Old Nostalgia

Chapter 1: Story of My Forgotten Past

The world around me is crashing down, one by one, the towers that hold my life together, brick by brick, being pulled out. I'm a mess but I don't care.

My name is Melissa and let me get something straight. I don't care about you, and you definitely don't need to even worry about me. I'm 16, and that's all you need to know for now.

Life has been rough for many of Us that we just don't seem to care. Us is just us. We don't bother anyone and we don't talk to anyone. All my life I've been trying to discover my purpose in life. Doesn't seem like I have one.

One thing I love is photography, I photo fanatic geek who just looks to get camera crazy. I'm pretty much an open book, what you see, is what you get. Ripped jeans, and black clothing is the way I love to dress. And just to complete the "geek" look, a big o' pair of black framed glasses.

My camera is my only friend. I go everywhere with it, in case I ever get to take "the one". My photography skills are closer to mediocre than anything actually good. But eh, it's my passion.

I spend most of my time it my room. My room is dark 80% of the time. I develop all my pictures there, since I don't believe in any type of technology whatsoever. Well, not me anyways, my mother. She thinks that the only ones who use electricity are devil worshipers or the drug cartels.

Now tell me, would want to argue five hours trying to convince her to buy a fridge and how it won't drag her down to hell? Didn't think so. I just let her be.

She also believes that photos carry some curse that will end up killing you at night. Yeah, I don't even know.

Anyways long story short, my father died during the Desert Storm operation. He was ambushed during a daily recon mission. None of his squad survived. He was a good man, but a pretty shitty father. Although, he did care about me than the nutcase I live with today. But besides the fact that I have a pretty fucked up life, I mostly take care of my self. I work 2 jobs, both at minimum wage, and provide food for both me and my mom.

My mom has never worked a day in her life nor will she ever work. Oh how she drives me completely insane. Isn't it suppose to be, her supporting me and not me supporting her? Hm, that's ironic. It's okay, why should I care? I'm just a crazed teenager, who's looking for drugs to consume and a non-stop sex party? Right? Atleast that what society thinks I do.

In reality, I'm just and introverted teen, who does nothing but eats, develops, and sleeps until the break of dawn. That's just who I am.