I kinda like to think it all started when I dropped my hamburger in first grade. My heart caught in my chest and my thoughts were floating about how I would try cleaning it up.

It sucked, I guess. And then, like a week later when I was taking out the trash bin, I accidentally dropped it on my foot and it scattered everywhere. But I found my burger!

I guess that's when it started. My ironic, miserable life I mean. And to top it all off, I can't eat hamburgers without getting some type of gag reflex!

Well anyways, my name's Fern Hocker. I know, who names their kid Fern?, Aren't you the guy that bashed his face in against the wall?, Do you spend your time hunting for Peter Pan? Yeah I get these alot. Anyways, let me clear some things up real quick.

My name's Fern because I guess my mom was this hippie that always put branches in her hair, like, you could actually try poking her hair and you'd get stabbed with a branch. She's the type of woman you'd be scared to offend at a rally for feminism. Anyways, I never got to ask her why in God's name she picked that out of all the possible names like Jackson or Felix or something.

Next question! Yeah, I'm the guy 'who bashed his face against the wall's. To my defense, my shoelaces did it.

And the Peter Pan thing? I swear, a guy wears a Tinkerbell shirt once and he never lives it down...

Anyways, I feel like that clears some stuff up. The rest of it you'll find out. It all started when I dropped my hamburger as I said.

Anyways, let's start this.

My tears flowed down my flabby cheeks and my hazel eyes puffed out and glossed over.

My hands trembled unbearably and my knees clacked together,

My burger was on my tiled kitchen floor, the plate shattered and the condiments splattered. My slurry sobbing only got its voice when I looked down at my once clean, crisp blue shirt that was now stained with spicy mustard.

Tears were drying and then being coated with another waterfall down my face, my shirt sleeves soaked with sweat as I worried about what Andrea would say about me breaking the china plate I wasn't even supposed to touch.

Thinking quick, I picked up the handful of disaster and threw it under the kitchen table, hoping to god the retriever would get up and eat it.

Real smart move, buddy.

My jittering hands wrung my wrists nervously, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It was a few minutes after seven in the evening, Andrea would be getting home any minute.

My breathing shallowed and the wall's seamed to close in and my throat tightened, my heartbeat rapidly pounding in my measly chest.

That's when I started having problems.

My chest was tightening and my tongue swelled nervously, sweat glistening on my upper lip and forehead. I gasped for air and my knees buckled, giving out from underneath my weight.

I collasped onto the tiles, my cheeks staining red as my lungs fought for breath. My vision was fading in and out, pain pulsing in my back as I attempted to steady myself on my hands and knees.

My temples throbbed and my teeth gritted together, my lips quivering weakly.

I knew I was going to get grounded for a lifetime, I could feel it under my skin and all the way to my quaking bones. My spine stuck out through my shirt, my shoulder plates tensed as I sobbed miserably, trying to regain my breath.

I heard the door click open, creaking until a certain point, and then it slammed shut. Every painting on the wall nearly fell off their nail.

My eyes widened and darted up only to see her bright red heels clack their way to a foot in front of me. My short life flashed through my mind, taking a fearful gulp of what could possibly be my last lungful of oxygen.

"FERN DENISE HOCKER, WHAT IS THIS." She finally shrieked at a glass shattering pitch. She kicked the broken plate pieces towards me, spatting down with hatred, "I ASKED, WHAT. IS. THIS!?"

I raised my eyes and tilted my head back to stare into her soulless, piercing blue hues that never failed to send shivers down my spine.

And, well, that's where my life began crashing down into the pits of hell.