Nineteen

Just because you have an evil step mother doesn’t make you a princess. Trust me I know. There is nothing princess like about divorced parents. The king, my father, is married to a woman who hates me. The queen, my mother, is an immature, self center desperate cougar. At times I wish they would lock me away in a tower, it would be so much more peaceful. I don’t know why princesses don’t take the poison apple or prick there finger. I would; it would be so simple so quick, and almost poetic. But I am not a princess and poisoned apples are about as realistic as wild animals helping me get ready for the ball. My school is having a winter wonderland dance and I realized that’s the closes thing I will ever have to a ball. A group of adolescent high school students in a stinky old gym all dancing to some crap noises that we call music. Even if I wanted to be a princess it would be impossible. So what I am about to tell you is the story of a girl, not a princess.

Eightteen

The light glow of the lamp by my bed gave me no comfort that night. Strange shadows danced on the walls as if they were reflecting the chaos inside me. The fragile dance of insanity projected for no one to see. Unlikely they would notice, even if they were starring right at it. Insanity and chaos are not two words people use to describe me. Most would describe me as kind, sweet and when they got to know me they would add passionate and innocent. My life seems normal and routine to most: I get up, go to school, eat dinner with my family, do my homework and go to bed. And my life was like that once upon a time but then everything changed. I can’t tell you the time over even the day I stop being that sweet, kind, passionate and innocent girl. I can tell you that slowly my life has turned into a chaotic insane lie.