"Suspicion was in the air. That morning, on my way to School, I didn't see a Popular Teen once. When I made it to my locker, I saw a crowd huddled around it. There were teens laughing and taking pictures. It wasn't a good sign when the crowd scatter...
I was digging through the attic when I found this thing.
Despite having a dusty old leather case and aged yellow pages, it was in surprisingly good condition (Which is weird since the only things I ever find in the Attic are worthless junk. No wonder why I like it there so much). I decided that this would be a good book to take my School Counselor's advice and start a journal.
Now what exactly should I talk about? I should probably should start with the beginning.
Name: Zenevieva Blac Age: 17 School: Easternhail County Jail
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I was born on November 1st, 2001. Apparently, my Dad wanted to abort me, but my Mom refused against it. He ended up ditching me and Mom a month after I was born. When I was two, Mom ditched me and left me to my Aunt Hera who watches me to this day.
My life with Aunt Hera has been... rough. I know she means well, but I don't think she's ready to open her heart to another living thing since her husband died (I never got to learn his name). She tends to be jumpy and paranoid. She even refuses to leave the house and get a job. We both live off of the money she inherited from her dead husband. And it's also clear that Aunt Hera is struggling to take care of both of us. What'll happen after I graduate from High School is a bit of a mystery.
Ugh... High School... If my Home Life sounds hard,
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Ever since I started school, I knew I didn't fit in. Whenever I tried to make friends in Kindergarten, the other kids would look at me like I had eight heads. They were scared of me. Too scared to bully me. It was 6th grade when people began talk about me behind my back.
I had a plethora of nicknames
Banshee Girl Ghoul Girl Annabelle Emo wannabe Punk wannabe Pale Peggy Bald Bertha Trash Girl
And that's just the names I hear the most often.
For the first years of High School, I did try to make friends. But I quickly learned that once I was thrown into the Unpopular Zone, there was no way I could get out (Unless I somehow became Movie Star Gorgeous over night).
My Junior year of High School was when my torment became more physical. It was subtle at first. The popular girls would purposefully bump into me in the halls, causing me to drop my stuff and be late for classes. But then it began escalating and escalating, now, on my way from School to Home, the Popular Teens will drive by me and throw garbage at me, shouting mean nicknames and throwing up rude hand signs. They sometimes even do this on my way to School, this results my hair being covered in trash and my clothes stained and smelling like crap.
It was like this for while, but one day, something happened...
Suspicion was in the air. That morning, on my way to School, I didn't see a Popular Teen once. When I made it to my locker, I saw a crowd huddled around it. There were teens laughing and taking pictures. It wasn't a good sign when the crowd scattered when they noticed me walking towards them.
Those Wastes of Human Life vandalized my locker. The phrase "BLOODY MARY, BLOODY MARY" was painted vertically across my locker in large, messy black spray paint. With all the shit I had to endure from them, this was my breaking point.
As much as Teachers and Counselors ask, I'm actually not sure what happened. I kinda blacked out, like I wasn't in control of my actions. The only thing I can remember before the Teachers took me to the Principal's office was the Lead Popular (For convenience, I'll call her Navaeh) On the ground, her once pretty face was black and blue with bleeding bruises and she was crying in pain. It was a satisfying sight.
To make an already long story short, it was a miracle I wasn't expelled. One counselor took pity on me. She said she understood what I was going through. But she was wrong. She doesn't know what I go through. No one will ever know what I go though.
As much I would love to vent about every piece of human scum in Easternhail, that, unfortunately, is a topic for another day. It's getting late, and School is tomorrow. Unfortunately.
I'm not actually sure how to end a journal, so I'll just end it with,
Thank you for listening,
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P.S: This journal thing is a lot more satisfying than I thought. I guess this is what the Counselor wanted.
