Poison.

Chapter One.

Occasionally I'd try to poison myself. It was probably the least gruesome suicide attempt I'd try. I mean, I was never too fond of myself, but sometimes I'd have happy days. This wasn't one, but they came around each blue moon. I felt like my mind was locked up in an insane asylum, in a prison, which was my body. I'd been trapped in that jail for 17 years, ever since the damned day I was birthed into this Hell.

It always bugged me to see people smiling & laughing, almost a confusion that would fall over me at the sight, even the thought. I could never comprehend happiness. What is it? Perhaps an illusion, or maybe even a hope. Maybe happiness is just a single person's attempt at the end. I mean, I always figured the purpose of life was to be happy, and as soon as that shone through, you had no purpose living anymore. So why were people so desperate for happiness, when it most definently implies the end?

I was always a twisted man, though. Even at unusually young ages, I'd get into trouble or find myself doing strange things that no ordinary human being would think to do. I wasn't sure if I was just disgusting, or what, but something going on in my brain was terribly wrong. I seemed to often find joy in pain. Self inflicted, or accidental, I took pleasure in all kinds. People tended to avoid me, I had no 'friends', but honestly, who needs them? Not you, not me, not anyone. Everyone who entered this fucked up earth alone is destined to leave it just the same. Which I never even thought to deny.

It was about two in the morning & I was dreading it. Unlike most kids at my insane school, I was never up studying, or gossiping, or anything if the sort. I always found myself up late caught up in writing, or just fascinated in just about anything. My mum was always stressing me to do well & get good grades, but I honestly didn't give a damn.

I'm certaintly not what she wanted. I am a writer. I am an artist. I am a musician. I am Colton. Wow, that has a nice ring to it. One thing I actually like about myself is my silly old name.

When I was born, there was defiently something strange in my brain. I have some freaky, super-human disorder where I can practically see everything I think out in the real world. I have a super-brain, I guess you could call it. It was the only reason I was smart enough to be in these weird schools. I didn't try, I didn't want to be, I was just born that way. My mum really used that to her advantage, too. She uses every ounce of me for recognition or money, or fame. Not my fame, of course. Hers.

I was never a big fan of my 'gift', I found it often got me into more trouble then it did do me good. Plus, it really did make me the laughing stock of the whole school. I really just didn't fit in there. I was in a place where I was surrounded by people who never quit trying, with random me, who doesn't try at all. I found a few friends, but, I'm pretty positive that they're not too fond of my presence, either. I don't see how people get so worked up over popularity, though. It won't matter in a year.

Next thing I knew, it was just about 8:30 in the morning & my mum was bitching at me to go to school. I barely had time to put on a change of clothes before she started throwing stuff at me. Weird, I know, but she did it quite often. I quickly found myself walking down the streets of my small town, feeling lonely & lost. Almost in a drunken way. Sometimes I wished that the whole town would just fall asleep for the day & I could have the whole town to myself for a while, but that was a bit farfetched, anyways.

When I arrived at the Hell hole, I barely slipped into class without being late. I sat in the desk near the back corner of the room, and pretty much muted myself all day. Suddenly, someone tapped on my shoulder. It was Scarlet, some skinny brunette I went to primary school with. She casually handed me a small, folded slip of paper & pointed to the girl sitting next to me. I smiled a bit sinisterly, slowly unfolded the paper & read over it. It read "Shut up. I think he's kind of cute, actually." I picked up my pencil & neatly scribbled on the word "Who" followed by a question mark & handed the page back to Scarlet. She gave me an almost angered face, crumpled the paper up, and slouched back in her seat like nothing had happened.