Dear, Bad Neighborhood.

Dear, Bad Neighborhood.

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Todos somos iguales dicen, ¿cierto? Todos somos seres humanos, todos tenemos nuestra forma de auto-destruirnos y construirnos. La mía era diferente, soy una adolescente depresiva, una persona invisible, una persona muy diferente a los demás, con diferentes sentimientos por dentro y una manera particular en la que me afectan las cosas, una persona sensible. Simplemente yo, una persona cansada de tanta mierda cómo todos. Una persona a la que le rompieron el corazón más de una vez y no todas por enamorarse de la persona incorrecta, sino amigos y familiares. Sin embargo sigo aquí.
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"There are stories that shake the heavens. Tales of warriors, lovers, and empires lost to time. This... is not one of them." This is the story of four idiots and their relentless pursuit of chaos. No one knows exactly when or how it began. Some say it was written in the stars, a celestial alignment of drama and questionable life choices. Others claim it was forged in the dark depths of a group chat that refused to die, surviving where countless others fell. But we, the ones who lived it, know the truth. It all began with a simple message. One notification, innocent at first. And then another. And another. And before the world knew what had happened, a chat had been created-not out of friendship, not out of loyalty, but out of pure, undiluted nonsense. This was no ordinary gathering. No, this was a divine conspiracy. The universe, in its infinite wisdom, had brought together four forces of nature, four unstoppable personalities that should never have coexisted in one place. A walking enigma who only speaks once every eclipse and when he does, someone's self-esteem is obliterated. A linguistic war criminal who speaks in English so advanced, it loops back into nonsense. And a demonic archivist who remembers everything, hoarding screenshots like an ancient scribe preparing for the ultimate blackmail war. A hopeless romantic who sees the moon as his only loyal companion-forever lost in grand love tragedies, sighing poetry to the night while the world moves on without him. Together, we became the MUSKmelons. Not friends. Not allies. A cult. We have seen things. Chats that should never have been read. Confessions that should never have been made. Love stories born and brutally murdered in real time. No moment of weakness is ever forgotten. No message is ever truly deleted. And no one, not even the strongest among us, is safe. So, enter at your own risk.

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