She knew she was going crazy but she told herself it was okay, she didn't plan to live long enough. She knew she was meant to die young, to rage and burn out, to live on the edge, to gaze into the abyss that beckoned her since the day she was born, and to finally make the fatal leap into the whirlpool of eternal annihilation.
What is the point of existence? There is no point, its a flipping, freaking curse - a zapping, maddening voyage from sanity to insanity, she had concluded. Shunned by her parents, mocked by the idiots of the world, and a malfunctioning brain chemistry - she lived through it all. She rolled the cigarette in her fingers, stared into the nothingness with a defiant jaw, blew ringlets of smoke and squinted into the sunlight. Today was the day, she told herself.
She walked back into the apartment, took hold of her prized cargo and slipped it into her bag. She walked the three miles to school in the biting cold of a furious winter. She wore red lips and reeked of cigarette stench. Today, I say goodbye, you morons, she whispered into the vacant seats. She smiled and began smoking her sixth cigarette of the day at 7:30 am as she waited patiently to get even with the jackasses.
Six months ago, her shipwreck of a family had moved to a new city for the umpteenth time. She was indifferent and didn't care as long as she could read books. She knew what demons they were running away from; she also knew it was futile. He was an alcoholic and had bloodthirsty creditors on his chase, she was bipolar and a struggling novelist. There was never meant to be a happy ending, so why all this running and what exactly were they fighting for? You cant beat the madness once it seeks you out, period. She knew this instinctively since the time she was six. She didn't know why her parents held onto life this long, it was pretty meaningless living the way they lived.
The goddamn bullies - they were as ubiquitous as the goddamn air. Every school she went, she had to endure the lunatics. It all started when she was nine. Her best friends - her books - had already let her know that madness ran in her genes and that it was only a matter of time before she would join the family's madman club. The books weren't wrong. At eleven, she blanked out in a library. Few months later, she began hallucinating. At thirteen, she began to pass out and twitch uncontrollably and violently. At fourteen, she began reeling under the never-ending spell of excruciating mood swings - for a week, she would be bedridden - sad, depressed, exhausted and lifeless. A pounding headache and the overwhelming task of blinking and breathing consumed every last bit of her energy. She lay there, curled up and depleted until her mind relented and a new phase in the madman evolution led her to a excited, wildly productive, and maniacally happy period.