I am looking back at this story and can't figure out if I should laugh out loud or hide forever.
I wrote this story when I was 12 years old, going on 13. Clearly, the writing is horrendous and the plot as angsty as my tween self could make it.
More amusing than the story itself, though, is the drama I created surrounding it. It's been almost a decade, so I don't feel bad about being honest here.
I was clearly a compulsive liar as a tween. Literally anything I wrote in A/Ns? Not even close to the truth. I didn't have any sad stories or interesting friendships. I didn't have any special talents. I literally created not one but two separate fake accounts and "stole" my own story for sympathy.
The only thing special about my 12 year old self was how overwhelmingly average I was. I'm glad my desperate ploys for attention focused on internet strangers and didn't hurt my real life.
Look back at your own online past sometime you need a good laugh and a bit of perspective on how far you've come.
Edward is my homeboy
(literally what was I thinking with this pen name?)