=]

[Pennyroyal Tea]

The thing about miracles is that they could quickly become tragedies. My life is all the proof you will ever need of this fact. With all that goes on, I sometimes wonder if we are just characters playing our roles in some idiotic play where we are forced to play out some sick writer’s fantasies in front of a crowd too stupid to live their own lives so they watch other people live theirs. Pitying them, and thinking silently that if they were in the same situation they would make much better decisions. They fail to see the irony that their life is a pathetic piece of [censored] that they must frequently escape from by watching my life as it falls apart only to be put together again. I don’t buy into that [censored]. I don’t want my audience walking away feeling better about themselves or their lives. I don’t want to serve as inspiration to some useless sack of [censored] too ass backwards to learn that his life lacks direction. I sometimes dream of meeting my writer, I look him in the eyes and tell him to [censored] off. I want my writer to hate me. This is my life. I control. The decisions I will make. I refuse to kiss his ass like everyone else. My writer is just as [censored] up as the rest of us. I refuse to think of him as perfect. All knowing or any better. My fate isn’t something that’s comes out of the end of a pen. I write my own life, and my destiny is not something that comes out of the end of a pen.
I looked up, silently surveying the shocked faces of the classroom, and I see the faces that will one day build our nation. There are the ones with smiles on their face, no doubt amused with what I was saying. [censored] them. Then there are the ones with shock on their face. Try getting out some more you probably would’ve seen this coming. Then there are the others, the ones that I pissed off, the people that probably decided to hate me right there and then for the rest of my life, I enjoy those types of people the most. They know that I’m trouble. They won’t try to establish any sort of relationship. They won’t try to talk to me. Then there’s the kid with his head down on the desk, probably asleep after a hard night of drinking, partying, or whatever kids do these days. Then I see Mrs. O’Foogal. Teacher with a funny name, her loose skin and thinning age all signs of her premature aging. Probably stress related, don’t worry ma’am it comes with the business. I noticed the color building in her cheeks as her anger level rose with each word that I said. I stood in the front of the class as she grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the classroom. If she didn’t like what I was saying, why didn’t she just stop me sooner?
Pat Baker, Principal of Del Santos High was waiting for me when I entered his office. I stood there not saying a single word, as he looked me up and down.
“Who are you?” he said. I sometimes wonder the same thing. Who am I really?
Who am I really? Where would I start off my story if I had one? I guess it could start of with the people who would become my parents. All things considered, I’m probably not supposed to be alive, but due to the defects of their personalities, they both [censored] with fate. My parents both had a low probability of conceiving children. Then again what does fate care about chance? If fate does exist it wouldn’t care about our plans, it doesn’t care about our hopes, and it sure as hell does not care about our dreams. In destroying their lifestyle, maybe I became the hand of fate. Either way my creation could truly be considered my first act of sabotage.
Before my parents conceived me, they played a very dangerous game. Jack White, the man that would become my father was involved in the early stages of a high profile marriage with an A list Hollywood actress, but he wanted more. Sara Keller wasn’t anywhere near the status of the actress. She was just a no name fiancée of a very popular politician. She did however enjoy the influences of his position. Gil Oates was and still is a household name with the skills and ambition to run for President one day. He had the simple name, the catchy slogans, he was handsome, and he was one of the most charismatic individuals one could ever meet. People would always say that nobody left the company of Gil Oates an enemy, but then again, that doesn’t necessarily work both ways. It was rare for anybody, let alone a politician to have any of these traits, let alone all of them, so it was a definite possibility that he could go on to be a major player in one of the following elections even though he was just elected to the senate. I can’t I know too much about the nature of their relationship, but I do know that because of him she was able to achieve a very high position in the school. She had an easy time of everything. Nobody doubted that she only got the job because of the influence of her fiancé. She also didn’t try to forge any alliances with anyone, unlike her enemies who gathered together like a pit of vipers waiting for their opportunity to strike. She probably could have done something about it, with all the influence that she held, if she ever tried to communicate with anyone outside of a professional manner.
Jack White, my father had begun to gain notoriety in the large firm that he worked at, no doubt the results of his fiancé’s status. Despite the fact that he was extremely good at what he did, he was never one for politicking. He was always a quiet one, withdrawn from the rest of the crowd, not really passionate about anything. Before the announcement of his marriage he was at the bottom of the barrel, silently watching people who were less qualified, but more socially apt, take the positions that rightfully should’ve been his. He was just a shell, lit only by the flame that his future wife set ablaze inside of him. They grew up together, she was the prototypical girl next door, and he wasn’t terribly unattractive either. They knew each other their whole lives, started as friends, got closer and have been dating since High School. However, as fiery as their romance was, inside it definitely lacked something for him. Jack felt locked up. Because she was the only girlfriend, and lover, he ever had, and while he loved her deeply, he didn’t know just how deep it was. He never had the opportunity to get out there and explore so he began to weaken and get bored with everything being so perfect and monotonous.
My mother was in a very similar situation. Because of the office that he held, Gil Oates had to be away from home majority of the time, and it didn’t help that he was beginning to build his campaign for the Oval Office. Suddenly she felt that all the influence wasn’t something that set her free but something that instead confined her. Without his arm on her shoulder, she began to notice just how alone she was. The days passed by in endless emptiness, and she felt hopelessly abandoned.

Fate joined my mother and father together at a party held in honor of my father’s fiancé’s move release. Her loneliness drew her to the party, and Gil’s influence got her in. She desperately needed to see a few fresh faces, and her eyes locked onto my father’s. They talked and flirted together sporadically throughout the evening until my father’s fiancé had to run because she was called away to shoot a scene for the next movie she was working on. Bolded by the fact that they were now alone as the party began to die down; they went to the bar because they both did not want the evening to end. They both found something they were looking for. She the first fresh friendly face that she found that actually seemed interested in her and not her husband. And to my father Sara represented that wild song that he needed to hear to break the monotonous tone of his every day life. Alcohol broke down their inhibitions and their newfound friendship deepened into a romance. Their drunken stupor removed all the signs that screamed stopped, and the road they travel ended at a hotel. Their night of loveless passion didn’t end until late in the morning after sobering up removed the fog that alcohol had veiled their eyes with. They talked it over, each deciding that it would be better if friendship capped their relationship and that further pursuit of their relationship was undesirable. But despite this promise, they each found themselves returning to that hotel room comforted by each other’s presence more than having any sort of love for each other.
Pull on a string long enough and you are eventually going to get to the other end. Of course nobody knows what’s on that other end, but for my father it was a teary call one perfect morning. The memories of my parents end at age nine. I can’t honestly say that that afternoon was a shock to me, because even at age nine, I could tell that my mom was unbalanced. After the news broke, her career was ruined. She couldn’t get another job as a teacher even if she wanted to. Everywhere she went everyone recognized her face. Her face, the mask that concealed her soul littered the streets on every newspaper. Gil Oates, the rising political power whom everyone assumed would be the face of his party, and who would one day control the free world could not even control what went on in his bedroom. My mother had the honor of epitomizing the adulterous housewife; nobody wanted to be associated with her. She was the Monica Lewinski of her generation. The hands of fate came down heavily upon my mother. Her viperous enemies waiting for the opportune time to strike acted the role of fate’s heavy hands and fan the small fire into a roaring inferno. Every possible news outlet was contacted and informed of the scandal, and aided by the winds of a slow news week rumors spread like wildfires. But her conspirers weren’t done there. They were the ones that got her fired from her job by organizing a petition and a protest of parents and preachers complaining about the morality of letting such a character teach their children. She suffered a red hot backlash of resentment, and instead of supporting her, Gil with the advice of his advisors decided to spurn her in order to play off the situation as best as he could, knowing that he could save his image and maybe even come off better in the long run, he chose his career over his wife, choosing to further the damage to her image.
After his major political setback, Gil began to use all the influence he had let to make my mother’s life difficult. Any love he felt for her, if he felt any at all, changed to bitterness. He saw the act as a betrayal of his trust, and as far as he was concerned, he wanted to personally set an example out of any future lover who decided that she pull a fast one on Gil Oates. He used every ounce of his political power to suppress and harass her at every possible opportunity. He weighed her down and she snapped under the pressure.
My mother rarely left the house. Even my father requested a transfer and we moved to the other side of the country, she still felt like every pair of eyes she encountered judged her. Because she lost so much control of her life, she began to try to control mine. Her favorite activity was scaring the living [censored] out of me. She would sneak me off in the middle of the night for a drive down the narrow heavily wooded roads of the boonies, and she would rip through the streets at high speeds possessed by the demon inside of her that grew with every outing. As I got used to it, she would do things to make it worse like unbuckle my seatbelt, or swerve the car pretending she lost control. As these things happened I learned to fake fear. I learned to fake any emotion she wanted. I also learned to prepare beforehand anything that I would need on the journey. She ran me out of bed with barely any time to get dressed, so I made sure to have extra clothes at hand that I could grab at a moments notice. The trips were always at random moments, so I made sure that I was prepared every night. I also learned how to sleep lightly. All these skills learned under the age of ten, and you thought Boy Scouts were useful! She wanted my emotions, so I poured them in a cup and gave her a taste. She drank it down and I got to get back to sleep. It was what you would call a working relationship…
Pat Baker Principal of Del Santos High School paced around the room. His arrogance decorated the room with his many awards and achievements covering the walls as well as pictures with Presidents and famous people. Blinds covered the windows letting in narrow fingers of light into the room that seemed to grab at me as I sat in the chair. Scratching his baldhead, he appeared to be a lion in my eyes pacing and breathing heavily waiting for a kill. I could tell that I upset his normal approach. His pacing indicated serious thought.
“This story, I want to know how much of it is true,” he said finally.
“As much as you want to believe” I said calmly.

[Pennyroyal Tea]

A small excerpt from the beginning of my story.

[Gaming Goddess]

Yeah, small.

[Pennyroyal Tea]

Yeah, small.

Like that thing dangling in yo' pants.

Secrets out manlady.

[Biki]

how much of this have i already read? >.>

[Pennyroyal Tea]

All of it.

[Biki]

ah. no need to reread then. =p