Bandaid covers the bullet hole

Disclaimer: Another song title belonging to Scarling. Too lazy to think of one. And I don't own Naruto.

This new fic (that I probably shouldn't even be starting) is the result of what happens when you listen to nothing but Coheed and Cambria for 9 hours while reading Johnny The Homicidal Maniac and eating Rasinettes. Another NejiSaku. I just like Neji a lot. Probably my third favorite character from Naruto after Orochimaru and Gaara. I love Orochimaru I don't care what anyone says. And well, Gaara is pretty much self-explanatory.

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the day. I shuffled my feet as I slowly walked home. I stared sullenly at the boy in front of me. I've been sitting next to him for seven years in a row. He still doesn't know I exist. His name is Neji. He's the very definition of perfect. Smart, athletic, extremely hot, and polite. To put it in a way that would best describe his perfection, you'd almost expect Neji to be gay if it weren't for his ex-girlfriend. His hair was split-end free. Dandruff was a mythical disease to him. Fat was not in his vocabulary, neither was pimples, it seemed. He speaks gorgeous fluently, to put it plainly. But his eyes. His eyes were the cherry on the sundae. They were the color, or perhaps, the tint of the frost you get on the glass in the winter time. It's hard to describe. But when you find the correct words to describe it you feel almost content, just because you know how to describe his eyes. But what do I know about content?

I have nothing going for me. I'm not smart. I'm not athletic. I'm not pretty. I don't have a "good personality". But there is one thing I am pretty good at. I've been known to do a shockingly realistic ghost impression. Just ask anyone in my class. They'd tell you I was practically invisible. But somehow there is someone who beats me at that too. You know you've hit rock bottom when you go psycho because you're not even the best at being the worst. That's the thing that makes me hate myself the most. I'm not special. Not even in the special ed way. To tell the truth, I'd rather be wearing adult diapers and drooling like a leaky sink than being me. I'm far from content.

Now, being ignored all my life has lead me to be bitter toward almost everything I've come to know. But if there is one person I hate the most it's me.

Me- a brief definition.

Me equals living in a huge house with parents who don't care about me, kids who ignore my existence, if not, ridiculing it (see ironic), and teachers who mark me absent every day because they don't know who I am.

This is me. And frankly, I hate this person. We've all have had one of those days where we wake up wishing we were someone else. Somehow "one of those days" for me has stretched for almost all of my life. Yet, I still feel like my existence has no purpose if I don't log the day's events in a notebook. I used to prefer calling it a notebook. Call me neurotic but back then I didn't want to be too trusting with the blank book by calling it a "diary". But over the years I've learned better. "Dear diary" sounds better than "dear composition notebook" or "dear piece of paper". I felt a small smile tug at the ends of my lips as I opened my notebook and began to write.

Dear Diary,

Today was a day like any other. Or so I thought. It happened in history. Although, the class wasn't particularly interesting it was what happened inside the class. Everything was normal at first; the teacher talked about the serial murders going around the school. Last night Ms. Tyreesha was murdered(A/Nit's weird how she's mentioned in almost all of my fics). She was the twentieth victim, all of them women. The teacher says to be careful because any one of us girls could be the next victim. I bet I'm the only one who's praying to be. I looked over to Neji. He was looking intently at his pencil in boredom. I would have killed to have that same look to be fastened on me. Not so much because I've taken a liking to his super star attitude or his breath taking eyes. But more because he's the kind of person who, when he notices you, gives you his full, undivided attention, something I've been coveting my whole life. But it could be just those almost-horrifyingly beautiful eyes.

The teacher went on about how scared she was. Neji rolled those gorgeous eyes. Then it happened. He looked at me. For a second I could see my reflection in them, they were so glassy and perfect. But as quickly as he glanced in my direction he was back staring at the pencil. Then Sasuke, class bastard stood up. He said the killer was a coward for only killing women and if he was a real man he'd kill men too. All the other girls shrieked and immediately begging him to protect them all. It brought great amusement to me when he was found dead later on that day in the locker room, his bloodied head drilled open.

But, diary, what truly made my day great was how the annoying shriek of the small electric drill was drowned out by the scream he made as the life drained from those obsidian eyes and the drill cracked his skull open.

Call me vauge but I like to keep my entries short. I think it makes me sound a lot more sophisticated. But, I mean really, who am I but just your average, everyday teen serial killer on the prowl?

I may just cry.

It's too short and I feel like jumping out of a 50 foot building. I suck. I just do. And everything else sucks in general. I even suck at things I'm supposed to do, like eating and sleeping. The fat girl I sit by is trying to force feed me and I haven't slept in a week. This ugly kid is stalking me. And Christian doesn't go to my school so I just go through the day like a robot. But deep down I have this urge to stab everyone who pisses me off in the face. I try to be happy but I'm going insane and homicidal. Oh wait, no, I was always like this. I'm probably going to delete this anyways. So um review?