of my instinct.

I have replayed this scene ten-thousand times in my mind. Sometimes, I yell to myself to turn away, to run like hell in the other direction, and to forget the girl. There's nothing that can be done about the past, however.

Muffled voices met my ears as I reached the end of the alleyway, where the walls took a sharp turn to my left. I approached the turn quietly, and peeked around its corner.

The blonde-haired girl stood with her back turned to me, talking with what appeared to be another woman. The odd sense of familiarity returned. I knew this girl.

My eyes were drawn to a movement at the girls left. I silently gasped. Chad was there, talking to a man with a hoodie with the hood all the way up, concealing his features. Both Chad and the hooded stranger appeared to be arguing about something.

I slid down the brick wall and edged closer to the bend, leaning out just enough to hear the conversation.

Don't ask me why I was so curious, for I often ask myself that. I just had to know what was happening; blame that on my damn curious nature.

"-the money," I heard Chad snap.

The guy in the hoodie retorted with a response I couldn't quite make out.

Chad responded by pushing the man, and the man stumbled back, falling to the ground. Chad drew a gun from the waistband of his pants, and with the way he held it, I knew it wasn't just for show. Chad, the neighborhood bully, the asshole, the dick...he killed people. The gun's barrel pointed at the man, and from the looks of it, real bullets were in the gun. It could've been an elaborate show, but I wasn't so sure. "Hand over the money."

The man appeared frightened, even though his face was hidden in the shadow of the sweater fabric. Shivering, he threw a wad of cash at Chad. The girl with blonde-hair turned and walked to stand next to Chad, completely revealing her identity to me. My eyes met her face and familiarity washed over me like cold, unforgiving water.

I mentally slapped myself. Britney Taylor stood next to her older brother, still dressed in her cheer-leading outfit. That's why she seemed so familiar. A cruel sneer filled her proud lips, arching itself gracefully on those beautiful lips. This was the girl I'd had crush on for years, as ironic as it was that Chad was her brother.

"Now the rest?" Chad asked, annoyed. The cash was still on the ground, but with the arrogance on Chad's face, it was clear that he knew that it was all accounted for. Guns give men confidence.

"Th-that was all the money I had," the hooded man stammered.

Chad sighed, and his shoulders shrugged from his tension. "Not the money you dumb-ass, the drugs."

My eyes widened in shock, though I really shouldn't have been that surprised. It wasn't startling that Chad would be into drugs, for his attitude made sense: all of the senseless beatings, the rage, and the half-assed attempts at insults. But Britney...why would she be tolerating this?

"I-I-I g-gave you the money," the frightened man stammered. "C-can I go now?"

Chad smiled and put his gun away, nestling it between his skin at his navel, and the waistband of his pants. "Sure," he said with laughter in his voice, all the while extending his hand. The guy smiled, and I could at last see the guy's face with the small amount of light in the alley way. Nervously, the guy took Chad's extended hand.

The next thing I saw was a blur. Not because the light was bad, or the actions REALLY were a blur; the details were...skewered.

As Chad pulled the man to his feet, his other hand reached around and before the man even saw it, Chad had buried a blade deep in the man's chest.

Finally, I'd seen enough. I started to slowly back away as I heard the man's body crumple into a worn heap on the cold earth. Unfortunately, I was so focused on not being seen, I forgot to watch where I stepped .I managed to step on a can, which didn't crush behind my feet like the typical linoleum. It stayed cylindrical, and it rolled backwards, which caused me to fall. My head connected with the corner of the dumpster behind me, and the sound of my skull cracking reverberated around the alleyway. It sounded like a gunshot.

I lay there, dazed and nursing my pain, when I saw booted feet approach me.

Sound returned to my world as I felt my body being lifted from the earth. This would've been a lot less painful had it not been by the collar of my shirt. My half-open eyes managed to focus on the sneering visage of Chad, and with every blink I saw something new: Chad's cruel eyes, the stubble on his chin, and finally, the sinister set to his mouth.

"Look what we've got here." Chad's sarcastic voice reached my ears and I felt my heart stop. The Chad I simply knew as a bully evaporated before my eyes, and in its place was a killer with ice in his veins. His face twisted in mock surprise when he saw my shock.

He roughly shoved me against the stone wall, and in his efforts, my feet barely touched the ground. My heels connected with the wall, and all the while my hands gripped his, my attempts at getting him to let me go were feeble at best. The stress was still on the collar of my shirt, and with the way he was pulling the fabric, he easily could've killed me by asphyxiation alone.

"It seems we have a fly on the wall," Chad sneered in my face. His breath smelt horrible, and until that moment, I had never seen eyes that were more filled with malice.

"I swear I didn't see a thing," I blurted. I sounded like such a pansy, like a coward who would do anything to live.

Chad laughed, and that's when I noticed the people behind him. Britney stood with her arms crossed, smiling in the way only she knew how to: with the cruel upturning of her lips.

I was done for.

xXx

The two Montgomery twins stood a ways back, Bill and Tom. Tom was the smarter of the two, and to put it bluntly, I doubted either of them had an IQ above 70. He stood with his back against the wall with his arms crossed, all the while smiling.

Bill stood a little closer to Chad, wearing a ball-cap that was turned to the left and looked like it was just asking for a small gust of wind to blow. If this had been any other time, I would have scoffed and called him a Neanderthal.

The third person was a girl of average height, with long black-hair that fell in ringlets to her hips. Her features were etched in fear, and she stood a little apart from the others, almost as if she was afraid they would tear her limb from limb at any given moment. I recognized her from some class of mine, though I never would have thought she would be into these kind of things. Veronica, I think her name was.

Chad let go of my shirt so suddenly, I stumbled back a small ways. Then, acting as if we were the oldest of friends, dusted the top of my shirt off. He smiled, and replied to my past statement, "Of course not."

That's when the beating began.

Chad grabbed me by the throat and then without warning, slammed me into the stone wall behind us. He punched me in the stomach, his knuckles slamming into part of my rib-cage, and if I'd had anything in my stomach aside from that age-old pizza, I would've vomited, then and there. For a moment, I balanced my body on Chad's fist, and then slipped sideways to the ground. I heard laughter, (demonic in origin, I swear) and then I felt the strap of my messenger bag slip from my arms, and the contents of my bag scattered over my half-conscious body.

I felt something hard hit me in the head. After the throbbing ended, I managed to open my eyes, and my cell-phone lay in front of my face. With my back turned to them, I had one chance to pull this off. Slowly, I reached for the device that could save my life. Luck had to be on my side at some point, right?

Chad laughed. "He keeps a diary!"

The others snickered as Chad read out loud some of my most private thoughts. Well, they can go ahead and laugh, I thought, because they'd be in jail soon.

My hand tightened over my cell phone and I slowly drew it in, close to my chest. I pressed the nine button, and thanked whatever god there was that I kept my phone on silent.

"Britney," Chad chuckled. "Look what this dork wrote about you!"

Chad was laughing hysterically as I pressed the last number, and the phone began to ring. Hope filled my heart, but of course, it didn't last. As soon as it hit the second ring, I felt a sharp pain in my back.

Why I thought luck would be on my side at all was beyond my understanding, even to this day.

"You think you're gonna call the cops on us?" Britney demanded, ripping the phone from my shaking hands. "You're nothing but a pathetic piece of trash, emo-scum. You're nothing!" She exclaimed, screaming the last words. "Nobody cares about a piece of shit like you," She laughed, and I swear it sounded like the cackling of a hellion. "Hell, your own mother doesn't want you."

"Haaarsh," Bill laughed, and he never sounded more like a buffoon than right then.

"Shut-up, Bill." Britney commanded.

Her words hit me hard; not only because I'd had had a crush on Britney for several years now, but also because I found a bit of truth to her words. Tears threatened to flood my eyes, but I held them back. I would not show weakness for these idiotic thugs and that pretentious bitch. Their true colors never looked more black.

"Britney," I croaked. "Fuck off."

Britney did a grunt/scream thing (you know, the kind spoiled kids do when they don't get their way) and kicked me again in the back. Black dots filled my already blurred vision, and I wondered why it didn't just end already.

She kicked me again and again and again, until I couldn't feel my back anymore. I just lay there; not trying to fight back, not really caring if I lost my life here. I mean, who would care? Besides Max, no one would give a shit. Janice would probably celebrate. And my dad? He never cared. All he ever cared about was work.

"How-do-you-like-that?" She screamed, still kicking me, not realizing I had lost all feeling long ago. Blood oozed out of my mouth and onto the cool earth, and I entertained myself by watching it pool. She must have damaged an organ.

"Britney," I barely heard Chad say. "Stop."

Britney stopped kicking, and with a sneer, spit on me and mumbled that I was a gruff loser before I heard her high heels click away.

"Tom, Bill," Chad said, barely suppressing the laugh in his voice. "Go flip that emo over, then hold down his arms."

"Yessir," Bill yelled.

"Oh, shut-up, Bill." Britney muttered.

I felt myself being pulled upwards as I was flipped over, my head lolling to the side. I was only conscious enough to realize what was happening around me, but not enough to physically do much about it.

I coughed, and pain radiated throughout my body. Blood gurgled upwards, slithering down my cheek like a crimson, liquid snake.

Tom and Bill were crouched on either side of me, holding my arms down. Like I could do anything, anyway. The thought formed in my head as I cracked my eyes open. With a raspy, weak, voice, I managed to say: "What did I ever do to you?"

Chad walked over to me, his face housing a twisted smile. He rested the sharp edge of a knife against his cheek as He squatted down next to me and whispered: "What did you ever do," He laughed, falsely pondering the question I've always wanted to know. "I'll tell ya what ya did." He bent down closer, moving the blade so it fell against my cheek, so that we were face to face. "You," he poked me in the chest "were born."

I remember thinking 'Why me?'. I remember the indifference I had felt earlier intensify, nestling its apathetic head deeper into my heart. The only thing I could think of in this, My Darkest Hour, was not only self-pity and loathing, but also of a girl; a girl I would never see laugh, or smile, ever again.

Chad gave each of the twins a knife. He told them to cut my arms; to cut me deep like the 'Emo' I was. And as the twins rolled the sleeves of my jacket up, I looked to the sky; I thought of the only person in the world I had ever cared about, and I said, albeit weakly: "You won't get away with this."

Chad laughed, but otherwise didn't reply.

As the cold metal bit into my skin, I smiled. I managed to count up to ten cuts on my right arm and fifteen on my left before Chad showed his face again. I'm not sure how I was still conscious, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to move even if I tried to.

The world was spinning as Chad squatted over me, and my eyes were barely able to focus on his sneering image. He whispered a mock prayer as he lifted a bloodied blade to my face, moonlight glinting off its crimson edge.

And with those words I felt that cold object slither across my throat, and then warmth seeped onto my shoulders, down across my chest, and it poured down my stomach. My body grew colder before becoming completely numb as I bled out what little blood remained. It was so beautiful...

Thunder boomed overhead as I lay dying, and cold rain splashed against my clammy skin. I still don't know how I felt the wetness of the rain, but I remember being so cold at the end. I remember seeing booted feet as darkness claimed me, and then I was gone.

I'm sure you all enjoyed that wondrous tale of the end of My Pathetic Life. But my story's not over yet. In fact, you could say my story just began. Sometimes, I wish it hadn't. Sometimes, I really wished I had died. But regrets are for another time, another hour…

xXx

It was raining.

The creature loved the rain, for where it came from, the weather was always the same. Dreary. No change. There was no sun, no moon; no rain, no fog. Just the endless sea of mists that made up for the lack of atmospheric changes.

As the creature approached the dead child, a smile touched its pale lips. This boy would be perfect for its plans, and not even Death itself could intervene with that.

"Awaken," the creature mumbled, in a voice that sounded like a thousand resonating chimes.

As the child's soul returned to its body, the creature turned, and with a smile on its lips, dropped a book. Before it could be seen, the being evaporated into the sea of never-ending mists.