Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Light Fades Into Black ❯ Preface (not completed) ( Chapter -1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Look at these guys. A bunch of transvestites as my grandparents called them. All dressed in black–“devil worshippers” my parents would spat out aptly. Pale faces, grimaced expressions and heavy black liner lined around their eyes. Looking as if they’ve seen the disturbed of all disturbed and maybe even drowning their sorrows into other stereotypical friends like their selves. Sharing one another’s emotional needs, I guess you can say. They bestow their selves behind buildings of the high school campus, too vigilant to lounge around with other students opposite of their cliques. The scowls on their faces, the pierced lips, noses and brows; the whole face is showing nothing but teenage anger. Why wouldn’t it be obvious?
Unlike them, I’m more of the ‘girl-who-gets-around’. Not being able to stand in any personal clique whatsoever, I jump from people to people no matter what stereotype. People called me the ‘kid pleaser’ always trying to find a perception in the ability to make anyone’s day. Finding someone in the state of trepidation not only filled me with distraught and concern but in sympathy and liberation of any sort of problematic apprehension. The only hardest part of being able to sympathize with the people in whatever situation or dilemma is having to empathetic about it as well. Take the emo/Goth/scene kids for example.
In all ways, but not be offensive about it, the emotion they express is somewhat difficult for me to even see through. Remember about the scowls and grimaced faces I said? Yeah, they take that face and wear it with them wherever they go. Everywhere. Not only do they look like they’re about to force option of either harming or mutilating their skinny wrists, but they give off this slightly off-centered atmosphere that feels almost un-realistic. Granted, I want to befriend them… without being afraid of them at the same time. They look incredibly interested, expression or not, for me to stand up to them with a smile that’ll most likely frighten them away. I trust myself to not let this current problem frustrate me. Just don’t expect me to fall in love with them or something… well I hope not.
My name’s Paige Wells and I am not only the narrator of this story telling it by first point of view, but think of it as more of a journal rather than a story. I’ve befriend those of the emo/goth/scene clique and his names Cliff. Cliff is quiet, thoughtful and lacks the thought of keeping unusual factoids to himself.