Good-Bye Days

Prologue

As a request I knew I couldn’t decline, I am here, in front of the computer, to write about the many hardships and sorrow I have encountered in the past. People have wondered about how I came to be, and even though I thought I knew; I didn’t exactly. I knew to some extent, but I never looked back to actually wonder. You people must be thinking, what is she talking about? Or maybe pondering about how confusing and how this doesn’t make sense. Trust me, I’m feeling the same.

When I was young, I had high hopes and expectations of myself. I had a huge imagination, an enormous fantasy, that I later knew, would not come true. Like every other girl, I wished I was that beautiful Cinderella, a maiden in distress, wishing that my knight in shining armour would come and rescue me. Sure, the beginning didn’t sound at all appealing, but my thoughts hadn‘t shifted at all, I knew I still wanted to be her. Cinderella had been swept off her feet by the handsome Prince Charming, and as that typical young girl, I wanted to be swept off my feet just like her. I didn’t do a very good job on trying to be a princess like Cinderella; I was informed that I often took a broom, when I was little, and pretended to be a witch. Now I’m thinking back, out of all the things I could have masqueraded as; why a witch?

My fantasies grew each passing moment, but I still knew there was no chance at all in making those fantasies and dreams come true. My mind began to take a turn, and as I entered the beginning of the teenage years, my self-esteem slowly, but very surely decreased. Being lectured by my parents by every wrong thing I do, actually it’s more like everything I did and didn‘t do. As years passed I matured, I was no longer that carefree little girl who took a broom around and play-act as a witch. My faults were not overlooked and forgiven anymore. My life was quite a contradiction to my fantasies when I was little, or so I believe.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m sitting here, sipping my hot chocolate, with a better perspective of life. As for my supposedly handsome “Prince Charming” was not exactly what I expected. Ah yes, going onto different matters, I don’t think I mentioned that I had a disorder. Actually although it’s quite faint, I still have it. The name of this disorder, you ask? It’s call

“Wow. You’re still on the comp.?” The fact that I was interrupted, I pretty much think that was adequately self-explanatory. By instant reflex, I turned my head towards the door, where there stood a guy, living about the same amount of years I have. He was sporting a white shirt, and beige pants, with a pair of skater shoes.

I raised at an eyebrow at him. “Well, try observing and answer yourself.”

He stood there, stiff as a concrete statue, with the two cups of coffee in each of his hands and it seemed like he was intensely observing me, I felt uncomfortable, and my self-consciousness didn't exactly help me in the situation. My answer wasn’t supposed to be literal, but for him, I guess it was a different story. I was only able to withstand the gazing for nearly half a minute, when I decided to speak up.

“I didn’t mean literally observe, smart-ass.” I cracked a smile when I saw his body loosen up and as he slid across the floor to my desk. He handed me a cup of coffee, and I appreciatively took the wax cup from him and briefly glanced at my cup of hot chocolate, which was practically empty, with the exception of the few drops at the bottom or the mug.

I took a small drink of the coffee, and almost immediately regretted it as the bitterness overtook my senses. My face scrunched up after I had swallowed the drink. “What is this?”

“Hmm?” He questioned, taking a sip of his coffee and then showing the same reaction that I had. In an instant, he had taken my cup and gave me his cup. I take it that he gave me the wrong flavour of coffee. I could never understand how people could stand that strong and sharp in taste, as mine was a triple cream and triple sugar.

The male stuck his head in front of my own, his brown hair brushing my face, to see what I was writing. I flinched from the sudden movement, but pushed his head away.

“What are you writing?” He asked, his vibrant green eyes full of a child’s curiosity. Curiosity was definitely something that every mind possesses, and I don’t blame anyone for being too curious for their own good, as I am a very inquisitive person. I’ve often been told that I have been to curious for my own good, and many things had happened, bad ones might I add.

I snapped out of my thoughts. I had completely forgotten about that report I was doing, and I simply answered him. “A request, a report, or whatever you want to call it. I’m just writing something.”

He shrugged and walked away, his curiosity doesn’t go far; I found out not too long ago. I looked at my report again, and continued it.

Actually although it’s quite faint, I still have it. The name of this disorder, you ask? It’s called tics, or so I firmly believe as my neurologist and my family doctor had told me. I have lived a life, where dreams had been shattered, where life has been hectic, where love came and broke my heart, and then restored it back. I lived a teenage life, of rejection, of criticism, of regret, and self-pity.

I stopped, and having no further additions for the prologue of my report, I decided to conclude it with an introduction of myself.

I am currently 18 years old, finishing up my first year in University. I have made it as a female journalist. As many of my peers see me as, I have brown hair, brown eyes, and a memorable, though maybe not happy, childhood. I am entering my years as an adult, and I am here to write about my life in high school. My name is Valerie, with a bright future ahead of me, and this is my story, my life; my regrets.

Prologue End

Author Notes: Generally speaking, I don't find this fic too promising, and I can't promise it would be interesting all the way through, so bare with me.

The title of this fiction, Good-Bye Days, was not originally mine. It’s a song by a Japanese artist, Yui.

By the way, this is NOT my life. I’m not here to tell the whole world about my life and that I should be pitied. This is a story that is mildly based on a true story. I twisted many things to fit the story and the way my brain works so I don’t mess up this story like I have with others.

Also, I update very irregularly, as a very big procrastinator and I often run out of ideas, quick. So, do not expect a chapter like every once a week. If you’re very lucky, once a month. If you’re unlucky, who knows when I’ll update, I just do.

Thanks for reading.

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