My name sucks. If you ever knew my real name, you would say the same. Who the hell would name their kid this crapy name? IT's not even creative. It's just a dull, icky name. What the hell was my mother thinking, all those years ago? Who would name thier child this sulcky, sucky name? Who would be that thick, that mean, that annoying? Well, obviously my mother, I suppose. Still, who'd name a person this sucky name?
I wrote that down on my diary. I hated my name. Suddenly, my mother's voice yelled it, telling the holder of the name to get downstairs. I sighed, putting my journal down on my bed. I extended my long legs and lept off my bed. Running down the stairs, I tried to think of new names I could go by, as I always did. Soon enough, if I thought of one, I could go by it, then change my name when I'm finally eighteen.
Hello, random people reading my life. My name is Flyper Emerse Kril. I'm seventeen years old. This is the story of my unhappy life. This is how I managed school.
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