anyways, so I'm writing this for the hell of it.
No promises I'll update much; I tend to be a very slow-ass updater.
So anyways, this is Joice. Everyone, say hi! Joice SAY HELLO.
Yeah. She's fun. You'll love her ^^
They say that a healthy baby cries when it is born. I cried for about two seconds, and then abruptly stopped. When the doctors and my parents immediately started to panic, I giggled. I don't know this because anyone has told me. Quite the opposite, the details of my birth are a topic my family avoids discussing. I know this because I can remember. I can remember everything that has ever happened to me—my father calls it an idetic memory.
It's not like I ever asked to be crazy or anything. I'd much rather be sane, like my sister, Brianna. She was born three years after me, without any problems. I'm only eleven, and already I have been diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder, high-functioning autism, and schizophrenia. As I once overheard my mother so eloquently put it over the phone, I'm nuts.
I'll admit it; I do hear voices sometimes. They come randomly, in the middle of class, or when I'm hunting with my father, or even when I'm just lying in bed, but it's not like I actually pay attention to what they have to say. At least, I attempt not to. Schizophrenia is an annoyance, but it's easy enough to deal with.
As for the OCD, it's not really that big of a problem. It simply means that I keep all the metal in our home polished and shining, and I allow absolutely nothing to have a stain. My ADD can be difficult, making it hard to concentrate, and the autism makes it hard to socialize, but I don't like people anyways, so that's not a very big deal.
In all honesty, only my memory really bothers me. It makes it impossible to forget all the things I've ever heard my mother tell people about her freakish older daughter, or when I heard her yell at my father about how it might not be a good idea to take me hunting and let me handle a gun, because I'm apparently "unstable". And I'll never, no matter how hard I try, be able to forget all the check-ups and brain tests my bitch of a mother has had done to me.
I may only be eleven, but the voices in my head are much older than me. They like to tell me about my future. They predict that I'm going to die in a hospital—that one day my mother will leave me overnight, and one of the doctors will go crazy and murder me. They say it's bound to happen if I don't put an end to all the tests before she gets a chance to send me to my fate, and urge me to kill her off before it's too late. The only problem is that I don't want to kill my mother. She may be a bitch, and I may hate her, but she's family, right? You don't kill family, no matter what Jenny says.
It's the summer now. School's been out for only a few weeks, and already my sister has gone to hang out with her friends numerous times. It's odd, really; I don't understand why she would ever want to be around those people. Now, however, our family is going on a fishing trip. It was my father's idea; he said we ought to do at least one thing together as a family this summer. Larry says he's just trying to prevent the inevitable, but he refuses to tell me what that is.
We all head out to the dock today and board our boat. It's nice, and that's a good thing, for we'll be in it for a few days. We pick out our own individual rooms—there's four, so for once I won't be sharing a room with Brianna. Then we set out to sea.
Two days in, I quickly become bored. My parents attempt to keep us preoccupied with everything they can think of, but there isn't much you can do on a boat, and for a girl who suffers from ADD, fishing is really difficult.
Still, I give it a go, and then another. I want to impress my father, like I do when we're hunting alone together. He always compliments me on my skill, as hunting is the one thing I can actually concentrate on—and only when I am hunting do Jenny and Larry stay absolutely silent. Eventually, however, I am forced to give up fishing. Why am I even trying? It's obvious that I'm never going to master something that requires such patience.
I walk through one of the lower decks, heading towards the kitchen, and I just happen to cross my parents' room. "I thought you said she'd act different, Bryce." I hear my mother say. At Jenny's sudden command, I stop to listen.
"Normally she does." My father is saying, with an exasperated sigh. "Toryn, you should see it. When she's hunting, she's an entirely different person. She's happy and normal."
Hunting? If I'd had any doubt before, now I have none towards the idea that my parents are discussing me. "It sure doesn't seem like it." My mother sniffs, her tone full of distrust. "And where's all this skill you've told me so much about? She seems like a god-awful hunter to me." Her words cut deep into my core—hunting is the only thing I've ever taken pride in.
I may have stormed in just then and started yelling, but then my father responds, his calm voice stopping me from making any dumb mistakes. "Hunting and fishing are two entirely different things, Toryn. She just needs practice… give her time."
I barely listen to my mother's response as I walk away quickly, the voice in my head chattering obnoxiously. I can hardly hear them over the blood roaring in my ears. So my father brought us here just to prove that I can be normal? The thought that he even has to do such a thing makes me furious, but I decide to prove him right. I'll just have to give this damn fishing thing another shot. Instead of heading towards to kitchen as I initially had planned, I go to a closet, pulling out my fishing pole before going back outside and baiting it, casting it into the water. My anger somehow keeps me concentrated as I sit there, hoping to catch a fish.
"What are you doing?" The sudden voice behind me causes me to start, jumping slightly, and my fishing pole falls out of my hands and into the water.
I turn and glare at my little sister. "Brianna! Look what you made me do!" I yell.
"So?" She shrugs. "It's not like you were going to catch anything; you suck at fishing. Why are you even trying, anyways?"
I sigh and look back at the water, hoping to see my fishing pole. It's gone now, unfortunately, sunk into the water, thanks to my bratty little sister. "You wouldn't understand."
"Maybe I would."
I roll my eyes sarcastically. "Oh, yeah, I'm so sure a fake blonde adored by all would know how it feel sto have to work for praise." I say in a biting tone.
Brianna turns bright red. "What does the fact that I dye my hair have to do with anything? And anyways, I'm not 'adored by all'!" She protests.
"Yeah fucking right." I say sarcastically, walking up to her. "Why don't you just go back to writing in your diary or playing with your dolls?" I mock.
Brianna blushes darker, the way she always does when she gets angry, and pushes me away. "Shut up! I'm not a little kid!" She protests furiously.
"You're eight." I deadpan.
"S-so?!" My sister shoves me again, and so I shove her back. She stumbles backwards pathetically—she never did have any balance.
"So that's little." I say, my voice flat.
"Yeah? W-well, you're crazy! You haven't lost your marbles, because you never had any to start with!" She screams thoughtlessly, directly quoting something we both overheard our mother say to our grandmother in laughing tones. Things she promised me she would never, ever repeat.
My eyes narrow angrily. "You little bitch!" I yell, and shove her as hard as I possibly can. She stumbls backwards, and then suddenly flips over the railing with a scream. I run up and watch as her head collides with the side of the boat, before she falls into the water.
I know I should be freaking out, but I can't help but think that her blood looks cool underwater.