I'm Not 'Strange' You're Just Way Too 'Normal'

Prologue; Who I A M/Chapter 1; Be Prepared.

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How was itttt??? 8) 

BTW, if somebody could tell my how to add a second 'part', that'd be GREAT. <3 

And yes, I know it's VERY short but...Ah, hell, I was being lethargic. The next 'part' will be longer, I promise. 83 Oh! And don't forget to leave a comment and/or a vote! Thanks so much! <3333

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As I threw open the door to my room, I scanned the place for something I could wear outside. I shuffled through drawers and dressers alike, finally settling on a tight-fitting JTHM (Johnny The Homicidal Maniac, if you don't already know, is one of my many inspirations) tee. I grinned to myself, picking out a reddish shirt to go under it. I yanked on some super-tight black skinny jeans and my favourite converse ever. I also put on a few necklaces, and netted arm-warmers. 

Finally, I was done (Dressing, that is.). I migrated to my mirror, where I slapped on some mascara and eyeliner (HEAVY eyeliner at that), and some eye shadow that complimented my curiously orange eyes (I'd told everyone that they were just contacts). I tucked a bit of my dark brown hair behind my ear, and I proposed myself ready to set foot in the daylight. Before doing so, I put my multiple face-piercings in, and my countless earrings on. 

"Now we're talking," I said to my mirror-self. I sauntered out of my room, down the hallway, and to the front door. I crept outside tentively; more often than not, the sun would scorch my eyes if I wasn't expecting it. I don't really know what causes it, just that it started a few years back. It's really quite a bother when I'm in a hurry(Which also occurs a lot...). I stood there for a few moments, soaking in the sun like some kind of exotic freak, before moving on to my wonderful jet black convertible (A gift from my super rich Aunt Clarice when I was 16). As I turned on the ignition, MSI (Mindless Self Indulgence; another obsession of mine) suddenly started blaring itself from one of the various speakers. I turned it down just a tiny bit before backing out of the driveway. 

Now, here was the part I hadn't thought about. 

Where am I GOING? 

I banged my head against the steering wheel in anguish while the wondrous Jimmy Urine sang in the background, still fairly loud. "The bass, the rock, the mic., the treble; like my coffee black, just like my metal..." He chorused, giving me sudden inspiration. The coffee shop! Me and my friends always go there after school to discuss random, rather insane things. Best of all, The coffee shop never smelled like cigarette smoke (BLEHK.), unlike many other teenage hangouts. Instead, it smelled like my favourite substance in the universe; COFFEE. 

When I had reached this conclusion, it was simply a matter of driving there. I sped away down the street, not stopping to think about what I was doing. I'm always like that; impulsive, hurried, unorganized, stubborn-You get used to it after a while. Though these traits aren't really good ones, and often get me in trouble, I welcome them as part of me. Most of the time. 

I glanced at my in-car clock, to see if school was even out yet, and I was surprised to see it was already 4 o'clock. Sheesh, how long did I sleep in? Then again...I had stayed up till around 1 AM doing homework and such...but still. 

I leaped out of the car when I got there, hurrying inside. I was relieved to see one of my best friends and greatest supporters sitting at a booth with a few of my other friends. Her name was Valencia Ericson(Or Val, as I sometimes nicknamed her), and anyone, ANYONE would agree that she is beautiful. Guys were always flirting with her, because of her obvious curves, huge eyelashes, and pale skin. But that's not what I like about her; She doesn't care what you look like, or what other people think of you. She judges you from the inside. Many people have bad opinions about her (most of them she hasn't even met), probably because they're jealous, but once you talk to her...You know what kind of person she is. I took a seat next to her, and listen to the conversation. Even though I adore my friends, they don't know what I am. I don't want them to, either. Ever since I first found out about what I was (from my mother; she died a long time ago, when I was 5), I've always been terrified they'd find out.