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Rated: 13+ · Prose · Emotional · #910073
A girl stuck in a strange place? Maybe.
I used to think that I was a forgotten person; nothing more than a ghost amongst the living. I was wrong. I wasn't a ghost, I was a shadow. An ominous figure of a young child's mind! That is what I was. I was a scary monster lurking around every corner, on every street, lurking there like I was going to lash out and strike with a massive clawed paw. These stories came from people who didn't even know me. Heck, they didn't want to know me so they spun vulgar yarns about me. These people are known as teenagers.
I prefer to call these creatures vultures, though. In my eyes, that is what they are. They pick at someone who isn't as "good" as they are, and they just keep picking and picking until there is nothing left. The vultures turned me into an ominous shadow. I am not mad at them, no. I am glad because they turned me into a monster worse than them. I bet they have turned many of you into monsters. I am going to tell you something about the vultures. We were once one of them and part of the vulture still remains. Those vultures had proven that I didn't need to belong in any cliques or have groupies. They showed me that having a clique isn't what it's cut out to be.
Where I come from, to be in a clique, you have had experience smoking 'pot', drinking alcohol, getting thrown in jail, spending money on expensive clothing, being skinny, have a boyfriend or girlfriend, and many other things that I wish not to state. I showed myself off as a person who hasn't done any of those things, but in fact, I have shot down a bottle of alcohol, tied the happy plant, purchased overly expensive clothing, been in a fight, and I am skinny. Obviously I'm not skinny enough for these vultures. Being able to see your bones sticking out is just plain wrong. That's how I am, and yet I am not skinny enough to be in any cliques. So, I said the heck with them. Why kill yourself to be popular or in a clique? There is no point.
Well, now you know me. So judge me for who I am. Not how I look, how I act. I'm just a person crying out for help, not this ominous shadow that you've made out of me.
To some of you readers, I am just rambling on and on about this and that and not making any sense. Maybe you have to read more than once to understand my journal.
© Copyright 2004 Cassandra C. (ccheguis at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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