They say life has its up and downs, and let me tell you straight up, life has downs, and it is going to get a lot worse and sometimes never get better. When some people realize this, they suck it up and move on with their lives. I'm not one of those people. I sometimes can't manage to get a grasp on what the meaning of life is, like if I'm going to die and loose all that I worked for, why try? You may ask, why make something so sad and depressing? I'll tell you why, because this is a summary of my life, and my life is NOT one of those fairytales. I decided that the only way to keep the thoughts that tormented me daily, from killing me, was to release them onto paper. That way maybe my life could mean something after my body was long rotted into the ground, but who am I kidding? I'm as worthless as that piece of trash in the garbage. Anyway, welcome to my insane world where everything can be made into a negative thought.

I wasn't always this way, no I was a normal kid, bratty but normal. I was a fan of the Disney princesses, Ariel, from the Little Mermaid was my favorite. I found the movie amazing, that if you stood up for yourself and worked your way through the mess of wrong, the right would fall right into place afterwards. I would have laughed in my face, if only I could. I was Daddy's little girl, getting everything my pretty tiny heart asked for, and I would've got a pony if I asked for one, but I thought they were dirty and smelly so I wouldn't go near them. Let's face it, I was a bitch, crazy about guys, and if a girl wasn't as rich or pretty as me then they got a mouthful. However, if a girl was by the 'rare' chance prettier or was better then me at something, they faced hell. Sure I was ignorant and arrogant, but I was for the only time in my life that I can remember, happy. Blue eyed, blond wonder woman, I remember myself saying, believing that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. That was before the accident. About six years ago, my parents died, both of them, in an accidental shooting. At least this is what I had been told, I was there, but the doctors said the shock of the experience of seeing both of my parents drop dead probably caused some trauma in my brain. Either way, I can't remember anything about the day, accept in my dreams. My dreams don't give anything away about what actually happened, but underneath my worst nightmares is a monster that humankind created. I often jerk awake as the dream's gun shots still seem to ring through my ear drums, beating them until they bleed, filling me with fear and sadness.

After my parents died, it seemed like all hell broke loose. None of my relatives wanted me; they said it was financial problems, well I can say that's 95% bullshit. Who wants a bratty child that will probably have mental issues when they're older? Well obviously no one who cared enough about me to actually take me in. Where did I go? To an orphanage about 100 miles from where I was originally born. I got to go to Washington DC, America's capital! Please restrain me I'm just too ecstatic. Anyway, so I made some friends there, people who were in the same situation as I was in. One of my best friends, Chris, knew me inside and out, and I felt like I could rely on him with anything. Then he got adopted by a really nice couple. I never saw him again, I called him but that was only once or twice. When I called him I only felt more alone because he ended the conversation with "Okay mom I'm coming!" and the conversation lasted all of about 5 minutes. I guess there wasn't enough room in his new life for his old friends. I got adopted a year after him, but the foster parents that I had couldn't deal with a useless child like me, so I was put back into the orphanage.

By that time all of the friends that I had previously known had been adopted and I was left to be alone. Now I am a junior in High School. I have friends, I'm not popular, but I'm average. All my friends are extremely gullible. They believe lies all day long; they think that I'm living alone in an apartment working everyday to maintain its rent. They have never been to my house because I'm constantly working; therefore I have never been to any of their houses. I'm saving up my money for college so I don't have any 'real' clothes or a phone, that's why all of my clothes are from the salvation army. And no I cannot skip work for just one day, because I will get fired or get a decrease in salary. My FAKE parents were nice and everything, but I wanted to try to take the world head on. I'm the perfect girl in a perfect body, managing to get straight A's while working all day and night. I'm a good singer and am not too bad of an artist. I'm pretty good at sports and am seemingly unafraid of everything. I'm smart, beautiful and happy. Ha, if they only knew. If I ever showed any of them my real home, my whole plastic world would come tumbling down. They would realize that I can't go over to their houses because the process of leaving the orphanage after or before school is too complex. They would realize the reason why I'm struggling to get straight A's is so that I will get a scholarship to a community college in order to get out of this place when I'm 18. They would realize that I wasn't actually happy, not at all, and that darkness had been devouring my soul for a long, long time. And never could I ever allow anyone to know that, not even Chris, if I ever saw him again.

What did I do to keep myself from collapsing right here? I got lost in my music, they were terribly old songs, from the old Ipod I had gotten for my tenth birthday, but without each and every one of them I wouldn't be here. Each of them reminded me of my happy times, and when I listened to the music I could taste the faint reminiscence of the feeling of happiness. I am after all the oldest in the orphanage, by a couple years, and the younger kids see me for what I really am. I don't like that. The result is that they are completely shut off from my life, and I pass by them, acting as though they are no more but a whisper in the wind. Their words hurt, and my heart lurches every time I hear a snide, but I keep walking as though I hear nothing. Why should it hurt as it does? I don't know, but I assume I don't really confirm anything that I say to myself, until someone else confirms it for me. That must be what makes it hurt so. Do I cry? No because I know no matter how much you cry no miracle will actually happen. No matter how much you suffer, how much pain and misery you endure, no one comes back. Not even your parents who supposedly love you, see? Love can't conquer all.

Have I tried to kill myself in the past? Yeah, a couple, and every time I stopped as my vision was going. How could you be so close to death and come to school the next day with everything resuming the way it would have if I wasn't there? It was strange to think that the world would still revolve even without you there. Humans, how selfish and judgmental we are. We want everything for ourselves, even if that makes someone else unhappy. And god forbid that someone is different and wants to express themselves, we crush them like a bug, thinking that because they're different they're evil, never once dreaming that we, ourselves could be the evil ones.

Right now you might be wondering what I look like. No I don't have raccoon eyes and dead black hair. And no my eyes do not look like two black holes of despair. I am the complete opposite of my inner self. I have light blond hair that is cut right below the shoulders and is stick straight. My eyes are still a blue-turquoise and my lips are full and cherry red. I'm about 5' 8", and my skin has a golden tan that follows me around all year. All the more to cover up what I feel inside.

I hear a knock on my door and my head shoots up. "Uh Miranda?" Angelica, a socially awkward, nerd, of the seventh grade made her way into my tiny cramped room. I plaster on a fake smile and fiddle my hand around my wrist. As you stayed longer at the orphanage the more privileges you got, mine? A room to call all my own, sure it was tiny and during the winter there was no heat and during the summer no air conditioner, but is the only thing that I could call my own.

"Yes Angelica?" I ask in a high pitched voice, otherwise known as my fake voice that was bursting with joy. It made my blood boil. I watch as Angelica swallows and wipes her sweaty palms on her too small jeans.

"Um, its time for, uh, dinner." She finally managed to say. My fake expression turns into one of surprise as I look at my cracked alarm clock.

"Wow it's time already? Alrighty then I'll be down as soon as I finish up." I turn my back on her and pretend to busy myself with the books laid open in front of me.

"Uh yeah, okay. Right." Angelica takes a big breath then closes the door behind her. The moment the door closes shut I grab tissues and push them against my wrist. It takes about three minutes for the tissues to be covered in crimson. In ten minutes the bleeding had stopped so I take my bloodied tissues and stuff them to the bottom of the trash can, and pour last night's marinara sauce on top of it so the colors all run into each other. Then I take my razor and place it back into my shower bin. I put my bangle bracelets back on to cover up my recent deed, and voila! I am transformed back into the plastic Barbie that I created for myself. An outer shell, with a hallow inside. I skip down the broken stairs and enter a dimly lit room.

The other orphans are already sitting around the large rectangle table. I take my usual seat at the end of the table, and get ready for a nasty taste in my mouth. The orphanages chef comes out with his helper and puts out the beef stew onto the table. The chef reminds me of my father so whenever I see him my stomach churns and I would study the table whenever he walked by. The other orphans stare at me for a moment before going back to whisper with each other. They're mostly 8-10 year olds, but some are 12 and 14. All together we add up to the nice landmark number of twenty. Boys joke and push each other around, while the girls take out their ragged dolls and gossip.

"Why is she alone all the time? It's like she's afraid of people or something, I hope it's not contagious!" Tina, a bratty 11 year old giggles as the rest of her younger friends laugh along. She feels me starring and meets my gaze. Her eyes open in shock, and now I not only feel like she's talking about me, but I know. She quickly glances away and starts whispering again. Although the spiteful comment should've stirred some kind of emotion in me, it flitted right past me, only placing a cold hand on my heart. I look down at the navy blue table cloth and trace the patterns of it with my fingers.

"What a creep!" Chuckles burst around the table, but I don't look up, I don't even take a glimpse of who said it or who is laughing. The hand that isn't tracing the table cloth, clenches in my lap, my nails dig into my hand, almost drawing blood. The pain in my hand takes away the ache in my heart, but it doesn't last long. Nothing ever did, nothing ever will. Nothing ever lasts forever.

"Boys and girls please have the proper manners that I have taught you." Mrs. Sarah, the orphanage owner steps into the room, and the room goes silent. She takes her seat at the head of the table. Her long auburn curls flow around her and her green eyes blaze with her fierceness and courage. Men her age must think she's beautiful, but to me she looked like a haggard demon that had crawled out of the depths of hell. The kids loved her and admired her charm and energy, but that was because she treated them with kindness and care. She treated me like a failure and a lost cause, and the worst part was that she was sympathetic of me. When she talked to me, she looked at me with sad eyes and her voice melted with sincerity.

"Now before we say grace I would like to announce some very exciting news." Her eyes glitter with happiness and redefined hope and her whole body seems to jump up and down with joy. She pauses for effect. "It seems as though our dear Tina will be receiving new foster parents!" The room erupts into cheers and chatter. Mrs. Sarah raises her hand, waiting for silence to regain control. Soon everyone shut their mouths again. "Tina's parents will be here to pick her up in two days, so lets help her to prepare for a brand new life!" Mrs. Sarah basically sings. Tina and her friends hug each other as tears stream down Tina's face. Tina smiles so widely, I wonder if her face would crack. I have my own smile smacked onto my shell, it's so believable that I would bet that Chris wouldn't have seen the difference between this and my real smile. This time Mrs. Sarah waits for everyone to calm down themselves.

"Everyone, it is time for grace." Everyone folds their hands together automatically, even I do. "Thank you lord for this lovely meal that you have prepared for us. Please bless each and everyone here at this table, and please bless Tina in the hope that she will have a long, happy, and full life. We all wish for the best for Tina, and I hope that whatever beautiful life you have planned for her, is filled with happiness, dreams, and love. Thank you, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen." Everyone says the last part together and digs into their disgusting but healthy food. The beef was too chewy and the vegetables were too soft, but I ate anyway. Unlike my old life, if I didn't like the food, I was not going to get any thing else to eat. When I'm done I sit waiting for everyone else to finish. Because I'm the oldest, I have to clear the table and clean the plates by hand. Sometimes the chef helped me, but I think he felt the awkward, dark, poor atmosphere that circled around me, so he didn't do that often.

How long does it take to clean 21 dishes by hand? An hour, and how do I manage to do this on school mornings? I don't, everyone clears their own plate. When I cut my finger on a knife I freeze and watch as the blood dribbles down my palm.

"You know you should really put a band-aid on that." Mrs. Sarah is behind me, her mouth at my ear. I jump, not realizing that she had been behind me the whole time. It only takes a second for me to place the mask of Barbie back on my face.

"Oh, Mrs. Sarah, I didn't see you there! Silly me, the blood sort of scared me for a second, I forgot what to do." My face lights up as though I just remembered that when you cut yourself you're supposed to stop the bleeding. Mrs. Sarah reaches into her pocket and pulls out a band-aid.

"Here, take this, I always carry one around." She hands it to me then scoots up to sit on the counter. I notice how young she is for a second, she must be 25, certainly no older then her late twenties. She studies me intently, as I wrap the band-aid around my injured finger. I don't look up at her though, and continue to wash the dishes. "I received a phone call the other day." Mrs. Sarah's tone becomes serious; my heart leaps in fear of what she might say next.

"Mmm?" I mumble when she doesn't continue.

"It was about Chris." The plate that I was currently holding, slips out of my hands and shatters on the ground. Questions arise in my brain and worry clenches my heart. I glare daggers at Mrs. Sarah as one layer of my mask is pried off.

"What about Chris?" I purposely make my tone unreadable, but Mrs. Sarah looks a little taken back at my sudden actions.

"Chris is fine…well physically at least. Let's both take a deep breath before I continue, shall we? 1, 2, 3, breath in, breath out." She takes a deep breath, but I do not, trying to convince myself not to push her through the window.

"Tell me what is wrong with Chris." I say through my teeth. Mrs. Sarah flinches at my tone and shakes her head in disappointment.

"No need to get worried Miranda. Do you need to go back to you're therapist again? Remember anger and sadness is-"

"I don't need to go back to my therapist, there's nothing wrong with me." I spit out the lie with acid burning my tongue. "Just tell me what is wrong with Chris." My tone becomes cold and hard.

"Its seems as though he is not happy with his life where he currently stands now. He plans on renting an apartment a few blocks away from here. He is not old enough to live on his own, but he said that if things start to go wrong he will come back here. He has also made the request to see you when he gets here." Mrs. Sarah jumps off the table and helps me clean up the plate. A mixture of emotions fill my body, hope, relief, fear, and confusion. I couldn't have him see me like this; he would be able to see right through my disguise. I wanted to see him so badly though, maybe if I saw him I would be healed. Maybe he would let me live with him if I paid some of the rent. Maybe I could be happy again.

"I'm surprised that you aren't jumping up and down with joy." Mrs. Sarah mutters. My hands hover over where I'm sweeping up the broken plaster.

"Oh trust me I am, on the inside." I sarcastically laugh. Mrs. Sarah doesn't pick up on my sarcasm though and continues.

"This is going to be so exciting! I haven't seen him since he was going through his awkward stage! Little Chris, I used to read him bed time stories, even though he was a teenager. Always treating me like his mother. He was such a nice boy. I hope he hasn't changed much." Mrs. Sarah talks more to herself, than she does to me.

"Me too." I find myself whispering. Ms. Sarah's mother used to own the orphanage, and they both owned a room together, so Ms. Sarah has known Chris and I since we were young. She was in highschool back then, but she took care of us all the time. I shake my head trying to get into my plastic character. I smile a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes, as I throw away the remains of the plate. "So, when is he arriving?"

"He's moving to his apartment on Wednesday, and will be enrolled into your school next Monday. I think we should go and help him move in, don't you agree?" She answers, with that dopey smile on her face. Wednesday is only two days away, could I manage to think up of a complex disguise by then? I'd have to wear long sleeves, maybe the blue one that's a V-neck. It was my mothers, I took it with me because I marveled at the way it complimented my mom's frame while making her look fearless. I could wear my old light blue jeans, which I got in 8th grade. Surprisingly they still fit me; they seem to change their shape along with me. They are the only pants I own that fit right. Did he like slutty girls? I sure hope not. I wonder what he looks like; when we were kids he had light brown hair and baby blue eyes. Any girl would've fallen for him. I wonder if he laughs the same, I remember his laugh being so funny to listen to that I would laugh at his laughter. I wonder if his eyes still reflect what he feels inside, and if they would light up when he see's me again.

"Well, don't you think we should help him unpack?" Mrs. Sarah repeats, pulling me out of my day dreams.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Only if he wants us to though, I don't want to impose." I absent mindedly add. Mrs. Sarah laughs as though I had just said a joke.

"You're his best friend, trust me he will want you there." Mrs. Sarah beams and saunters out of the room. And for the first time in years, a real smile breaks and spreads on my face, even if I still had 15 plates left to clean.

A/N: PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! this is my first fanfiction, and i just recently fixed some confusing mistakes and made it a little more interesting because lets face it, introducing characters can be very boring unless they are supernatural, so please read more because I promise you this does get more exciting! please review! thanks for reading hope you enjoyed!