Teenagers Scare The Living Shit Out Of Me

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I hate high school.
And that's not "Oh I don't like to work" or "Oh I don't like the people there" (although I don't, they're all bastards). No, I just hate high school.

I've always had a hard time in school though: I'm emo, I wear makeup, I'm a loner, I like DnD, Audrey Hepburn, Harry Houdini and croquet. I can't swim, can't dance and I don't know karate. Let's face it, I'm never gonna make it.

Oh yes - and I'm gay. I have never tried to hide it but sometimes I wish I had- I've never been a day without being called a faggot. You get used to it though, eventually, you become numb and don't feel the sharp pain that the words used to strike into your heart but instead feel a sense of indifference and familiarity, the same feeling as if someone was saying your name. Hell, my name may as well be Gerard The Fag at this point.

So I'm sure you can imagine my shock when I found the note in my locker. It was the end of the day and I decided to pick some things up that I'd left in there (I'm lazy and can't be assed carrying my shit round with me, sue me). It was like a scene from a typical teen romance movie; I opened my locker and it glided out onto my Doc Martins. I assumed that it was just one of the guys who bullied me being a dick again so I didn't open it but put it in the pocket of my black Misfits hoodie. How the hell did whoever the fuck wrote this know which locker was mine anyway?

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