blue jeans

Blue jeans and oversized t-shirts. That's my normal. Fancy dresses and massive heels just waiting for you to fall and break your neck in. That's not normal. None of this is. I'm sat under a rotting tree next to a care home that was torched years ago. That's not normal.

Saturday is normal. Today is Saturday. Normal.

In case I haven't made it immensely clear yet, I'm not normal. My mum was never proud of me. I don't blame her though. I guess it could be worse. I could be a drug dealer. In fact, she should be proud of me for not turning out like my dad, a stoner trapped in his shady past, unable to escape. I have shoplifted once or twice but only because my friends did. Well not exactly 'friends'. Peer pressure sucks. I only stole Monster and a lighter- for the cigarettes. They weren't mine. I did smoke one though. It felt refreshing, like a soft blow of cold air. For a brief moment, I felt unrestrained from life. I felt free.

But back to reality.

Like I said, today is Saturday. I use to walk to the park every day on Saturday. Oh well. Instead, I'm stood under an old rotting tree. I can't leave though. I'm stuck here for life. At least some of me is. Should I ever escape, I would find my way back to the old cell that I use to call home. Never again. I think for now I'm ok with being sat under this tree. I want to spend forever here. But forever is long time. And I don't have that long left. I could be walking in the park, spending what could be my last Saturday enjoying myself. Instead, I'm here.

Nobody knows I'm here. I don't think anyone even knows I exist. Well, I thought that. Now I know people do.

Maybe I should leave. I don't have to go far, just Manhattan. It's a short walk from here. I could see the big city, make real friends.

Maybe I shouldn't.

I was going to leave a couple weeks ago. I prepared myself and everything. I only got as far as the closest shop when everything went wrong.

I remember hearing a scream from a person stood near me. I could hear the piercing pain in the high tone of their voice. I still don't know who it was. Before I could walk over to find out who was crying out, posts were being made, tweets were being sent and social media was blowing up. I could hear at least a hundred phones pinging every step I took. I pulled out mine- I may not be normal but I'm not a freak- and opened Instagram. One sentence written in bold comic sans headlined every post I could read. "Dead Girl Spotted Alive on Queens Lane".

That's what I remember. When I clicked on one of the posts, it had some awfully written paragraph about "Dead Girl Maeve Foster". Everyone thought Maeve was dead, murdered in '96 by a guy named Cooper Dalton. He was trialed and executed. I miss Cooper. Funny guy.

Maeve sounds cool. It's a cool name. Maeve means various different things, depending on what language you speak. In Latin, it means 'purple flower'. In Celtic it means 'queen'. That's really cool. In Gaelic it means 'intoxicating'. That sounds more realistic. Of course my name has something to do with overdose. I would be willing to bet all my money that my dad named me. Who am I kidding, I don't have any money.

Being dead sounds alright. No one ever comes back from death. Being dead would truly be freedom- my last breath of fresh air. Everyone thought I was dead until I stupidly decided to leave.

Maybe I will leave. For good this time. Not just to Manhattan. To the place where no one comes back from.

Yeah.

I will.

I guess this is it then. The end of a story. Goodbye mum. Good riddance dad. There isn't anyone else I can say goodbye to. I never had siblings. Or friends. Other than Cooper.

It will be nice to finally see him again.

There is only one other person I can say farewell to. That's whoever finds this note. Only you know the real story. That supposably 'Dead Girl Spotted Alive' was even more broken than anyone could ever guess. So farewell.

And here I am again. On a normal Saturday afternoon. Hanging under a rotting tree next to a care home that was torched years ago. My normal. And what could be more normal than wearing an oversized t-shirt. And blue jeans.