Everybody's Fool

I dread school.

I'm tired of people who think I'm a freak just because I'm Gothic. Gothic people aren't always what people say or think about us. It's not true that all the Gothic people in this world worship Satan and slit their wrists for the hell of it. They don't practice witchcraft like the way people say or they don't practice it at all. I'm Gothic and I don't do any of that. It seems that I'm smacked in the middle of everything that has to do with dark, depressing, gothic, and morbid things. I mean, I love torture, blood, serial killers, and death and everything, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be the way everyone says so. Yeah, I'm different from everyone else. I think different, I'm independent, smart, and so what?

So now, here I am, walking in the hallway at my high school. I just recently put red streaks in my long black hair and I'm wearing black eye liner, black mascara, and black nail polish. I'm wearing a black shirt that says "CRAZY ENOUGH TO KILL (AND SMART ENOUGH TO GET AWAY WITH IT)" on the front and on the back it said "IT IS BETTER TO BE HATED FOR WHAT YOU ARE THAN TO BE LOVED FOR WHAT YOU ARE NOT." I love that shirt, for those are two of my mottos (and it was all thanks to Slipknot's guitarist Mick Thompson who loves serial killers and now I love them too, so why do you think I love the SAW movies?) My pants are black with skinny white strips and a chain. My boots are black as well. The necklace I am wearing is a wicked jester (you can go to Wicked Jester.com to see what the jester looks like).

Everyone is staring at me. I can hear them whispering about me. How stupid do they think I am? I can hear everything they're saying. This has always been going on ever since I can remember (don't ask, don't know). Some of them say that it's wrong to be Gothic. But if I could tell them something about that, I'd tell them,

"It's better to be an open sinner than a false saint." I got that line from a shirt at Wicked Jester.com and I thought it was great. Today, I'm just going to be myself and ignore everyone.

During lunch time, I sat all by myself at a table as usual. Hey, I'm used to it. I lone it and I am okay with it. Suddenly, this girl comes up to me. She's no more than sixteen.

"Do I know you?" she asked me.

"No. Why should you?" I replied.

"You look every familiar. I saw you in the newspaper. You must be that Gothic girl in the paper that was raped." She stated.

"I don't think so. I've never been in the weekly paper." I said.

"Hey everyone look! It's the freak from the newspaper!" she shouted to everyone in the lunch room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at me. I felt so embarrassed. I didn't know what the girl was talking about. What gothic girl?

As the days passed, people kept talking about me and how I was in the weekly newspaper. I had my very own article and my picture was in the newspaper too. The article was about when I was raped by Paolo. I saw the article myself when I was at home and after I read the newspaper and saw my picture, I threw it at the wall. It mad me feel angry, but I didn't feel any rage. They were right. Now, everyone knows who I am.

When more people knew who I was, I decided to lock myself in my bedroom. I would never come out ever again. I would become reclusive. I didn't want to be famous for the wrong reason. Now, I know the truth about me and I know who I am.

I took one of my pens and scribbled over my picture in the newspaper because I hated it. I didn't want to have anything to do with it. People know me for the wrong reason and they don't know me for who I am, they only know me for what I was in the newspaper for.

"Look here she comes now. Bow down and stare in wonder." I thought of this Evanescence song called "EVERYBODY'S FOOL".

I was betraying myself.

I walked into the bathroom, turned on the light, and stared into the mirror. I tried to smile, but I thought I had an ugly smile.

"Why doesn't anyone see me but you?!" I said, talking to my reflection in the mirror. I was now distraught.

"You don't know how you betrayed me! Oh you're so perfect! Everyone loves you and sees you. No one can see me!" I exclaimed, sounding distraught .

I stopped talking to my reflection and stared at it. I was ugly (well I think I am). 'You are all what everyone needs. I hate you. You have everyone fooled.' I thought. After a minute passed, I turned my head away from the mirror. 'I can't find myself, I'm lost in your life.'

Finally, I looked back at the mirror and talked to my reflection, again.

"I know who you are. And, I don't love you anymore." I stated to myself and my reflection.

"You're so ugly. Everyone hates you and they all wish you were dead..." the voice in my head said to me. I clasped my hands over my ears.

"Shut up. Leave me alone!" I said.

"But who else are you going to talk to? You have no one and I'm just telling you the truth." the voice in my head replied.

"Go away!" I yelled at myself. "I hate you!"

Then, I thought, 'I have no one. No one's here for me.'

I could feel the pressure and all my feelings building up inside of me. No...I can't let this build up inside of me. It was killing me, not helping me. I want it to all go away right now and I want that voice in my head to just leave me alone. Why is that too much to ask? I think it is, but it must be.

"Go away." I whispered. The voice in my mind kept talking to me over and over again and it wouldn't stop tormenting me...

All of a suddenly, I put my right hand into a fist, I raised my fist, and punched the mirror so hard that I broke the mirror. The mirror was now all shattered and pieces of broken glass was all over the counter top and the tile floor. I had cut right hand real badly. I winced and pulled my wounded hand back. Dark red blood gushed out of my hand. I swore under my breath and wrapped tissues around my cut hand. The blood seeped through, but it would do for now.

Then, tears flooded my eyes and streamed down my face. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't deal with myself anymore. I don't love myself, I hate myself so much that I wish I was dead (like my older brother who abuses me tells me that).

"You're not real and you can't see me." I sobbed to myself.

"I'm not real and I'm dead on the inside."