Don't read this if you are happy

Chapter #1

Some people can brush things off their shoulders, She however, could never do that.

Or maybe She doesn't even try. Who knows, she's only a little white girl who likes to spill her mind onto pieces of paper that she will later crumple up and and throw into an endless box of despair. Where all of her useless scribbles go.

She feels that one day she will open that box of despair and somehow feel curious to what all of the scribbles mean. But she knows that she will probably burn the box before that time ever comes. Because she feels  that that's what is necessary  to get her into the deepest pit of hell. Where she can draw on the walls and then suffer for all her 'mis-doings'.

Her 'drawings' are never in colour. Because she feels that if she drew them in colour, it would attract someone.
And she doesn't want that.
No, she doesn't want that at all.
Because whenever she makes a friend, she screws up their mind and fucks things up.
Because she.
Is.
Her.

She doesn't want her mother to know about these 'drawings' because that would make things worse between her and her mother.
Her mother already hates her.
Her mother already hates everything that she used to love including her sweet little daughter.
Her mother used to be kind, and loving.
Until she. Fucked. Things. Up.

She had gotten in the way of of her mothers lovey dovey relationship with her selfish, two-faced father who lied to her mother and cheated on her with 17 girls.
Because her father was a drug addict, and an alcoholic, and an overweight bastard.
And her mother fell for him.
Yes, she fell into a deep, inescapable rabbit hole. But not the one that Alice fell down, because Alice got out. And her mother didn't.

It wasn't really, her fault. Her mother just blamed it all on her because she was bored and had nothing else to do with her life. Because her mother found out that her silly old husband had been woopsy doopsy having sex with other women half his age.
Her mother.
Was not.
Pleased.

Her mother was not pleased at all, and boy should she tell.
When she got home from another torturous day of school she walked into a literal mess.
Her mother was a mess.
The house was a mess.
She was a mess.

The tv screen had been smashed with a hatchet.
All of the food was gone.
All of the pictures with swirly frames outlining wedding photos had been emptied, with the photo ripped up beside it.
The couch that they used to cuddle on whilst her father drank red wine straight from the bottle.
And her mother.
Her mother was by the fridge, sobbing while muttering words of despair.
She said things like "cheating bastard" and "lying cunt" and "pathetic fucking man-child".

And so that night, she drew a dove, a pretty little white dove, with a bullet through its heart, and her father with the gun.