A/\/ This is the first story I'm putting on …so I don't really expect too much from it. Mostly because I still have to hone down my skills and such in addition to making it easy to read. I can't say I know how long it will be, but as long as I know someone is reading it I'll try to update regurly, that of course depending on when pplz review. I'm not one of the authors that demand reviews, just want to know if someone actually IS reading this. Ok, on with the show.

Seemingly Alone

Giggles and sly remarks followed me wherever I went. I never thought that I'd ever be able to change things – I'd gotten used to them, too used to them. I suppose if you are to know my story I should start from the beginning.

You see, on the fateful day, January 15, 1986, I was born. Christine Josephine Miller, a beautiful name for an ugly thing, as my parents like to say. 7 pounds 18 inches and bright blonde hair. And everyone says babies are cute – I was an entirely different story. I don't know what made me look so wrong, but I admit, my infant visage was none too pretty, and that – I'm sorry to say – is why my parents decided to conceive another child, the perfect child. Of course, this resulted in a miscarriage, who to blame but me? My scant-year –old self created a miscarriage, imaginative parents I have eh?

Well that was just the beginning. Five years later proved to me that my parents didn't care. In fact, they could have cared less if I had been picked on at school, underfed, or unhappy. It was all about my brother Claye. See, when I was just over 16 months old, my loving parents decided that if they had bourne one unnatural child, a girl no less, then they should just adopt the perfect one, with no one the wiser. (Me in particular) Anyway, he happened to be about six months older then me, and the cutest baby known to earth – or so everyone said. In my opinion, all babies look the same, except me, probably because my mom had been smoking and drinking at the time, but what do I know? Ok, back to my story. So there I was, five and some odd months old with a scraped knee.

Naturally, I made a big commotion about it and yelled for my parents. They, however, were trying to help my "brother" put on his shoes and ignored me. When they finally did reach me, I had already cried my poor little heart out and yet I was still able to cause quite a racket. My gentle mother thought that the best way to cure my wound was to slap me across the face with everything in her. That shut me up; I was too surprised that a kind, caring mother would ever do such a thing. If that isn't sarcasm, I don't know what is.

"That'll set you right, you inept child! You might have upset your brother!"

And that's how my life went for several years, me being punished for anything my parents could fathom, and my brother the glory of the family – spoiled and rotten. When I was ten I realized that the only way that I could get away from it all was to read. And read I did. After only a year, I was one of the most avid readers of my school, I could even say I was better at reading then those a few years older then me.

My brother and I were always put into the same grade for my parents felt it was better that way. Personally, I thought it was just so they could rub in my face that I would never be better then Claye. The day came when we were to start 6th grade, junior high. I, of course, didn't have any friends and was always picked on – my brother was usually the one who started it. Like I said I was used to it and just stopped caring. Because I needed something to take my mind off my life I started playing sports – several sports. The only good thing to come out of this was that I'd be able to shove it in people's faces; this of course, would come later.

Back to sixth grade: since no one wanted to become my friend I turned into a total outcast – even going far enough to conceal my now red hair with a bandanna, and my obsidian eyes with either sunglasses or just regular glasses. (You know the kind that are just for show and don't improve your vision?) Now why would I do this if my brother and I didn't have a resemblence? Well, naturally, Claye didn't want to be known to have a sister – and that's what I was recognized as in elementary, anyway, when you're little and your neighbors or what not say you look like each other – you believe them. So Claye and I both thought we were blood related like normal siblings; I wouldn't find out the truth until a while later.

I always thought that junior high would be the last of me, I never thought anything could be worse. First of all, everyone had to go through puberty right? Well, a lot of people noticed that I didn't have acne fogging up my vision. Uh, oh, did this mean it would come later? I mean, I was kind of young for my grade level anyway, but it would be worse if it came in high school right? I sure hope not. Anyway, in my junior high, my brother was one with the "popular" crowd, and always making fun of me as if I were not his sibling. I didn't care, I stopped caring after we had to paint a wall of the school for red ribbon week and ended up covered with pigs blood. Some girls even screamed "Carrie!" I was wearing a white dress at the time. And again, that was about the point in time where I stopped with the dresses and skirts, those got me in more trouble then I'd like to admit. I could have sworn that every trick in the book had been played on me already: shoelaces tied together when I was wearing a skirt – albeit a short one, had my things sabotaged, my clothes stained with various cafeteria foods, the list goes on.

On the day of my eighth grade promotion, my name wasn't even announced – my parents had bribed the school not to, so no one would know who I was related to. If you're wondering, they happen to be one of the most well known families around, therefore knowing a lot of fake people easily bribed. I don't care, I never did. After that day I promised myself that I would never be officially "noticed" before. No one disagreed. That's how high school started - me walking around in my jeans and sweatshirt, sunglasses and bandanna. No one cared, I never expected them to. I was made fun of, picked at, everything you can imagine and more. I started to wear all black, apparently it's a color of depression, big deal. I kept to myself a lot and never really needed to study for anything. I had an amazing imagination – sometimes that isn't always the best thing. I kept up my sports and joined Karate. After I was good at both, I decided that all martial arts would be fun to learn. Where did my inspiration come from? One night I was walking home and some guy grabbed me and almost raped me, however, another "man" (I would never know) ended up coming and saving me from that fate, either that or he just wanted to beat the other dude up – he was doing a good job at it.

Anyway, now to the present; I finally made it to junior year without committing suicide – I'm surprised. I made a few friends even though the only place I talked to them was at school. My brother became the major hottie/playboy of the school and expected everyone to bow down to him. His right hand man, among others, I hated and wished were dead, but I couldn't do anything about it. My parents told me if I moved out they would pay for the apartment I moved into. Gladly, I did so. So now I live on Drake St. with a Jeep Wrangler to get me to school. Yep, that's how it's going right now and I thought things would get better in my life – never hope for anything.