When you look in the mirror, what is it that you see? Such a silly question, you may be asking me; yourself. Of course I see me; who else would it be. You?

I see me, I'm sure. I think. Actually I really don't know anymore. When those slanted black eyes bore into me from the glass, slightly suspicious, an eyebrow raised, I'm so confused. I know it's me, right? It has to be.

But it should be someone else I'm sure.

A face too pretty. There is such a thing as being too pretty, trust me. I see the look in your face; is that envy. Yes it is. How sad for you. Live my life in the mirror for a day and try to feel the same. The face has changed many times; never round, even as a child. I was always far too skinny, still am. Once I was in the hospital for that, being too skinny. Among other things I don't wanna talk about now still too sad. Mirror's hair is black, like black black and long. Reaches the middle of my back by now but is always worn up at life or school. Only down at work where I fuck.

It gets in the way, especially at fuck but they like that; the men. I hate them with so much love. They do the same I imagine. Work to forget, fuck to remember.

I've never been kissed.

Looking up at people, I look up but don't LOOK up. Short, really short. Five foot two and skinny. There's a bit more on the mirror than in past years, don't look like a skeleton, can't count every rib only a few. Can't wear the clothes few years old, but Kate loves that. Makes my clothes and now she can more. Here I can't put the mirror in clothes easily; no one looks like that that but it.

Asian, maybe Japanese? They think that because I used to speak it. I forgot, like I forgot everything. Don't remember anything from before five. Found me too fucked up to even cry.

That was literal. You pick which part.

Name. I have a lot, but for now you don't have to know anyone until I decide which one. I'm just a KRICKET now, and not the only one. All the KRICKs are dead, how sad but two. Me and Lance, but he saw too much. He doesn't talk. KRIRK wasn't that bad. It was why we were all at KRK that made it bad. As I told them every day, there are worse things. But I guess honesty works here, not in the mirror but out.

It hurt. A lot. Doing that makes you break a bit.

The way you see yourself, without really seeing because it hurts too much. Watching the creature in the mirror die. That pretty face, long hair, eyeliner smudged across your forehead, white life everywhere. Knowing you have to wash it off, brush the hair, and do normal things. Like homework, what's that? The only way you can get the hell out of the mirror is to work. Work the day and work the night.

I think that was the worse, going to school being taught about religion from the very man whose penis was shoved down your throat a mere few hours before that. Hearing about Jesus, gripping the pencil so tightly it snaps in your hand.

I'm sorry, this doesn't make any sense to you doesn't it? I'm not used to writing to an audience; my thoughts are usually my own. Or the almost man in the mirror.

They said I should write all this down, for therapy. Funny how now they think I need therapy. When I was a child they didn't give a flying fuck, let me do whatever. But now I know too much and they have to appease me; I've already sent way too many people to jail.

This is a story about many being told by me. Never been much of a writer; that was Amiah's game and she'll have her say. Let's just say there are many things I don't remember that she does. I have issues remembering. Probably because I don't want to. You are still confused I'm sorry . Let me say this simpler.

I am 18 now, old. As I said short, really short and Asian. Black eyes, really pale, black hair which is long. Pretty features, a small body. I wear a lot of clothes made for me because I'm so small. I was/am a model from the time I was eight. Nothing major, just for my friend Kate and her dad's company. That was how we all met; four Krickets met that long ago. She still feels guilty about that but we could talk; we weren't stupid when we said yes.

I grew up in Dearborn, Michigan, USA. I'm sure you heard of it. Close to Detroit, lots of Arabs, and Jesus with Muhammad next door. Interesting place to grow up, especially in the East where I lived for a few years. I remember being a little kid and hearing the call for prayer at school, Hassan grabbing my hand and showing me how to bow towards Mecca. I thought it was a fun game; it took us out of class for a bit at least.

Lived with a white family them 'till I was 10, then lived with the Raquesh's for a few months; ended up living alone by the time I was 11 with another girl who would be my lifeline to reality. Still is actually. I think Amiah is the only person I've ever loved. Not sexually, never. But actually love. Like for real love.

Hi. Ok, I've been word ranting, and I haven't really introduced myself. I call myself Tyler, as that has been my name since I was found. I'm a boy, surprised are you? I think you knew. And if you didn't I bet now you're interested. I've just graduated from high school a few weeks back, even in the middle of this surreal hellhole I'm done. I made myself finish you see; the only reason I dealt with KRICK was to go to high school and graduate. No public school would take a record-less boy without the influence of the Raquesh family. So now I have my records, my degree. In a few months I'll be going away to college with the mirror and Amiah. The two people most important to me.

Are you sure you want to read this? This is not a happy story, it's actually pretty fucked up. But it has to be told. KRIRK was the cause of so much, yet this story goes so far beyond all that. Keep that in mind. Don't judge, we're people too.

So here it is the story of Tyler Miller, Amiah Raquesh, Lance Morrison, Michael Carrington, Sarah Kitproski, and the little Krickets who we saved. And the ones we didn't.

For them, the habit was too hard to break.