Chapter One: The Beginning

Before I never was a bitter person. Others used to describe me as the sun in their world of light, but now, there's nothing left of the old me. Nothing but the hatred for my mother, father, and old friends. You know the expression life's a B; oh you haven't seen the beginning. Welcome to Darkville, population haunted.

...The honking of New York City traffic buzzed as people strolled through the streets, chattering away on their phone talking of the world's most annoying nonsense. Teenagers rode in their new sport cars their wealthy families granted them for their birthdays as the poor rode buses and walk in the crowds. The air in the heart of New York always was clammy with the hazards from factories. You could always count on getting a headache when needed in this part of town, too loud to hear yourself correctly.

Just another day I thought warily. Will I ever escape this life? I've never understood politics and all the business talk everyone shouts about in debate clubs, but things government officials do are obviously wrong. Just recently we went under a depression.

Everyone was taxed out of their jobs and home for the wrongs the republicans did. They won office to just completely destroy our economy, but what do I know? I'm just a teenage girl, who's supposed to bat her eyes at teachers, family, and cute boys.

Slipping through the crowd, I take the fork in the alley, sliding past the new, extravagant apartments, to the downtown beaten houses. The windows were cracked and the interior and outside painting worn, faded from the colors of life to dull, gray clouds. The apartments had no air condition or heat so when the chills from the east come, the limbs on your body want to lay like icicles.

On the stairs is nice man Turner. He always attends church in his Sunday best and rehearsed jokes all through the night. The jolly elder always brightens the darkest day in New York life, his laugh shattering tensions. I ascend up the step passing the elder to be attacked in his good nature. "How was school today Amu?" he asked. "Well enough to live through." With a wave, I jump through the door and sail straight to apartment 283 on the right. The jingles of my keys descend down the hall while I grasped them, shoving them in the lock.

Just walking through the door, the smell of our burnt dinner smashes slam-dam in my face, an unhealthy and unpleasant atmosphere to abide in. I run through the living room straight pass my mother tossing my greeting behind me and stroll to the back room on the left, my privacy and freedom. The doors fly open as I jump a mile to reach my bed. At first contact, I snuggle my pillows and covers as I would a dead relative who regained life, suffocating myself in the warmth of being to myself in my own little world. A world with no worries of school or boys, friends, and family. The magical lands that aid me escape my parent's recent divorce. The pain that engulfs my emotions from a strong, bottomless ocean, into a creek so small where no life lives, my heart and my true soul of everlasting worry over how unfair life is to me, but no matter, I live through it, not that anyone will care.

My Mom and Dad became enraged with each other. I never understood to why, but when the word affair slashed from my mom from at my father, my walls of a happy family crashed into pieces so small, nothing would mend it. The paint of bright happiness dulled to the color of the thin line on the Heart Rate Monitor, only the life line it read disappeared, died long ago.

The pain they forced me to endure was unbearable. I wanted to died, shred my hair from my head, slash the pale skin that clings to my body with a satisfying sensation, but no, that never came. Instead three years of therapy did. "Your father left. You're not to blame. You did all a child could do." They don't understand! They never would, not in my world, I won't let them. Their sympathy isn't wanted, needed. Why don't they just put me on display like those crazies who never released the bitter thought that this was their fault? The world sucks, life sucks. Why do we live in the first place? Does god hate me or what?

"Amu?" I knew behind those doors was the woman, the last woman on Earth I'd want to see. I stayed silent, hoping, just hoping I she believed I went to bed early again. "Amu, dinner's ready; are you coming" she asked with hopefulness, you could always tell her emotion by her voice. Tender, sweet, loving; which could also lash purely venomous at any given moment. "I'd appreciate your attendance once in a while." I remained silent, letting the buzz of neighborhood life fill the soundless moment. A high pitched sigh, which somehow caught itself in my throat release as footsteps descended down the hall and into the kitchen.

Many people would think I'm cruel to ignore my mother, but if they condemned my torture, they'd surely understand, almost positively. The T-Mobile chime echoed throughout the room, the sweet chime of Aunty Celestine's call. Jerking for the phone, I picked up right before I missed her.

"Hello" she cheered with bright enthusiasm. "Oh Aunty, it's been so long! Are you planning to visit?" The phone became silent, too quiet to be good news I thought bitterly. "Honey; are you behaving with your mother? Please try to, at lease for her sanity. You know she lost your sister to Ami so please-" "No! Why should I? I thought you'd understand the most, I can't; not after the way she treated me through the part I need her the most. She left me all confused and upset. NO!" finishing I hung up, sobbing uncontrollably, shuddering on the dirt filled, musty room rug I got as a child. I haven't a clue how long I cried, but I awoke to the bright rays of sunlight filtering into the shades of the tinted window.

Sitting upright in bed, I wiped the crust from the corner from my eye socket, gagging at the taste of morning breath. When I first opened my eyes, the light seemed blinding, a took a few minutes to adjust. Maybe today will be a better day? Let's hope so.