Having never been particularly rebellious, stupid, or mean, I had no idea what is was like to be a bad person. I liked a lot of things, though, that many people would have found strange.

Things I liked:

-the taste of crying

-drug movies

-very nice-looking boys being quite sad

-very large shoes

Nobody quite understood where I picked up these tastes of mine, but it was okay. I had a good collection of people known as 'friends,' and they were rather nice to me. Sometimes a boy named Joshua would say things to me that I knew had some sort of double-meaning, and he looked at me weird, too, but I just acted normal with him. Once he invited me over, and that one time was the beginning of the end of my life. But let's start with the beginning of my life, since I never like things that skip to the end after hinting at a beginning. I dislike some things, too.

Things I dislike:

-overly thin, overly permed hair

-people using certain adjectives in a negative way

-very large muscles

-condescending adults

I have been going to school for a very large portion of my life. Most people do it, but for me it's special. It was never what my life revolved around. School was just something that happened for a few hours each day, and then it was over. My grades were very good, making me top of the class every year, but it wasn't like I tried really hard. I just did it, and then it was over. Come to think of it, I don't really remember having ever done anything inside or outside of school that had to do with school. Then again, there are a lot of things I can't remember. Sometimes I forget where I used to live.

My friend, Joshua, he used to talk so strangely. It used to be that I would get confused, but now I understand. He would come to me like his legs were so weak, and he'd practically fall into a desk, his necktie crooked and stupid-looking. Then he said words. Yeah, it sounds funny; I mean of course he said words. But the thing was, they were just words. Just Words. Words.

When I was little, my father would speak in words, and then my mother would come home and throw things at him and one day she pushed him out the door and he fell off the little porch and died. She said he would have died anyway, that pathetic asshole. I guess when I was little it didn't mean much. Now I know.

I was usually awake very early in the morning. My morning was much more notable than my afternoon, in most cases. It's when the day would take place. Alarm, shower. Then I'd reach for my newest intellectual literature and read about a hundred or so pages of it before fixing breakfast for my mother and younger sibling, a boy, age five-and-two-thirds. He had a name, too. Usually I would fix a fairly large meal with some sort of bread-like food, a meat, and a fruit. Paul. Paul was my brother's name. Well, it still is, I guess, but I don't know him anymore.

After breakfast, I washed the dishes and made sure mother was back in her room before I got Paul dressed and took him to the little shop a few blocks down so he could pick out his snack for school. His grade had snacks. Then I bought as many bottles of Nyquil as the money mother gave me would allow and brought them back home after getting Paul to school. For Paul, school was his day, like everyone else's. After Paul got to school, I dropped off my mother's medicine in the bathroom and cleaned up anything slippery on the floor so she didn't hurt herself. I would have just enough time to get to school myself.

I liked walking to school. I would walk slowly and eat a donut or some sweet, even though I was full from the big breakfast I made. Always on time, never talking, always perfect, never wasting my time. And then there was French class, which I couldn't let pass because this girl, this really skinny mean girl was in there, and she always copied my work. I didn't mind, but she didn't have to be so rude. "Oh, well would it be okay if I paid you in food? I'm sure someone like you could get by with that." Horrid little girl. At lunch was when I had friends, and before my first class. Sometimes I had friends after the last class.

Courtney was into math, Heather into music. Justin was gay and liked photo. I liked Justin because he was gay. Then there was the hair girl, whose hair was always changing and very special, and the shoe girl, who always had these hideous shoes that her real friends loved. There were a lot of friends, but I can't remember them all. I can't remember a lot of things anymore.

I remember Courtney because she was also into Jesus. She almost killed me once, on accident, trying to save my soul. That was after Joshua changed my life into the end of my life. I didn't mind her trying to save me because I knew it wouldn't work. It is ever so amusing to watch people working in vain.

Heather I remember because she became a junkie after a while, and so we crossed paths sometimes. Justin was gay, and therefore worth remembering because I wanted to be him. And Justin died. He jumped into the ocean and thought he could fly. He breathed the ocean, and now he can fly.

Once a bird flew suddenly into the window and broke. I found it very amusing how the window was not harmed, and the bird was the one that broke. Then again, maybe that never happened. Maybe I only saw it, and if that's the case, then it wasn't in the start of my life.

I won't leave you too long without knowing about the end of my life. It's really a three-part story. The start, the beginning of the end, the end. Maybe you already know the end. Maybe you are only learning the beginning because you want to know more about the end. I guess that's the way everyone is. Whether or not they know the end, they are still curious about the end. Even me, even my own little self, I, Jayme. But my friends don't call me Jayme anymore. I only have friends that know my real name.

My real name is Sweetie, and I have three parts.