Divinexs• Show stories

I suppose I should say something about myself, huh?

Sometimes, it really sucks to be an aspiring writer in high school. Talent? I don't know if I have any, but I sure do love to write. Poetry and stories. Horror, romance, action, I've tried it all. Can't say I'm great at all of them, but the majority of my stories are romance. Perhaps words to mask my experience, as shallow as it may be.

Currently in a relationship with a guy who's bound to leave as soon as senior year passes by. Not out of hostility, he has to move. If fate smiles upon me, he'll attend school in Texas. If not, off to MA he goes. I want to spend the rest of this time, concentrating on SAT's and ACT's and school work, and writing enough stories to hold our experiences.

In other words, I want to remember him through these stories. Gosh, I'm glad he's not reading this. I would die of embarrassment.

On another note, my writing is also for self discovery. Corny as it may be, I want to find myself through my writing. What am I good at? What will I be good at? Who am I? What should I be?

My life has been simple. A high school senior passing through high school fluttering between the ranks of the top ten, I'm number 9, unfortunately. An agnostic--once Aetheist, and before, Catholic--in the midst of a deeply religious Catholic family, trying to find her way out of this web. I dearly hope to offend no one and be on my merry way, but obviously, such is not possible when my mother is in constant denial of my beliefs.

As for the agnostic thing, it's not that I believe in a higher being. More like a force, not necessarily higher. Coexisting, perhaps. A force that pushes along, to meet one another, to connect all of us together in a web that is somehow very unique. The abstract part of us. Very unique, very interesting, very fascinating.

What do I want to be? A detective, because Sherlock Holmes kicks ass, but my deduction skills are horrible when it comes to dead bodies. I can hardly look at dead bugs let alone a person laying in the middle of a dumpster with his guts spilling out. An engineer of some sort, because my teacher is an inspiration, but technicalities are not my friend. My mind works in short cuts, going from one thought to another as soon as I'm in the middle of my sentences, thus making public speeches one of my shortcomings in life. A forensic investigator, hah, see detective. A bum for life, if only, right? My parents would rather kill me than let me leech their money.

My dreams? As morbid as it sounds, I want to be part of the cleaning up the end of the world crew. Perhaps a messiah complex, I've written stories about being one of the main figures of this Revelation-scenario apocalypse. Can't help it. One has to wonder about the excitement of this world. I wish to explore the world of cryptzoology and other supernatural subjects. Merely out of the curiosity of their existence and the possible changes it could make to the natural laws of physics and the wonderful things it could do to our world.