Ever since I was one or two, I carried a basket of books around the house. I had memorized them and read them constantly.

When I was older, five, maybe, I wrote books in pictures--no words. But it was when I was eight, in second grade, when I actually started to love writing.

It started with a book series called 'Warriors', about cats. I was in love with them, and I started writing a fan fiction, although I hadn't known it was called that at the time.

Soon, when I was nine, I realized something.

I can create books, too.

Not just fan fiction.

Real books.

So I started writing.

If you went into my room, the floor would have papers all over it, writing scribbled across them.

It was messy, and I was overjoyed when I got my Mom's old phone. I got an app (this was before Prose.) called My Writer's Desk. Every single thing I have ever written is in that app--millions of words, thousands of pages, hundreds of chapters. Drafts, poems, stories, dialogue, single sentences.

So my love of writing began.

" he was born from the galaxy beautiful and bright."

" is that all you know about him?" I asked my brother.

" so far, he hasn't said anything else. You could try though. The only thing is, from what I can tell he doesn't know much English."

" I guess I could try"

" who are your parents and where are they?" I asked the boy.

" ahxytd kccdfhxhxs gone hdudcicuddd."

" well he definitely has bad English. What I got from that is his parents are gone,so probably dead." I told my brother.

" this boy is quite something!" Exclaimed my brother.

" you're right this boy is hard to explain."

"I don't love you," he said lazily, as if I were just some other girl that he would pretend he loved, and then moved onto another plaything. Another star-struck, heartbroken girl.

I clenched my fists. "What? After all these years? You say you don't love me, the DAY BEFORE OUR WEDDING?"

He shrugged. "Last minute thoughts. Sorry."

"What!" I exclaimed again. "You jerk! I thought you loved me! I--I loved YOU. I thought you were kind, until the last year, when you started acting like this. But then, I decided to give you another chance. I shouldn't have! I should have left you on the spot!"

He let out a laugh. "I don't see you leaving me now, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that!" I screamed. "I HATE YOU!"

"Are you always this much of a prick?"

Streams of tears were flowing down my face. "I'm heart broken, and you ask that? Of all questions! Ugh!"

"Well, you see," he said, grinning, "most of my girlfriends weren't as... Ah, feisty as you are. Before marriage, when I told them I did not love them, they'd just break into sobs. But YOU... You're different."

"How many future wives did you have?" I snapped. "How many heart breaks did you cause?"

He counted on his fingers. "One, two... Five... Nineteen... Hmm, thirty, including you."

I was blazing with fury. "I think I'm going to kill you," I said calmly.

"What?" His eyes widened. "Hey! What?"

"You've caused too many heart breaks. I'm going to kill you. If you're nice, you might just get a quick death," I said.

He nodded quickly, and took out his phone. "Uh, 911," he muttered, "yeah, there's this silly girl--Yeah, trying to kill me--Uh, no, I did not provoke her--Yes... Please come quick."

Silly girl.

Silly girl.

Silly girl.

I groped around my pocket for my pocketknife, and then started slowly toward my ex.

He was sweating, that I could see. He blubbered, "H-hey, there. You'll get arrested, you kn-know. Um... Um!"

I pinned him up against the fence. "I hate you," I hissed. "But I did love you, before, so I'll give you a quick death. Consider yourself lucky, jerk." I plunged my knife into his skull. Blood poured into his eyes, nose and mouth. I gave his bloody lips one last kiss.