Hi. My name is Elisabeth Novella Sinclair. I'm sixteen years old. I have dark brown hair and green eyes, and I like to wear the color purple. Here is my 'My Immortal' anti-fanfic. (I have blanked out the excessive swear words so as to protect the viewers' innocence, though if you have read My Immortal you have none left.)

Standing at the edge of the lake, I looked across it to the magnificent castle in which I would attend school. I entered a carriage pulled by invisible thestrals, which are basically undead zombie horses, and enjoyed the ride to Hogwarts.

When I arrived, I unloaded my luggage. I did a quick check; antique steamer trunk (they don't allow suitcases), other antique steamer trunk, cat traveling crate. Luckily, they hadn't lost any of my belongings. I unlatched the door to the cat crate and my cat, Claudia, leaped into my arms. I carried her up the stairs and into the main entrance of Hogwarts.

Immediately, I noticed a girl who was decked out in 'gothic' clothing that was ridiculously tight and slutty. Her hair looked like it took hours to do, and her face was painted like a nightmare clown's. Claudia hissed and fluffed her tail at the girl, who noticed me and stomped over.

I was afraid, but at the same time stifling laughter. She looked so stupid. Just when I decided she couldn't be any more ludicrous and amusing, she opened her mouth.

"Wahts up noo persn, u r not waering f-king Hollister or ofher prep cloze so u must be cool and nott a fu-ing prep, dat eyelinner loks rilly kawai on u," she said. I stared at her. What had come out of her mouth sounded like an African click language, with so many missing vowels and consonants that the words were mangled beyond recognition.

"Um, hi," I said. "I'm Elisabeth Sinclair….."

"Dat nam soundz lik a prep naem!" the strange girl shouted furiously. "R u a prep or wut?"

"No! No! I'm not a, um, prep!" I said, suddenly afraid for my life! She seemed to calm down a little, but glared at me with, oh horror of horrors, red color-contacted eyes.

"R u sure ur not a prep?" she said warily. I wondered what a 'prep' was, and what this girl had against these 'preps'. As far as I knew, it meant 'preparation', but somehow that didn't fit the context.

"No, I'm so not a prep," I said, adding the 'so' on an impulse.

She immediately brightened up. Boy, I thought to myself, this girl's mood swings are worse than PMS. "Ok so if ur not a prep I hav 2 chagne ur nam. Every1 here haz cool namz lik Vampire and Satan. my nam iz Enoby Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way. Im not rel8ed to Gerard but hez so fu-ing hot so I wish I wuz."

I was completely baffled. Satan? Vampire? Dark'ness Dementia Raven? Who, or what, was this Gerard she spoke of? Giving me a new 'nam'? Or, perhaps, it was 'name'? I decided to play along with her, lest she pull out a knife (with bloody gothic lace on it, probably) and slice me up. "Ok, I'll take a new name," I told her, bracing myself.

"OK!1! Im goin 2 call u…..Jezabel Helena Nekochan Midnite!1!" she screamed in my face. I blinked twice. Jezabel? Didn't that mean a prostitute? Helena was a song by some band, I knew that. Nekochan was probably because I was carrying a cat. And Midnight, or 'Midnite', was probably a last-minute attempt at throwing some Goth in there. I immediately regretted ever wearing black in front of this girl. Or eyeliner. Claudia started to claw my arm in a desperate plea to run away from Enoby.

"So Jezabel iz bc ur gonna b sexah when ur wearing the rite cloze, and Helena is lik my favorite song EVER, and nekochan is japanese for cat gurl and ur carryin a cat, and midnite is just cuz it soundz goffik," Enoby explained. Yep, I had been right on the money. At least, that's what I had gleaned from her garbled speech. "Don't let any1 call u anythign else!" she warned. "or else they'll fink ur a prep."

"Um, what is a prep, exactly? I'm kinda new here," I said.

This set her off again. "Only preps don't know what preps r! but maybe since ur new and all u don't know. ok a prep iz sum1 who liks stuff lik pink, Hollister, and hilary f-king duff. I h8 that little b-tch," she spat. "but ur not a prep cuz I gav u a new nam and stuff so ur not a prep. Me and my bf drako and professor trevolry and sum other ppl r having a kutting session in about six hours, six minteus, and six seconds so b there if u don't want to b a prep. Bye, b-tch," she babbled before stomping back to the two black-clad, makeup-painted goth boys she had been hanging out with. One of the boys started to cry. She talked loudly to them and pointed at me a few times before stomping out of the entrance courtyard, with the boys following her like puppy dogs. Claudia finally relaxed in my arms.

I decided that it was safest for me to be on good terms with this girl, even if I hadn't understood half of her last little speech. And as for the six hours, six minutes, and six seconds thing? I just hoped that they weren't planning on sacrificing their blood to the devil.

After being assigned a house (Gryffindor, that probably wouldn't go over well with Enoby), I wandered around for a while. I didn't see Harry, Ron, Hermione, or any of the other famous students, which was quite disappointing. I got to my dorm (password was 'bloody fangz' of all things) and unpacked, flopping down onto my four-poster bed. Some other girls came in and stared at me. "What?" I asked them. "Is this the wrong room?"

They relaxed. "So you're not one of them," one girl said. She was a fairly pretty girl in a Hollister polo. "We thought-that is, Mariette and Cassidy and I thought-that you might be with Enoby. You're wearing black, and you've got cuts on your arms….."

"But I told her that the Zombies don't wear jeans, or carry around cats," another girl in a polo interrupted cheerfully. "They're much too 'goffik'. I'm Cassidy, by the way."

"Zombies?" I asked them, stifling a chuckle. It did seem to describe them.

"The Cliché Zombies are what everyone calls Enoby and her friends," the third girl, also in a polo, explained. "They'd hate it because they think they're all rebellious, but in reality, the self-mutilation, promiscuous or band-featuring black clothing, and makeup abuse is really so clichéd. Plus, they think everyone else is the zombies for liking more mainstream stuff. Oh, and I'm Mariette."

"And you wouldn't notice unless someone told you, but whenever anyone wearing goth crap gets around Enoby, their eyes glaze over and they become ridiculously servile. And sorry for not saying it earlier, but I'm Jenna," the first girl told me.

"Oh, well, I'm not a Zombie," I clarified. "These scratches are from my cat, and I happen to like wearing black every once in a while. It's a versatile color. Speaking of which, what's with the polos?"

The girls looked angry, "She somehow got her Zombie army to turn all our clothes into Hollister," Mariette said through clenched teeth. "I don't know how she did it. One morning, I had a bunch of nice, soft t-shirts and comfy jeans. The next morning, I have nothing but these stupid polos, and dumb Abercrombie miniskirts, and other crap. She thinks anyone who isn't like her is a 'prep' and that we all should be wearing this stuff. You'd better watch out, make sure she doesn't do it to your clothes too."

"Um, I don't think she will," I said, and told them about my encounter with the Cliché Zombie Mistress (as she was evidently called by some). Their mouths hung open before they burst out laughing.

"Jezabel…Helena…." laughed Jenna.

"Neko…..chan…." screeched Cassidy.

"Midnite!" bellowed Mariette. "Oh, that is priceless! What I wouldn't give for a name like that!"

Jenna and Cassidy immediately stopped laughing and stared at Mariette in shock and horror. "No, no, oh god, Mariette!" they wailed in unison. "Why? Why did you say that?"

"Chill out, guys," I told them cautiously. "She was just joking."

They continued to wail and moan. Mariette began screaming "No! No, I didn't mean it! I take it back! It was a joke! No, oh please no…"

I watched in terror as her lips became black, dripping black inch-thick lines of eyeliner appeared on her eyelids, and her face was bleached white. Two metal rings grew out of her eyebrows. The words "POSER PREP" oozed onto her polo in what looked suspiciously like fake blood. Then she dropped to the floor, whimpering.

"What just happened?" I screamed, backing away from them.

"Whenever someone expresses interest in Enoby's little gang without her approval, this happens to them," Cassidy told me, the cheer gone from her voice.

"Wash it off her, quick!" I instructed. "Fake blood should come out of polos."

"It's not fake," Jenna intoned solemnly. "Look at her wrists."

Mariette's wrists were slashed into the same words that were on her shirt. She seemed to be in shock. The other girls waved me away, as though they feared I had contaminated their friend.

I ran out of the dormitories, into the hall, and SMACK into one of the boys who had been hanging around Enoby earlier. He looked strangely familiar, but I couldn't quite place his face. "Sorry," he said in an overly gloomy voice. "Hey ur that gurl who wuz goin 2 da kutting seshon. u probly dont know were it is so I'll show u."

I followed him, taking in the disapproving looks of bystanders. I ducked my head in apology. "Kum on," he said. "Im Vampire btw. Ppl used 2 call me harry potter but now they call me vampire cuz I lik human blood. O, an hermosnie iz b'loody mary now n ron iz Diablo."

So that's why he was familiar! I was horrified, not only by the weird click-language but by the fact that the hero of the wizarding world, not to mention Ron and Hermione, had become a Cliché Zombie. I followed him to what I assume was the Divination room, but the entrance was draped with a curtain that was predominantly black and red. Swatting it aside and noticing an odor of-what I guessed to be-pot, I ducked into the dim room. Some emo-band song was blaring from the speakers. Enoby, the other boy from before, several miscellaneous goths, and an anorexically skinny woman (with dyed black hair that appeared to have been styled by an insane dentist) were all lounging around in beanbags or on the floor. Several were crying. Blood was running down their arms. I considered throwing up.