Have you ever wanted to belong, to fit in and be liked and respected by every single kid in High School? That's what I wanted: to fit in. I've always been insecure-a deep rooted loathing towards nobody but myself lived within my very being-and in having that hatred, I strived for something that was not needed: popularity. But I didn't know the price, the cost, for this unnecessary goal; I didn't know that in order to gain something, something would have to be sacrificed in return.
Have you ever made a joke or joked with some of your buddies that you thought was hilarious? That's what I did all the time, whether it was me going solo or surrounded by my buds, because it was who I was: a joker. I've always been a kidder around kind of guy because it was the only thing I knew how to be to release the tension and stress that littered my plate; I know some of my jokes are little to harsh, a little to "that's not funny", but I still made them because it had become such a habit, a drug, that I truly just could not stop. And unfortunately for me, I got a wake-up call when I thrown into rehabilitation upon learning the consequences that my "jokes" had.
Have you ever hated anyone so much that you just use any weapon available to knock them down? That's exactly what I did: knock them down. I hated, and in having that hatred for that individual I used everything and anything against them-whether it was a phrase they uttered or a bruise coloring their face, I used it. I'm a grudgful individual, I know that, and if you do even the slightest thing to me, I'll have you on my black list quicker than you could say "sorry"; this is my worst flaw. But I never knew just how much hatred had blinded me until all I saw was red, never knew how cruel and gnarled my soul became the more I was tainted-Not until the day my hatred was replaced by sorrow and grief.
Have you ever made fun of someone because of how they dressed, or what they packed for Lunch? That became a constant theme for me regarding this one individual: I picked on them for their looks-the baggy jeans and worn-to-many-times, hole littered shirt-and for their personality-the shy, quiet, stuttering personality. All because they didn't look like me. I'm judgeful by nature, and anyone who doesn't look, eat, or act similarly to me is instantly shunned; was it cold? Yes, but did I care? No. I didn't because it was just who I was. I was raised well, I lived well, therefore, anyone who does not fall under the category "well" is not a friend of mine. But one day, I learn just how horrible of a creature I was when I realize that not all appearances are as simple as they seem.
My name is Angeline Mariela Celine.
My name is Trenton Martin King.
My name is Sharon Jade Abbot.
My name is Chase Kellie Martin.
And these are our stories.
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Heroes
Teen Fiction"No one sits with him, he doesn't fit in. But we feel like we do when we make fun of him." "No one talks to her, she feels so alone. She's in too much pain to survive on her own." "No one talks to him about how he lives, he thinks that the choices...
