So what if I hate my life? Why do people always tell me that I should value life and live it to the fullest. They call this 'Y.O.L.O'. Apparently it means You Only Live Once, and apparently all of the kids are saying it. I, for one, don't believe in that statement. I believe that if you are good in life, then you will reincarnate as a human. And if you are sinful, you will reincarnate as a lesser animal. This means my parents will probably come back as squirrels or something. Anyways, I do hate my life. Dreadfully. Don't get me wrong, I'm not an emo, and I don't cut myself. I just hate the fact that things always seem to backfire, and when I try to correct them, I get hit my parents. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm the only person who feels this way. But, I would love to know why my mum and dad are the way they are. Abusive. They say it's because of the stress of work and earning a living. I very much doubt it. My dad just stares at a computer screen all day, and my mum parades up and down corner streets at midnight wearing shorts and knee-high boots. (No, she's not a prostitute, just a dumb, blonde drunk). So, what's my story, you say? Well, I'll tell you, and see how calmly I do so. Nervous - very very dreadfully nervous I had been and am. I'm not mad. Just truthful. For I tell the truth and only the truth. It was April 21st, 2010. My eighteenth birthday. I hated this day. For, today was the day that my parents were trying to be nice. But failed. They tried to understand me. But failed. Ever since I was twelve, my parents have never understood me. But, it wasn't until this very day that I knew exactly why. It happened at midnight, I was in my bedroom after having the worst eighteenth birthday in the history of eighteenth birthdays. I leant on my white windowsill, and stared out at the night sky, my silky blonde hair blowing in the light breeze. Just then, a shooting star soared across the sky. I closed my eyes tight and wished. I wish my mum understood me. And I wish I understood my mum.
Maybe I should have listened to the Pussycat Dolls, for the next part I tell you is why people think I am mad. I wished for understanding; understanding I got. I now knew why my mother was so stressed out and why she resorted to drinking all of the time. How did I know this? I experienced it. Me and my mother had traded lives. This was going to be fun. For I am no longer Fortuna Parcabold; I am now Elizabeth Jones-Parcabold. Mother of one. Abuser of many.
I started my day as my mother would: get dressed, have breakfast, and leave for 'work'. (To my mother, shopping is work). I had to get some new clothes, as the ones that she possessed were too...small for my liking. I headed straight for the Debenham's Women's section, and tried on whatever I liked the look of. In the end, I only purchased three tops, two pairs of trousers, five pairs of shoes and one dress. I still don't understand why she is so stressed all of the time. Elizabeth's POV I woke up, but, as I looked in the mirror, I noticed that I wasn't quite myself; in fact I wasn't myself, I was Fortuna, my daughter. Finally. I thought. [/i]I get to relax for a whole day! No stress, just sleeping![/i] Suddenly, Fortuna's -- my phone went off. I picked it up, and it was a text from 'my' best friend, Alana. TIME TO GET UP, FORT - ALANA XXX I will never understand teenage girls. Never.