Goodbye, Lucy

Goodbye Lucy is a work of fiction. Any places, individuals or events included are not related to those in reality. So that sucks for you.

Before we begin, I suppose you might want to know what this is... And who's telling it.

My name is Lucille "Lucy" Coleman, a plain, average 16-year-old girl. I'm too skinny to have curves, I have a slightly large nose, and my shoulder-length brown hair is too thin to do anything with. I wear baggy sweaters and faded jeans. My glasses and phone are old and out of style. Oddly enough, I don't get picked on for being a loner, or a nerd, or whatever it is kids get teased for these days. They, as in the entire world, just leave me alone. Let my stupid, worthless mind eat itself and rot to a disgusting sea of empty worries.

What do they care?

What would it matter if I were to... Disappear?

That's right: nobody would care if I was gone. Not a single person. Yeah, I know; let the orphaned little girl wallow in her own sadness. Everyone's caught in the flow of things, maybe a little bit to preoccupied with themselves to notice me fading away. But it does. Not. Matter.

It does not matter.

It. Doesn't. Matter

Nobody fucking cares.

Nothing changes when I say it differently, or think it: itdoesntmatter.

In fact, it doesn't matter to me, either. I don't care that I'm worthless. No, I'm not even worthless. I am absolutely nothing. I couldn't be more of a nobody or less of a somebody; I have hit such a low social and mental status that I am disappearing. Nobody can see me.

But who cares, right?

It doesn't matter.

CHAPTER ONE

I step off the school bus and into the startlingly hot air, laced with that familiar disgusting smell. It's a perfectly normal day in the Death Trench. Yeah, that's what they call my neighbourhood; technically it's called "Simonson Drive". Nobody knows or cares why, because there's nobody with to he last name Simonson here and it isn't a drive. So, Death Trench it is, because the place always reeks of death and marijuana smoke and the gutters are full of dead homeless people. It sounds absolutely insane when I say it, or think it, or write it, or whatever I'm doing right now, but that's the truth. Bodies. Everywhere. You get used to it when you grow up here...

A tall boy pushes past me, knocking all of the books from my hands and pushing my glasses askew. Without apologizing and without noticing, he continues on, his dark curls bouncing slightly in the faint breeze. Jack, that's what they call him. Jack Crimson. I kneel down the pick up my books after pushing my glasses back into place, and when I stand up, Jack's gone. Not surprising that he didn't see me; I'm a thin, frail creature much shorter than him. But I have a feeling that even the shortest person in the world wouldn't see me, simply because of my nobody-ness. Ha.

I make my way to Language Arts, and it begins. By "it", I do not mean our writing assignment. (A book report on some stupid novel I didn't bother to read.) I mean the eternal struggle to be noticed, the battle for attention, and the ever-present gloom of being isolated in a room full of people.

It's hopelessly frightening to sit amongst these unintelligent people who can't speak for themselves.

Four days later, I'm fucking tired of it. I can't believe not a single person at school has spoken to me for ten months straight. Sure, there's the occasional "Can I borrow some paper?" or "What's the answer for number thirty-two?" But over all, nobody has used my name. Nobody has looked me in the eye. Nobody has sat with me at lunch. Nobody has said uh or smiled or waved.

Nobody. Do I have to spell that out? N-O-B-O-D-Y. Damn, that word is getting old. I barely recognize it's familiar tone and ring, the three piercing syllables that are so dizzyingly, gently terrible that I can't say it anymore. I can't say it! My tongue gets all tied up in knots but not literally and my throat closes and now I don't even know what it is and I'm sick sick sick I'm sick of it I can't take it I can't take it oh my fucking god I absolutely cannot take it for another day. I will not take it for another day.

It's the last day of school. I had to take it for another week.

But I did okay.

Now, I'm going to finish my art project. I'm going to go home, eat some vegetarian tofu hotdogs, go to bed, and wake up the next morning to go shopping. Over the summer I will gain enough weight to be curvy. I will have trendy clothes and pretty hair and maybe some of the boys will notice me. Maybe I'll have some friends. I will I will I will. Maybe maybe maybe. It's going to be so fun, my mom says, going shopping together and reinventing myself. She wants to help me pick out makeup and perfume and jeans, she says, because it will help us bond.

How exciting...

We go to the mall in the next town over, because it has a lot of nice shops. Hollister and American Eagle and whatnot. Mom can afford all these nice clothes because she has a good job, but we can't move out of Death Trench...

We browse through stores; some shoes here, a top there, and just look at the sale on those jeans! Mom carries almost as many bags as me, because we bought a lot of clothes, hair supplies, and shoes. I had never heard of liquid eyeliner or foundation before, but I guess you learn new things every day. "Last stop," Mom confirms. "You just need a haircut."

I run my hands through my hair. It isn't much shorter, but the layers are a nice touch. The stylist gave me some sort of special shampoo to keep my hair soft and shiny or something like that. It was an eventful day at the mall... All I have to do is gain a bit of fat and I'm good to go.

I spend my summer eating quite a bit for the first month. Rich soups, thick bread, and a moderate amount of junk food. It works, miraculously; I have hips and bigger boobs, and my stomach is just flat instead of almost curving inwards. My arms and legs are also a little bit thicker, looking less like toothpicks and more like... Well.... Arms and legs, I guess. A week at some stupid summer camp builds the canoeing and knot-tying skills I most obviously (not) need to be popular.

But it's all coming together.

Everything is perfect, I'm perfect, life is perfect.

A/N

So I know, this was short. :/ oh well. If you have any ideas of what should happen or any characters, I'd be happy to include them because I am suffering from extreme writer's block. Heh.

I'm positively not going to upload chapter two until I get one read, or one vote, or one comment, or whatever y'all do these days.

Thanks,

necromancerxx