The Saints Of Mibba

I sometimes wonder why I exist. It scares me. It really scares me to death.

I don't suppose that my story is different or more spectacular on either scale of happiness or sadness. It's not a movie in the making. It's not poetry or art or science. It's dull. It's lifeless. It's a cliché.

The quiet kid. The sweet little girl. The stroppy teenager. The homeless depressive. The adult before her time.

I get so annoyed when people consider their lives to be unliveable. Or unbelievable. (Which is practically the same thing). Some girls at my school claim their lives are like a soap opera - full odd random twists and sickening melodrama. Mine isn't like that - I don't think so at least. Nor is it like one of those horrible voyeuristic child abuse books. I was never abused.

It was just...average. Born, nursery, primary school, high school. I've always figured I would go to university - just part of the course of things. That was my identity. I was the smart, creative one who would become a doctor. My sister was the human sibling. She was popular. She went out at the weekends. She had boyfriends.

I wasn't human. Not in the least.

I looked human but beyond that I wasn't. I couldn't simply love someone or dislike something: it was obsessive love or obsessive hatred. It still is.

For years, Dalmatians dominated my mind. I have no idea how I got onto this but I wanted Dalmatian toys, DVDs, mugs...anything with a white, furry background with black (Or brown in the case of liver-spotted Dalmatians) spots. Then it stopped.

One day, I just didn't give a toss about the Dalmatians. I didn't give a toss about anything. My Granda had died. He had vascular dementia, which had been made worse when he was attacked by a bunch of idiotic teenagers. Amazingly, he forgot he was an alcoholic and never drank again after that day. It still didn't help his stomach. He forgot to eat and forgot he was in pain. He used to think I was a boy but I didn't care - he was my Granda. He was the sole male figure in my life after Dad scarpered when I was little. I only ever seen him once after that - a strange, tattooed man with a blue mohican. Dad was a punk and it broke Mum's heart when I got back into the swing of obsessions: Green Day.

It was new to me, this sort of music. For the past years, I didn't develop a music taste. I just listened to whatever the family did. I was a fan of Elvis Presley, Dr Hook, Elton John, Queen and - strangely enough (Thanks to my Mother) Eminem. I was flicking through the channels and I got hooked. Posters bloomed on my walls and I thought I was a little non-conformist in black eyeliner and band tee-shirts. That faded in sync with Doctor Who.

My current love. I can't help it. I have things like inflatable Daleks in the bathroom and David Tennant on my socks. I love The Doctor - but not David Tennant. It has taken my so long to define whether I loved the actor or the character and it's the character. I love David Tennant as much as Jon Pertwee or William Hartnell. It's relative to the actor.

And I know why...

I found my soulmate. He's alien, he's lonely, he's clever as Hell and he would kill or sacrifice himself for the greater good.

But even then, there is part of me that is darker. There is part of my that wants to kill, that wants to rule, that wants to conquer. I want revenge. There is part of me that wants to see The Doctor die. There's part of me that wants to see me die, to rise again triumphant and glorious and to proceed to kill my enemies and to be rejoiced as a hero and overall brilliant person. I am selfish. I like getting congratulated on my work. I like lazing about every day and eating ice cream.

Sometimes I don't think I will meet expectations. Other days I want to know what are they?

Am I a killer or a saviour? Am I a Master or a Doctor?

All I know is that I've had enough pretending to be human. I've had enough of this dull, quiet life.

I'm ready for the alien auto-de-fé.