Spring had come. The school bell's ring echoed through the empty halls, in mere seconds, the halls were buzzing with chatter and people. I stumble to my locker, avoiding the hordes of people charging in the rush to get home. I put on my backpack and start my walk home. All the girls rushed to catch up with me. They got out their phones and took photos of me. They weren't my friends, I have never even spoken to them. It's because I am famous I think to myself. I distract them and make a run for it. I trip over and fall to my knees. Bright red blood flows out of my wounds. I roll into a ball and cry, smearing the blood from my legs onto my face. I hear footsteps around me and I look up. So many people crowded around me, people from magazines snapping photos. Why are they doing this? I think to myself. I pull myself up and run inside my apartment door.

I sit at the piano, and I begin to play classical. My hands, still red from the blood, left red prints on the keys. Forget it, classical music isn't worth it. I begin to play the song that started all of this, this song made me famous. This song is broken. I slam my hands on the keys and rip apart the music. All this fame, I'm only 14. I look at myself in the mirror. My brown hair all messy, my blue eyes full of sadness. My weak body looking worse than ever, blood smears all over my hands, knees and face. I begin to cry. "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE" I scream. I run out the door and head towards Tower Bridge.