I’m Sorry, I Can’t Lie.

Summary: I used to be one of them, but being crazy is uncool. By some unfortunate turn of fate I get stuck with It boy leader, I give it to him straight, and I'm sorry, my mama taught me not to lie. I didn't tell him to fall back in love with me...

Prologue: Sad, Strange, Different Child.

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Bananas.

You know, usually when a person wakes up in the morning, they most certainly do not think about bananas.

Forgive me while I go and become the only individual out there.

I have an excuse though. Lame sounding and embarrassing as hell as it is, it is still an excuse.

Let me take a deep breath before I blurt it all out to you.

Mehaveapictureofabananapaintedonmyceiling.

For all you retards out there who don’t seem to understand when people speak fast, I will repeat slowly.

Me. Have. A. Picture. Of. A. Banana. Painted. On. My. Ceiling.

Sue me for being different. Maybe I should just go die my hair blonde and shove balloons down my shirt.

Or perhaps you would like me to wear all black and proclaim that I hate life and I would like to slit my wrists.

But no, I think the best one yet is all those out there who want me to go and join every single club there is and get the highest grades in all my classes.

I don’t think so.

My reasons?

Saying “Oh my God” every five seconds is bad for my IQ, and dying my hair blonde would just kill it, and it’s already halfway to dead. Plus I ran out of balloons after we filled them all with water and dropped them on the bimbos from the roof of the school.

Black isn’t really a colour that features much in my wardrobe, and proclaiming that I hate life would be a lie (and if my mother taught me anything she taught me not to lie), and I kind of like being in the land of the living. Suicide isn’t an option, people.

Clubs? I spit on clubs. People who play sport and do drama are usually losers with no backbone, pushy parents and a social life that has been extinct ever since pre-organised playtimes in the second grade.

Doesn’t sound like me much.

No, I fit into the category you usually label as ‘Misfits and Others’, but we really aren’t. Just because a few of us are geniuses with psychosomatic problems, some of us have certain unresolved issues with the so called ‘Cool Kids’ and the rest are just randoms and new kids, doesn’t mean a damn thing.

We’re cooler than most people. Definitely better than them.

And some of us even have bananas painted on our ceilings.