Entry 1
I hate sleeping; when you sleep you surrender your entire body to the evil forces of the world, yet you have a superficial sense you are alive in a dream, while in reality you are dead.
When you are awakened by your body rushing you out of the nightmare and into the world again, you awake with a strong paranoia. Then you see her.
When you see her you just want to curl up and allow her to do what she pleases with you; sort of like when you are playing tag and the person it has you cornered, just accept death. So, you sit there and try not to scream or be an inconvenience to the others still asleep, but that's not how it works.
She shoves her slimy hand down your gullet, reaching and scratching for your soul. Your organs are knotted and wrung out, your arteries and veins implode, and your skull is crushed; all while you are kept alive to feel the pain.
Then you realize the mistake you made; you should have run. Even though it wouldn't have mattered, you could've at least felt like you could make it out alive.
You should've run; there won't be a heaven for you to curl up and wait for, she has another plan for you, her own hell let's say. But that's not what she calls it, no not hell, it's The Playground, another level down from hell- no let's say thousand levels down. The Playground is worse than anything you can imagine, and you are there forever.
Finally, you realize why they call her by this name. Her slimy skin dripping through your soul, her first name, it all makes sense. It reminds you of something.
A Katfish.
Chapter 1
I don't like most of my classes, but this one turned out all right, mostly because it's just so easy for an eleventh-grade subject. Mom wants to move me up to AP, but I don't want all that work, so occasionally I have to purposely get bad scores.
Jazz is the last teacher you'd expect to give such simple assignments. From her look, you would assume she pushes her students to their breaking points to where they stutter when called upon.
She always waltzes through the door in three four, two minutes late each day, wearing a navy blazer, and puts down her briefcase that she uses in place of a purse.
She opens it, takes out her glasses and slides them into place, then takes out a sheet of paper and passes it around, and finally sits back down at her desk; intimidating.
This week has been finding patterns, which is pretty simple and easy, even after I have to involve square roots. It's too easy to the point that I have to get myself a tutor so Mom doesn't move me to AP.
I've tried AP before; it wasn't fun. The workload is two levels up from honors, they expect you to know things already, and it takes away from my real life. This is when I like to make crafts, mostly for my little brother, whom we adopted. I've gotten pretty good at making them, which means he has been happier around me. Finn is a shy kid in kindergarten, with Mom teaching him (she teaches downstairs in this K-12 school). He never really says anything, and just gives you looks of judgement. I like to call him Teddy, which has nothing to do with his name, because his curly red hair gives me that vibe; he likes the name. The craft I'm making for him now is a clay mask, because he likes to hide his scars from when his father abused him.
His father died by committing suicide after killing his mom and trying to murder Teddy. Poor kid.
I've had a pretty messed up life too, not as bad as Finn's, but it's something we have in common.
