Forgotten Story

I Hate my Life

So this is where my story starts. Well, my story actually starts when I was born, but no one has enough time or audacity to sit down and read about when I was born to when I died. So this is where I'll start.

My name is Kalia Jackson, and I'm really tired of my life. For instance, right now I'm running through Brooklyn, New York, rain water sloshing in and around my worn-down converse. Three, maybe more, police officers chasing after me, waving their batons and yelling at me to come back with my hands up.

My converse slipped on the wet sidewalk, and I crashed into a nearby light pole, effectively crushing the happy meal I had been carrying throughout the time I had been running. With a defeated groan, I slid to the ground, landing very gracefully in a puddle of dirty rain water. Soon, the police caught up to me, and had shoved me into their cop car, handcuffs and everything.

Yeah, like I said. I'm tired of my life.

Maybe I should start off with why exactly I was being chased by the police, why my life sucks so much, and why I was carrying a happy meal.

The latter was easy, McDonalds was cheap. My family wasn't well-off with money, so I had grown up eating happy meals and BigMacs, so eventually the restaurant had grown on me. Yes, even if the ice cream machine was always broken.

The rest of those questions...well, it was complicated.

Even for me.

Especially for me.

You see, I'm ADHD and dyslexic, which already made my life much harder than it needed to be. Combine that with all the crappy schools, tutors, teachers, step father, and economy, that's a recipe for a normal disaster.

Now, I say 'normal' because I hadn't mentioned everything yet. Weird things always seem to happen to me and my brother, weird things no one could explain.

Every kid says this, sure. They pretend to have superpowers, or something of the sort. But that's not what's happening. It's more like hyper-constant-bad luck than any superpower, or special ability.

For example, last year in the 2nd grade, we went on a field trip to the zoo. I had 'accidently' opened the gate to the lion's cage. The school got sued, and I was immediately expelled. In pre-k I had woken up from one of those naps they make you do, to find a highly venomous spider sitting on my hand. I've exploded buildings, committed arson, 'attempted murder,' and somehow made a miniature canyon in my 1st grade math class. All at the ripe young age of 8. I hate my life.

So as you can see, I have more than a knack for trouble. Way more actually. But for the reason I was currently running from the police, was a new one that I wasn't very proud of.

It started when I was in Mr.Thomas's ELA class, and as always, my dyslexia was being a pain in the butt.

"Miss Jackson, read what's on the board, if you please." He said, turning his balding head towards me. The man was well-into his life. He wore loafers, khaki jeans, and an emerald tux. The outfit was paired with a bright amber shirt most of the time, and a dark maroon tie. All in all, he looked like a stop light.

Mr.Thomas also had a habit of picking on kids with mental disabilities, which was really bad because this was a school specifically for the mentally challenged.

"No thanks." I replied, popping a mini oreo in my mouth. He narrowed his pale eyes at me through the spectacles he wore, a frown wrinkling his face more than usual.

"Jackson, what do you not get about respect?" He questioned.

"What do you not get about dyslexia?"

The pale man's face turned red with anger, the color spreading down to his neck and ears. "Principal. Office. Now." He seethed through his teeth. It didn't take long for Mr.Thomas to get angry, and I don't expect that even now his short temper is better.