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Want to try to make one or see what other people came up with?! Every story will participate in The Doll Palace ratings. Good stories will be awarded with Dollpoints.
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All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
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Hi, my name is Drew
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 | Inconsistent [1] |
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 5 with 6 vote(s)
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| Created: 2008-12-21 20:10:43 |
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The begining is good.. then it starts to slack. But Im writing. Something to be said for my sanity. Enjoy.
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I don't know what you want to hear, but I can tell you what you shouldn't listen for.
No happy endings because I'm still alive – and even if I died, it'd be a tragic, morbid self-inflicted end. No love-lost/love-won kind of sh[i]t either. Quite frankly, I don't believe in love. And I don't care about your opinions on the matter.
There's no sex, no gangs, no drugs, no drama in this story, so I can't promise that it would be interesting at all.
It's just a story like all the others though.
It starts when I wake up. Stops when I sleep.
And it'll never end until I die.
This is a semi-saddening thing since I can't die. Not yet. And I can't live because I don't consider myself alive. Meaning, I can't in fact die if I never lived.
Does this make sense?
Good. I expected you to say that much because the voices in my head are way too quiet right now.
Ok, I'll start over for all the slower people out there.
My name's Andrew. I have a last name. A middle name, too. I have no siblings. My parents died in a car crash six years ago. I was a ten-year old orphan and I never even cried about it. Can you do the math or do you need me to say I'm almost sixteen?
I like sex. Despite being a virgin. I like money. Despite being poor. I like books but I suck at reading. I'm not smart. Despite the fact that I've never failed too seriously, but I have failed a couple of times, thus the while “I'm not smart” issue. And even if it sounds lame, I'm an open book.
Except, this isn't a book.
This isn't a story.
This is life.
As unrealistic as it seems, you have to take it.
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It's time for the dramatics again. I have a hole in my chest. It's bare. And open. Bleeding all over my bathroom floor in harmony with my wrists. Only there's no blood. Just the dramatics.
I wipe the steam off of the mirror and get a good look at myself. There I am. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. No muscles, no fat. Just skin on top of bones. Two nipples. A belly button with no bling. Normal and weird all at once.
I have to say, the person inside this skin has questioned its sexuality multiple times. That's what it means to be a teenager, more and possibly less. It's during this delicate phase that we as a population, a generation if you'd be so kind, begin to feel and notice that our actions have consequences. So, we fall in love. Or think we fall in love. It's weird how that works. But in a good kind of weird way.
I don't know about you, but whenever I see a guy and think he's cute or other explicate thoughts I start to freak out that I'm a freak. Don't get confused: freak is different from weird. It's an advanced stage in the weird-o-meter.
Wait. Where I was I going with this?
Oh yeah. The possibility of me being the G word. And there's nothing wrong with that. Despite the fact that society ostracizes you and your parents/guardians may consider sending you to Bible boot camp three summers in a row.
Now, with my sanity under close surveillance, I have to point out that there's also nothing wrong with being a Christian. Just because they persecuted Jews for centuries because of the ridiculously strange belief that they had perfected the whole "worshipping of God" thing doesn't mean they are crazy people. No... The fact that they can read - which may or may not stem from the Bible and all its good cheer, and lead the leading nations of the world should make them all the more desirable. Look at our fine president and I needn't say more.
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“Drew!” Aunt Stace yelled outside the bathroom door. “Could you hurry up, dear? There are other members of this family.”
I thought of that statement and shuddered. There were eight other members of this household. They were all loud and obnoxious. I hated them all. Not only were they selfish little brats, but they had no respect for personal property and they just annoyed the hell out of me.
“I'll be out in a second,” I replied simply, letting all devilish thoughts remain inside me.
Drying off quickly, I let the water continue to dip from my air. There was no way I was going to risk using the blow dryer again (something about electrocuting myself). Instead, I got dressed and grabbed my car keys from off of the hallway table.
Ten months. It had taken ten months to save up the money to buy the old and unreliable hunk of junk. It was wrecking the environment and there wasn't anything I could do about it. Polar bears were dying and I was trying to beat rush hour so I could carpool my “delightful” little cousins to the mall or their demented little friends' houses.
“Where are you going?” one of my cousins yelled across the front lawn when it was obvious I was leaving.
“I'm minding my own business you twit. You should take notes.” I was being unusually rude.
She threw her basketball at my feet before stomping into the house, whining “I'm telling!”
I didn't wait for Aunt Stace or her second husband Bruce to come out and lecture me. |
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