I was born in a pandemonium, a bloody mess.

People often remind me of that. They say that I was conceived from the body of a madwoman, who was living in helll for too long. At first the doctors were sure I wasn't going to make it, since my mother took her life and tried to take mine as well. People have told me that she was a traumatized woman. Two minutes after she died, I was born. I had strange features, they said, and I was dead quiet, like the silent night I was born in. For that, they named me Luna.

From the moment I arrived I caused complications. Messed-up hearts, family issues, and more sobbing and arguing. It seemed that I didn't have a place in this world, perhaps this small town I lived in. People at school only knew me for my past-- my mother's actions caused unheard of mayhem in this tiny town. Some people felt bad about me, they tried to make me a bit happier by offering materialistic things like cookies and bicycle rides. I acknowledged this, but I still wasn't truly happy. Other times the school children would taunt my past, calling me a "freak" or some variation of that. I admit I don't have much social skills.

My palms are now stretched out wide, feeling the soft, warm air blow past my pale skin. I am alone. I like being alone. The pond waves ripple as I stand on the bridge, the willows gently swaying, almost saying /Luna, don't worry, we want you to be happy/. And I am happy. I like it here. Nobody passes this way, ever. 

And suddenly, the sun begins to set and the moon-- dark, stigmatic, and shining dimly, rises. I sigh deeply, releasing my breath for my voice. It sings a song I had known for a while. It comes out soft, melodic. I had been singing on this bridge for sixteen years. No one wakes up to the night with bleary eyes and gazes to the girl out their windows.
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