Forum Thread

Prologue

Do you wish?
I bet you do, even if you don’t know it. I wish. I wish I were prettier, skinnier, and taller. I wish I was famous, rich, and noticeable. I also wish that I was accepted, my parents were still together, and that my girlfriend over the internet could meet me in person.
Oh did I mention that my life sucks?
No? Well more about that.
My name is Hailey Rowes, and my life sucks.
~
My family is torn apart.
You think I’m kidding? Well, I’m not. I was born thirteen years ago, five years before my mother left my dad. I remember her clearly, despite being told I never knew who she was and never will. But I do. I remember her face, her scowl, her smile.
She was a good woman, but always considered herself a rebel. Someone who was a nonconformist, and never sat comfortably with rules. Which she was. But she did it for petty reasons, at least from what I’ve heard. I was told that she did it to look cool, to be different.
I guess my mother and I are pretty different people, then.
My whole life, is focused on being accepted, by strangers and friends alike.
My life sucks.
No, scratch that, the world sucks.
And I’m just one of its poor inhabitants.
My mother left, to be “free” and “unbound from the laws of society” whatever that means. She came back a month later, to my father’s doorstep and begged for money. He gave her about one hundred dollars and told her to never come back.
Spoiler Alert: She had to.
My parents filed a divorce, which basically would come back to bite me in the butt later in life, when I went to Private school, and everyone was so “holy” they couldn’t accept a girl that had a family with one parent.
Wait, I forgot.
I have two sisters and one older brother. Guess where I am. Obviously not at the front, and nope, not at the back.
Youngest middle.
Now, if you are in that position, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
If you aren’t, let me explain. First off, obviously the eldest gets the most attention because, well, they’re the oldest. They get the most privileges and get to basically control their younger siblings.
So basically the oldest is a dictator. Take no offense if you are the oldest.
To all those youngest children out there, trust me, middle position is way worse than the youngest. Well, sure, it’s less favorable than the other extreme, oldest, but parents tend to like “cute and cuddly” over “adolescent and awkward”. It’s the cold truth.
Do I even have to explain why the older middle child is in a better position than the younger one? I didn’t think so.
Well, consider me in the most horrible position ever created in family history. Yeah, it’s that bad.
And guess where my mom decided to move? New York City. I live in the City of Niagara Falls. So basically far away enough for it to be an extremely long drive (almost seven hours) but not far away enough to take a plane there.
I have to visit every month.
For a week.
And guess what? The oldest in my family, Stella, just stopped going when she hit eighteen. And then Max will stop. But if I stop, then I stop my little sister from going as well. I mean, who would let a six year old alone with her?
But you may be thinking, why is that such an important decision? Well, I feel bad for a woman who felt differently about the world and just wanted some attention and then got punished for it. She’s alone.
Another reason why being the youngest middle is the worst possible position.
I should probably introduce my family a little bit more.
Okay, so the oldest, Stella, reads a lot. I don’t mean average one book every week. I mean, think like this. She could read War and Peace in a week. Well, maybe not. That’s just how I think of her.
Next, Max. To be honest, he’s quite sweet. He plays a butt-load of sports, including hockey, basketball, baseball, track (I still don’t understand why the school includes track as a sport.), and volleyball, just to name a few.
Then, the youngest, Savannah. She knows she’s cute, and she uses it. She has freckles sprayed across the bridge of her nose and has dark, bouncy hair. Her eyes are light blue and seem to be pleading for love.
My dad, well… he’s nice, I guess. He has to work all day to keep our family supported and won’t take another wife. He has smile lines around his mouth and surprise wrinkles resting on his brow. So I figure he was nice, once.
I can’t tell now.
I mean, we aren’t poor or anything, just not as… wealthy as other people. Call me crazy, but it’s a treat when we go to a simple diner.
We can still afford computers and stuff… just we have to be careful.
Sure, my life may be not as bad as some, but it’s basically the lowest point you can get before considering death over life.
Wait, ha, just kidding.
I’ve considered it, obviously never done it, and trust me, those four hours on my bed, a steak knife on my side table, were the worst ones of my life.
Guess what else?
I’m a writer
And a bloody good one too. But my dad and Stella are both saying things like, “You need a more substantial job.” Or here’s the kicker. “I’d hoped you would’ve thought of something better by now.”
Go team support.
I know lots of people don’t succeed in writing books and out of those who do, only a handful actually get published. But seriously? That’s why I’m writing now. So I can at least try to get a book published before I graduate from High School.
Did I mention I’m smart?
Like, really smart. This is another reason I am oppressed for my dream. Because I’m too “smart” for a job like that.
Yeah right.
As if I cared about my whole smart thing.
This is almost the only thing I get attention for.
And it isn’t even a huge accomplishment.
Everyone asks, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” And I can only reply with a shrug because, I’m “too smart” for my dream job, the only job I’ve ever considered.
That statement sounds extremely weird, doesn’t it?
Well, welcome to my life. The life of pain and suffering and financial drops. Well, until I discovered IMme.com.