So this story will be in Maka's Point Of View. I hope you enjoy reading it. :)

Maka's Point Of View

I clutch the book tightly, hugging it to my chest, like it can protect me from myself. The book is about a girl my age - sixteen - named Blair. She has a perfect body and is loved by everyone. Her life is better than mine in every possible way. Except she is not real. She is fiction. Made up by a lonely soul who wrapped all of her dreams up in the book's pages. That's why I love it. It's full of desperate hopes and dreams that are screaming to become real. Sadly, they never will be real.

I sort of envy Blair for not having to be a part of the real world. This world is a cynical, horrible, awful place. A place like this shouldn't exist. At least, that's my opinion.

Some people can't tell the difference between reality and the fantasy world. Those kinds of people have almost perfect lives, which is how the line between fiction and the real world becomes blurry to them. It gets hard for them to tell the difference between the two. I feel sorry for those people. On the other hand, who am I but a hypocrite? My only escape from the world is the fantasies and happily ever afters of the wonderful world of books.

It wasn't always like that. I used to be happy all of the time, with a delicate smile always adorned on my face. I had a lovely life full of caring parents, nice friends, and good grades. I used to be wrapped up in happiness. The funny part is, I thought the blissful happiness would never end. I was so naive. I hadn't learned the lesson 'all good things must come to an end.'

I frown at the depressing memory. I would cry, but I found out a long time ago that crying is useless. Especially when there is nobody to comfort the tears away. It seems like just yesterday I cried my eyes out because of the tragedy that left me to be all alone in the world. Only that was six years ago. I know I should be over it by now, but it's kind of hard to forget the day that changed my life forever. The day that I was finally exposed to the blinding negativity of reality.

I had expected my friends to help me through it. I was wrong. Everybody started teasing me, calling me mindless names. My so-called friends joined right in with everybody else, bullying and teasing me. Even the person who I thought of as my best friend, who I'd known since birth, made fun of me. I thought he would care for me no matter what, but I thought wrong. That shows you how good I am at choosing who to trust. " Thanks a lot, traitor, for giving me trust issues", I mutter sarcastically to myself. I can't even bring myself to say his name, or even think about him. He is a dirty backstabber.

I soon became the laughingstock of all of DCMS, Death City Middle School. Kids I had never seen before pointed and laughed at me as I walked through the halls. People started spreading rumors, too.

Marie, a teacher at DCMS, took me in as her own, but she was like my full time babysitter. I love her like family, but it isn't the same as actually being related. I always felt like a burden on her.

My grades slipped down from 'A+' s to 'C-' s as I stopped caring. I listened in class and I knew the stuff, but I simply didn't feel like doing the work. The constant teasing, slapping and pinching made me loathe school, so I stopped trying. As my tormentors and I grew up, my teasing, slapping and hair pulling turned into black eyes and bruises, which I had to make up excuses for to tell Marie when I got home. But Marie knew the truth. She heard about it and she had even seen it happen a few times. I could do nothing about it. I was just a weak little girl.

I'd thought middle school was bad ... until I got to high school. The students were even more horrible to me than they were before, and they took their teenage frustrations out on me. I tried to ignore the jerks by reading, and it worked. I somehow managed to survive a year of DWMA High.

I moved out of Marie's house during the summer and got my own apartment. I also got a part time job at The Death Cafe. After summer break ended two months ago, I just decided not to go back to school. My old torturers have probably moved on to messing with some other poor soul. Pfft. DWMA. More like MWN, My Worst Nightmare. The only good thing about that school was Lord Death and his son Death the Kid. They were the only nice people.

They were only kind to me because they felt sorry for me. I know that for a fact. They saw me as a charity case. Nonetheless, I appreciated their kindness. Death the Kid, or Kid as everybody called him, tried to get me to open up to him. Despite how hard he tried, and how persistent he was, I only trusted Marie. I didn't want to let anybody into my heart, so I shut everybody out. Marie has been taking good care of me for a while, so I can trust her, but nobody else.

Marie worried. Lord Death worried... I think. I heard worry in his voice when he talked to me and he sometimes told me that he was concerned about me. Hmmm... maybe Kid even worried. I smile at that thought but quickly wipe the smile away. Why would he care about a quiet, shy, insecure Little-Miss-Nobody who turned down all of his offers to hang out after school? Exactly. He wouldn't.

Even so, he was the closest thing to a friend I had at DWMA. Last time I visited Marie she said that Kid had come by and he asked about me. I doubt that really happened. She was just trying to make me feel better, I'm sure. I NEED to feel better. I need to be free from the madness that devours my soul. I need to escape the depression that crowds my mind, corrupts my thoughts and makes my insecurities rise to the surface. This is why I don't like strangers. Why do they always stare at me? The stares. The judgment. It's too much.

I need someone to save me from the bottomless hole I plummet deeper and deeper into everyday inside of my head. If only somebody would love me and care enough to pull me out of the darkness, sadness and loneliness, then maybe I would be able to live a happy life. Marie tried to help me, but a woman almost twice my age who took pity on me isn't enough. If only one person was my friend, I probably wouldn't be here all alone, wallowing in my own self pity. I can do nothing about the fact that nobody likes me. I guess I am just unlikable. What makes it worse is that I have nobody to dump all of my problems onto. I could talk to Marie about my problems, but then she would cry at my depression. I hate seeing her sad.

All I can do is desperately hold my book , simply titled Perfect, as I sit lonely on my couch. I stare at the plain white walls of my apartment -who needs color, anyways?- as I think about the scars on my left wrist. They should be completely healed in a week. I had brought a knife to my wrist an hour ago, and now several smooth, straight lines glide across my wrist. The next time I cut myself, It will be on my right wrist. It's like a pattern. I already know. It's almost ... inevitable. It's bound to happen. There's no way to stop it. It feels good... in a way. Maybe I'm a masochist. I don't think so. I only cut my skin to make sure I can still feel. To ensure that I'm still human. I do it often because it's easy to forget you're human when you haven't felt anything for so long. So I make myself feel pain. It's not the best feeling, but it's still a feeling.

I'd thought about committing suicide before. I mean, there is no point for me to live in this cruel world any longer. Despite this, I never could bring myself to stop breathing, or cause my soul to die. Whenever I get close to it I just... put the knife back in the drawer.

Maybe I'm just too scared of death.

Yeah...that is the best I can do. This is just the introduction. :3 Read and review please! C :