A sketchbook lays open on the floor, splotches of dried blood and tears cover the drawings. A shattered glass bottle lays beside it with splatters of a black substance mixed with cyan. "Hah. I don't think the alphabet should be rearranged to help someone like you. Maybe next time you'll think before you try." This story is loosely based off the tale of my life. Readers beware it contains sensitive topics in some chapters and self humiliation in others. Angsty. Has sin in the following chapters yet to come.