Ch. 1

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tw:// mentions of drugs, mild violence

this does sort of criticize religion, but it's my own personal views on it and the harmful side of it. I know not all religious people are this way, this is based off of my experiences of growing up in a small religious community. any criticism should not be taken to heart because I am still religious myself, I just don't support the institution.

***

First Person POV

I've never really liked speaking to anyone.

It wasn't that I hated people. Well, sometimes, I did, but really I thought nothing much of people. I just didn't like talking. I don't mind listening too much, I listen well but I won't respond often.

Actually, scratch that. I don't listen well, I hardly comprehend what anyone else says.

I suppose that's why quarantining from everyone wasn't too difficult. It was a rather easy task staying six feet away from others and remaining indoors as much as possible, at least for me. I didn't do much during those months; just listened to the radio, sat outside, sometimes went swimming, occasionally I'd read, and even write. Overall I had quite a nice time.

School wasn't it for me anyways - this much I knew. Constant assignments made learning horrible. Plus, everyone was an asshole in high school. Not to say that I'm above everyone else - I'm definitely an asshole, too.

Which is why it bewildered me that someone like this fucking guy would want to be anywhere near me.

I live in a small town in Nebraska, so everyone knew everyone else's drama and everyone was stubbornly complacent in their foolish traditional views. There are approximately five confederate flags on the same block where I live. There is very little diversity in this stupid town: almost all white people. Not that white people are necessarily bad, per se, but a group ignorant white people is horrid.

I was at the gas station. It was around 11pm on a Friday night and I had a craving for some m&ms so there I was. Just like anyone else who visited the gas station late at night, I was dressed like a bum. Big pants with paint stains on them, sweatshirt that's been worn too well over the years and a bucket hat to mask my unwashed hair was the look that night. Not that the eight people inside gave me or anyone else a second glance.

As I left the gas station with a bag of large m&ms, I noticed a man step out of his car. I continued walking, as that's how I had gotten here (I only lived a few blocks away). The man walked slightly behind me, and at first I didn't care, people were weird. I just walked a little bit faster. He continued following, and before I got too close to my house, I turned around.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He looked at me. He was short, but taller than me. His hair was matted and uneven, and he had a stunned look on his face. Clearly, he hadn't expected the seventeen year old girl he was following to actually do anything. There were bruises on him; five, six, seven - no, ten. Across his face and arms there were ten bruises, ranging in color from light purple to dark blue and green.

"Go away." I told him. I really was not in the mood.

This appeared to pull him from his state of shock, as he smiled. Two teeth were missing, another four seemed ready to follow.

"No, I actually have other plans." He grinned. I stepped backwards, into the light of the street lamp behind me.

At least people might be able to see whatever was about to happen, I guess.

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