Part 1 - Emily Rasper

     "Tell us a bit about yourself. What's your name, sweetie?" asked the teacher. 

     "Emily," I replied, "I am eight years old and I am from a different country"

     There were murmurs among the classroom. I heard things like "I heard she's from Scotland," and things of the sort. 

     God, if only they knew. They don't know a single thing. That's one thing I hate about this world. Everybody assumes, nobody asks. Not that I'm particularly interested in engaging in conversation with any of these simpletons.

     "What country are you from, Emily?" she asked.

This teacher is really nosey

     "I can not tell you that."

More whispers. 

     "Why not, hun? We won't make fun of you, we are just interested!"

     "He says not to."

     "'He?' Who is 'he?' Your father?"

     "You could say that."

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     School is hell, and I know hell, trust me. Nosey teachers, snotty kids, and homework that nobody has the time or patience to complete. You're expected to regurgitate everything that the teacher shoves in your brain, as if you're a sponge. For me, though, it goes in one ear and out the other. Sorry, but I just can't bring myself to care about any of it. Not to mention the annoying kids who constantly want to play "Tag" or "Hide n Seek." I wish they'd just all leave. It doesn't matter though; they'll all be gone as soon as I leave.

     I'm Emily Rasper. I'm eight, but I'd say I'm wise beyond my years. My father always told me to never trust anybody; to never fall in love, because it only ever leads to lies and manipulation. I don't plan on loving anybody, especially not at this age. All anybody cares about is trading cards and cheap plastic toys that go out of style within the week. Nobody is worth my time, I'm too good for them--and yes, that is meant to sound narcissistic. My father is a businessman of sorts. I don't see him very often. My mother is a stay at home mom, but I think she missed the mark on the "mom" aspect. Anytime my father isn't home, she stays in bed. She doesn't cook, she doesn't clean, she just sits there. As soon as father is home, though, all the attention goes to him. I had to learn to fend for myself at a young age. I can't depend on my parents, I can't depend on the people I meet, I can only depend on myself. That's just the way it is, and I'm completely fine with that. 

     Since obviously, you'd probably be curious as to how I am, here's a few things you should know about me. I am quite a food lover. I love savory goods, like steak, chicken, soups, and potato chips. I like a hearty meal full of meat, which is quite ironic, considering the heart isn't too fond of a bunch of meat and the fat that comes with it. However, I also love sweets, particularly, marshmallows. Cake is pretty good as well, but marshmallows are where its at. They're like sugary air, it's absolute heaven. Anyway, enough about marshmallows. I also like fruit. Apples and pomegranates are my favorite. People always say you're not supposed to eat the core of the apple, but I eat them anyway, just in spite of them.

     Im also super independent, as you could probably figure out. I don't like being told what to do by anybody, and if you even try, you might just get socked in the face. If you tell me not to do something, I will do it anyway, no matter how dangerous it may be. Honestly, I would love to live alone, and not for the reason you may think. My parents aren't constantly getting on to me, grounding me, or anything like that. In fact, I think it's safe to say they don't even know I'm there. They only pay attention to each other and they act as if they don't even have a daughter. One might think that's super sad, but if I'm being honest, it's pretty convenient. It means I can kill birds and demolish walls and they won't get onto me.

     I don't really have any friends. As I mentioned before, all the kids in this stupid school are actually mentally insane. They're snobby and shallow and only care about trading Pokemon cards and acting like we live in an actual Yu-Gi-Oh episode. I have no intention of associating with goons who will bring down my IQ, meaning I refuse to hang out with anybody at this school. You may be wondering why I don't just stay at home if I hate everyone at school and if I already know all of the material. Well for one thing, I don't really have anything to go home for. It'd only make my days that much more boring, and I'm not up for that.

     Another reason why I'd rather stay at school than not is I'm not truant. I may seem to have a big ego, and on the inside I do, but I'm not confident enough to go out in the town of New York all on my own, and I'm sure you'd think the same way if you were an eight year old like me. Like I said, I'm not the most confident person you'll meet, and I'd rather not have a run in with a murderer or rapist or any big scary person in general. I wouldn't be able to defend myself. At this point in my life, when it comes to fight or flight, I'll buy a plane ticket any day.

     I have quite the vivid imagination, which feeds into my anxiety about skipping school and toughing it out on the streets of the Big Apple, but it can also work in my favor as well. Since I don't want to associate with any of my family or classmates, I sometimes make up imaginary friends. One of them was named Samantha. She was short, a bit chubby, and very pale. She had dark brown eyes and always wore grey eyeshadow. She wore orange lipstick, which I believe was quite an odd color, but of course, I was the one who made her up, so I have myself to blame for that. She had long hair that was bright green and faded into a deep blue and purple mix. It was absolutely beautiful. She had quite a loud and somewhat scratchy voice, but it fit her. Everyday she wore a white shirt and green pants that matched her hair.

     I made her up when I was about three, but once I started school, I didn't think about her as much. Sometimes I remember her, but I don't see her as a real person anymore. She was just a figment of my toddling toddler imagination. I also, for some strange reason, made up a recurring story in my mind where I was the daughter of Persephone and Hades. Why I conjured up this horrifying scene, I don't know, but it hasn't damaged me in anyway, and I've since stopped thinking about it. I guess when you isolate yourself from everyone all the time, you have the time to think about this kind of stuff.