So here we are; we have arrived at the final of these blogposts, before I leave this afternoon to go to goth school, where I will be shunned for my differences yet again, but by a more cliché, copying crowd. I am already partway to the school, in fact; my father drove me to the station to wait for the train, then drove home again, saying that arriving early would be for the best. Admittedly, that is correct, but seven hours early is too much. Now I'm on my laptop, using a wireless access point somewhere nearby.

This morning I woke up early and packed the last of my things into a black suitcase. I took one last look around my bedroom, muttered that I would miss it, then dragged my suitcase out of the room and clicked the door shut. The memory is already foggy at the edges; whenever I finally return home, I doubt I will see the room in its old state again.

When I arrived in the hallway and set my suitcase up with the last of my things, my father came in and told me to get ready as we were leaving. I did with no arguments; just slipped on my shoes and lugged my things to the car, where I deposited them in the boot and then sat down in the passenger seat. The drive was silent, apart from the odd instance of cheerful humming from my father; I've never seen him so happy.

When we got to the station, he helped remove my bags and cases, then slammed the boot shut, said goodbye and walked back to his door.

"Dad?" I called, stopping him in his tracks as he moved towards the door handle. He stopped and turned.

"What?"

"I love you."

For the briefest of instants, a time so infinitesimally small it almost didn't exist, I thought I saw something. His lips moved as if to part and say it back, to tell me that all through his apparent hatred, there was underlying love. I saw a minute glint in his eyes, something that told me he was just as mortal as I.

"Whatever," he finally said, then turned away, got into the car and drove off.

That was the closest I came to my father in my entire life.

And now, he we are. I sit alone, like I have always sat on this earth, surrounded by bags and cases - though, along with the usual metaphorical bags I contain full of blackness and cruel, unjust hurt, I also carry cases of clothes and necessities to keep me sane in my new boarding school.

"Freak," someone remarked earlier as they passed me. I just glanced at him and then dropped my eyes.

No one understands me, for I am Misunderstood. And this, dear friends, is goodbye.

-Misunderstood
(MNA September 1st 2008)