The school bell rings again. So many painful memories and regrets from the past. I knew that living in a small town would be something totally different for me. Born in Brooklyn, raised in hell; I had no idea what I was doing in this deadly place in New Jersey, with new deaths every week. Alienated, I walked slowly to class, looking up at the jet black sky above me. The air smelled so fresh, so full of my personal agony, that it was unbearable to stay outside. Clumsy steps, which did not seem to follow my foolish mind, brought me to class sooner or later. People were looking at me. Their eyes burned my flesh like blasphemous fire. All their looks like butane on my skin; I silently prayed to wake up from this intoxicating nightmare and die. But instead, I tossed back my long blonde and black hair and stood up. Belleville Evening Art College. Perfect. It seems like a great place for all those creative losers from broken homes who have to work all day to earn money for a shot of vodka and cheap cigarettes. High and happy, they will come at night and indulge their passions, I thought sarcastically. My life is a fucking dark comedy. An alcoholic mother abused by her young lover, leaving New York to start a new life in this shithole; a good person but not a good mother; mother of a nihilistic, drug-addicted, hardcore-loving vegetarian anarchist, called Audrey Midnight as a joke, with a simple Farrell at the end – a surname after her so-called mother, as she doesn't want to remember the face of his father. I didn't know the truth. Everything I ever was – a side effect of his well-paid job. Ellen was a prostitute – known as Nina. Such a wonderful beginning for a young child who suddenly becomes an 18 year old girl... in the middle of paper...... flying away step by step, I settled in the place right next to it of the enigmatic singer. He looked at me but his expression was absolutely blank. Jared's enigma was so brooding and compelling that it was almost supernatural. With curiosity I looked at his painting and from that moment I realized that it must be some kind of fascination. The unfinished artwork featured a dark landscape, enhanced by the dim candlelight, that seemed to scream pain. The surreal image capturing every negative emotion was piercing; from alienation to self-destruction; from burning hatred to sweet vengeance and inventable contrition. A fallen angel covered in blood, with stained wings and inky black tears, tearing its insides which turned into monsters and zombies against the jet black sky that cried in torment. The face seemed familiar and the depth hidden behind it was incomparable. I felt exactly like her.