Razorblade Charm
So long, goodnight
'My image conjours thoughts in your head,
Thinking I would be better off dead.
Just cos I wear this razorblade charm,
To remind me to never put scars on my arm.'
Ryan Petrelli
" Good luck for the move," our neighbour, Eliza, says to Mum. We're gathered outside the house, our belongings packed up and placed carefully in the removal van's. Mum is saying goodbye to our neighbours while the car waits, the engine purring gently. My little sister, Kate, is clutching a cage, with our fat golden hamster, Simon, snoozing inside. She is whispering to him, poking her fingers through the bars.
Kate's life looks so simple, so innocent. I wish.
We're moving all because of me. I get called names at school, I get bullied, I get beaten up. I used to get beaten at home too. It all got too much, and I made Mum search for another house miles away from my problems.
If I run far enough, the problems will loose me.
I have spent my life running, and I just want to settle down. Is that too much to ask? Someone, somewhere, must have it out for me.
" Well done, Ryan Petrelli!" they said when I was born. " You have the plesure of being burdened with all the troubles in the world!"
" Goodbye, Ryan!" calls Eliza. " Good luck and God bless!"
Eliza always says that to me. She is the type of woman who comments on how tall I am , and frequently asks how old I am, as if I've aged a year within five minutes. She means well, but it irritates me.
I'm fourteen, shy of fifteen. Not that I look it. I am stupidly short and skinny and pale with big eyes and floppy hair. I shove on a load of make-up to hide it.
Then people think they have a right to make my life a misery.
" So long, goodnight," I say. Yeah, cheesy. I use lyrics in everyday life, which got me noticed straight away. Not in a good way.
Mum sighs and glances in my direction. I've caused her pain, I've made her cry. I'm a disappointment, I know that.
Sometimes, I feel remorse. Most of the time I just think this is how I am, deal with it. I like dressing out of a Tim Burton movie and owning more make-up than Lindsey Lohan.
Shame other people don't.
I get in the car, open the window and plug myself into my iPod. Kate slips in the seat next to me and places Simon on my lap as she fastens her seatbelt. Her soft honey-blonde hair falls forward and she bends over, revealing a pink ballerina's neck. Kate is a typical girly-girl-she has dance lessons, owns dimonte hair slides, halfs Forever Friends neck-charms and dresses in little gingham dresses. It usually makes me sick, but I love my sister too much.
Mum gets in the car, and we start to drive. We drive and drive and drive, and arrive at a posh, richly furnished town. We pass a sign, cream with navy paint.
' Welcome to Plesentville'
Thinking I would be better off dead.
Just cos I wear this razorblade charm,
To remind me to never put scars on my arm.'
Ryan Petrelli
" Good luck for the move," our neighbour, Eliza, says to Mum. We're gathered outside the house, our belongings packed up and placed carefully in the removal van's. Mum is saying goodbye to our neighbours while the car waits, the engine purring gently. My little sister, Kate, is clutching a cage, with our fat golden hamster, Simon, snoozing inside. She is whispering to him, poking her fingers through the bars.
Kate's life looks so simple, so innocent. I wish.
We're moving all because of me. I get called names at school, I get bullied, I get beaten up. I used to get beaten at home too. It all got too much, and I made Mum search for another house miles away from my problems.
If I run far enough, the problems will loose me.
I have spent my life running, and I just want to settle down. Is that too much to ask? Someone, somewhere, must have it out for me.
" Well done, Ryan Petrelli!" they said when I was born. " You have the plesure of being burdened with all the troubles in the world!"
" Goodbye, Ryan!" calls Eliza. " Good luck and God bless!"
Eliza always says that to me. She is the type of woman who comments on how tall I am , and frequently asks how old I am, as if I've aged a year within five minutes. She means well, but it irritates me.
I'm fourteen, shy of fifteen. Not that I look it. I am stupidly short and skinny and pale with big eyes and floppy hair. I shove on a load of make-up to hide it.
Then people think they have a right to make my life a misery.
" So long, goodnight," I say. Yeah, cheesy. I use lyrics in everyday life, which got me noticed straight away. Not in a good way.
Mum sighs and glances in my direction. I've caused her pain, I've made her cry. I'm a disappointment, I know that.
Sometimes, I feel remorse. Most of the time I just think this is how I am, deal with it. I like dressing out of a Tim Burton movie and owning more make-up than Lindsey Lohan.
Shame other people don't.
I get in the car, open the window and plug myself into my iPod. Kate slips in the seat next to me and places Simon on my lap as she fastens her seatbelt. Her soft honey-blonde hair falls forward and she bends over, revealing a pink ballerina's neck. Kate is a typical girly-girl-she has dance lessons, owns dimonte hair slides, halfs Forever Friends neck-charms and dresses in little gingham dresses. It usually makes me sick, but I love my sister too much.
Mum gets in the car, and we start to drive. We drive and drive and drive, and arrive at a posh, richly furnished town. We pass a sign, cream with navy paint.
' Welcome to Plesentville'