Just A Ghost [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter OneenO retpahC

Media: Welcome to Hell by Erica Wester

Hello humans. New story, fanfiction, barely even considered a fandom! But it is a fandom, and I am taking advantage.

For those of you who don't even know what fandom this is, it's based off a YouTube video called Welcome to Hell, which is in the media. You can literally watch this video and love it, and bam, you're in the fandom.

I apologize profusely for the confusing beginning, but I feel like I needed to set certain facts straight.

Enjoy!

Sock

"Breaking news reveals a brutal, gang-related double homicide in a local Los Angeles home, leaving the lone orphan, Napoleon Maxwell "Sock" Sowachowski to a-"

Click.

I toss the remote to the couch, and slouch into a more comfortable position. Then, the tears -as well as the thoughts- come. It starts with just tears, but before I know it, I'm curled up into a ball and sobbing into my sweater sleeves. Thoughts rush in and out of my head- It wasn't gang-related. Why them and not me? When did this happen? It didn't.

I continue telling myself over and over that it didn't happen, and at the end of the day, I believe it. And then I wake up, it's all over the news, which none of the group home heads care to turn off. It's not just at the home either. All over the school, I hear the snips and whispers, even the teachers are talking about it. The worst part? The thing that is killing me the most?

They think I did it.

Me. The orphan. The child of the druggie parents.

At first I couldn't believe it, but then I realized they knew. About my urges. About my obsession. Killing.

***

God, this is getting old. I attempt to wipe the offending word with my sweater sleeve, but to no avail. I shrug and grab my books out of my locker before shutting the Sharpie covered locker. All kinds of words written in permanent marker, all to hurt me, have gathered up this week. The last week of my freshman year. They want to leave a fatal mark on me, kill me essentially. More one-sided fights than usual, more verbal assaulting, and a marker covered locker. Words including killer, orphan, bitch, fairy, etc.

I walk away from my locker just as the bell rings, and the kids rushing the opposite of me bump me especially hard, knocking me to the floor. My books and textbooks scatter to the floor, and their laughs echo down the halls. I gather my books as fast as I can, dropping some papers in the process, and rush to my first period, chemistry.

Thankfully, I make it to the class just before the bell rings, but it doesn't matter because the teacher isn't even here yet. I wait with the other students outside, and some lacrosse players choose this time to pick on me.

"Hey, you in the skirt," a blonde junior starts, and the whole class laughs.

I mentally sigh, because god, these neanderthals are so simple minded. Ha! I got it! They shall be called the Simpletons. Perfect. Now, keep quiet Sock, take the verbal beating.

"Hm?" I hum to acknowledge the human's existence.

"I wonder what you're going to do for Parent Career Day tomorrow, eh?" he sneers, and the class again erupts in apparently necessary laughter.

But all the same, my eyes widen. I totally forgot about that. Maybe the teacher will skip me? No, I have Ms. Newman for study hall tomorrow. She hates me, for some unknown reason.

Suddenly the blonde's eyes grow dark. He grabs the collar of my sweater and puts his face only a few inches in front of mine. "I asked you a question, you bastard," he says, his breath stinging my nostrils.

I grace him with one of my widest smiles before replying, "And I'll answer your question, just as soon as you get your nasty breath out of my face."

His eyes widen and he forms his hand into a fist, quickly pulling it back, "You little bi-"

"Mr. Wittaker! Put that young man down this instant!" Shouts a voice near us.

Immediately, I go down with an oof! "Come on, class," the same voice I recognize as Mr. Jeremy says, opening the door for the rest of the students to enter. I shake my head to get out of the stupor of nearly getting punched. I slowly stand and pick up my colorful backpack, walking towards the door. I sit in my usual seat in the back and continue on with the dreaded school day.