I probably shouldn't have started it like that. But I wanted you to see what it will be like. How it ends; because that is the end. The beginning is something more like this:

Babies are happy to be born. You'd think it would be different, from how much they cry. But they're happy. Happy, because of light, because they are finally alive. They only cry because the light is too bright for their eyes; I like to think that they cry for more than that, though. I like to pretend that they cry, because they know, somehow, that life will never again be so simple, and that the light will always, somehow, be too bright. That is what I think. But anyways. In a little hospital somewhere in the world, I was being born on March 20th, 1998. I did not cry. I was still, and I was white. Not Caucasian white. But white, the kind someone is when they are very, very ill. I don't really know what happened. No-one ever really, truly explained to me what happened. Maybe I never really asked.

PB:

I was a good baby. Quiet. Because that is what a good child is, yes? Quiet. I was also the first baby. You probably think that's fun. Yay. I'm the oldest kid. That means I get blamed for everything, most mistakes are made on me and yet I'm expected be absolutely perfect in every possible way, or whatever it says in Mary Poppins. That's another thing about me. You're probably like "Mary-fucking-Poppins? Who is this old lady?" Well, get used to it. I'm as old-fashioned your grandma. I should live in the 19th century, not the 21st. And that makes me realize, I haven't actually introduced myself, have I? Well, my name is Kerria. I'm quite tall. For California. Happy? Okay. So. I was a pretty good baby, didn't get into much trouble or anything. I swallowed something once, and I pulled my arm and ate paper. A habit that still sticks, unfortunately. I'm like a freaking mouse when it comes to paper-nibble, nibble, nibble. Oh. And I got sick a lot. Still do. Aside from that, there's not much to tell. I moved out of my small house into a tiny house. I think it had three rooms. My mom had a miscarriage. And then the twins came.

PB:

A/N: So this is my autobiography. By the way, there will be some minor swearing. I guess I could rate it M for that, since a movie only has to have the word fuck in it 3 times for it to be R-rated. Whatever. You've all heard worse at school, right? And, also, I've been having a pretty tough time, so parts will be angsty. You are probably wondering why I'm writing if I feel so horrible. Well. It calms my fucking nerves. So there.