"The Rant of an Odd Girl Called Zenna"
Some people want to be normal.
Others want to be different.
It's not as though I was ever obsessed with being like everyone else. In fact, I've always been the opposite of that. You could say I wanted to be different but still live a normal life.
I now believe I was on my way to dressing like your typical industrial Goth kid, but losing my mind over rumors about me being suicidal and messed up. I have this theory because I know about people with normal lives. Most of the kids who were as paranoid and ridiculed as me at age ten turned out the way I described. That may not sound like the best life in the world, but it would be better than the one I got stuck with in the end.
I would love to live in a world where I'm laughed at for being weird, as opposed to one where some people think it's weird that I don't want to die.
I live in the crazy house. I've been here since I was ten.
One could say ten is too young to determine whether a girl is crazy or not. I agree.
Maybe my situation was misinterpreted. It's hardly a flawless system these humans run.
But what, I wonder, were they thinking when they put me here? By 'they,' I am referring to the people by whom I was diagnosed, as well as my parents, who signed the papers.
I gave a little brat a bloody nose when I was ten, so that makes me insane? I don't think so. Besides, she deserved it.
What did they think they'd accomplish? They took me away from my normal friends and my normal life, and I won't be released until I'm eighteen...if I'm stable enough to live in the normal world by then.
They expect me to stop being a complete mental case, which I never was, by doing all this?
But it gets worse. The brat came here too. Yes, of all places, she came here. Her name is Rokkna, and she's only eleven now. Her arrival was recent. I don't know what she did, but I'm glad there's someone out there who knows something is wrong with her.
I know she deserves my fate, but that's the only think that makes me happy. She doesn't even mind it here much, and it sickens me to see her.
Also, no one believes my story. They all think I'm crazy and delusional! I mean, the counselors---who are programmed to understand me, and the other kids---who've pretty much all killed people, think I'm insane. All because I don't think Rokkna is a perfect little angel.
A few days ago, a girl named Lauri came. She's my age and has awesome blue hair, and she can hold a normal conversation. But she met Rokkna first, and she wants to be friends with both of us. I can't deal with someone who carries the stench of affection for Rokkna Sinerva. There is a literal stink that lingers around anyone who is link to her by anything other than hatred. It makes me sick.
Lauri told me there might be another side to the story. Ha ha, she was only being nice.
I started crying and then went to vomit my guts. I wasn't lying when I said it made me sick.
This is all going to make me crazy. See, they locked a normal girl in here in a false attempt to "stamp out her insanity," and now she really is crazy. Crazy with anger.
Oh, how I tried to live a normal life. I wish I hadn't overreacted to Rokkna's bratty-ness, but I don't expect myself to have known not to.
I was only ten.
I now believe that it doesn't matter how normal you want your life to be: Humanity is incapable of acting normally---and I am no exception.
Things always turn out differently. For most people, it's a good kind of different. Rokkna once acted like a brat so she'd be hated, but everyone loves her for it; and here I am, being hated.
I don't fit into the category of most people, and I have the worst life ever. I'm sorry if yours is technically worse. I still suffer more.
When I'm eighteen, I'm going get out of here no matter what and kill Rokkna. I'll be subtle and force her to write a suicide note (in my words of choice). She'll be dead, so she won't be able to cry and tell on me.
Maybe I'll act like I'm sad, but I will not go to a funeral of people who actually are. Then I'll call up my normal friends from eight years ago and have a party.