Somewhere, there is a king. Probably. He has a shit ton of power — I’m talking about so much power that he probably doesn’t have to wipe his own ass. So much power that he has a mistress for dishes and a mistress for laundry.
Somewhere, there is a little kid. Probably. In some type of hut. The type of kid people feel grateful they aren’t. The type of kid who is the example when a mom says you shouldn’t waste food because of little starving children.
I’m not that kid. Not at all. I’m actually closer to the king, I think. But I feel like I’m starving, sometimes. Starving for love, money, whatever. Once I get out of this house, move out of this dirty suburban town, I’m going to be that king. Or I’ll blast my brains out beforehand. Either way, I’ll make the news.
About a month ago, I came up with the plan. To kill myself, that is. I was in my room, and it was 2PM. Real depression time, whatever. I would say the day, but I don’t remember. It’s summer break, anyhow. Who actually cares about the day of the week?
Of course I’m not dead right now, idiot, I didn’t go through with it yet. Since my parents are away for a week, around now, my plan was to use my dad’s ID, go down to the gun shop, get the most expensive one, and- isn’t it obvious?
But first I needed to write a letter to Daphne. She’s the prettiest girl ever, and the only person who was nice to me last year, at my old school. She would lend me her pencil in English class, and never made fun of me. She was also hot as shit, and dainty. She wasn’t too bright, but her personality and looks could probably get her anywhere. Her birthday is Valentine’s Day, and I would always get her flowers. I was at that school for my entire upbringing, until my parents thought to ‘switch it up’ — or some shit like that.
