A Book For Intellectuals

It was 1 am when the world first saw my sorry ass. I didn't cry, I didn't wail, I didn't make a fuss. I suppose I was always an intellectual child. Not too talkative-an introvert and easily influenced. While most eight-year olds were thinking about Xbox or nerf guns. I was pouring myself into Shakespearean works and morbid tails of great wars and long-gone Kings. It was lonely. I suppose that's how it all started.

Mum always said being shrewd would get me great places in life... Look at where I am now, 12 years old, first year of high-school, absolutely miserable. School is a place where we should be learning and opporunitising- (insert sparkles and high hopes) but its more like a hell-hole. A deep dark crevasse in the unholy satanic dump that is the world. I don't mean to be pessimistic-this is just how I view the universe, maybe it'll change by the end. Who knows? You must be thinking "it's not that bad, honestly she's over-exaggerating" I hope you know how much I will strive to prove you wrong.

You see, to my naïve, innocent, 11 and-a-half-year-old-self, high-school was uncharted territory, a misty road I may never see the end of. Now that I'm here-I see the situation is a lot more dire than that. There should be essential rules to survive in such an unlawful place.