[Y/N], a typical, cliche, girl with an oh-so-tragic backstory whose persona you can find in any attempted angst stories written by twelve-year-olds on the internet.
↳𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘:
Stuck in strict poverty, [Y/N]'s parents' arguments are restles...
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𝗠𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗘 𝗝𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗬
𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺: [Y/N] stayed frozen in place as tears started to steadily roll down her face, her lips quivering. "If I was never born?" she breathed out, her voice trembling under the weight of her sorrow. In an attempt to cease her tears, she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, trying to keep in her sobs. Was it her grades? Her performance at school? [Y/N] wasn't a disappointment; the girl had above average grades and was the president of many clubs, not to mention the vice president of the whole school. Many looked up to her, but her parents never paid any mind to what she did at school. She could sell drugs and they wouldn't even have given it a second thought. Her academics weren't part of the problem, so what was?
___
It wasn't the first time she heard a sentence of the sort; in fact, it was the thirty-first time (and counting) her parents had labeled her as the source of the problem. Some would assume that after all these times she'd been called a mistake, [Y/N] would have been able to brush it off. But each time those words came out of her parents' mouths, it felt as if she took a drop kick to the heart each time, whether it'd be from her mother or her father. What happened to the loving and caring family that they once were? What happened to their random and unplanned trips to the park? What happened to the good morning kisses and the occasional sappy flirting her parents would share? What... What happened to them? Just knowing the fact that she wasn't supposed to be born this early into her parent's relationship hurt her more than a thousand knives ever could.
Lost in her thoughts, [Y/N] didn't realize that she was edging closer and closer to the edge of the balcony, her body leaning against the weak and rusted iron beams. She hopped and sat on the metal, lamely trusting the rotten, brittle material to support her weight. [Y/N] glanced at a bird that passed her view, its sleek feathers ruffling in a streamline as it stealthily flew in the night sky, blending in perfectly with the shadows.
"'Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly,'*" she murmured. It was quite ironic, really. Dreams and hopes were nothing but delusional ideals to her, yet she held onto them as though they were sacred items. These were few of the only things that could ever give her solace, even if it was only for a moment or two, so [Y/N] nurtured the self-proclaimed delusions as much as her sorrow would allow her to.
[Y/N] slouched forwards, chewing at the inside of her cheek, breathing in the polluted Tokyo air, her hands still the only things keeping her from the hundred meter fall to her death. She exhaled silently, her warm breath creating small clouds of vapor that quickly dispersed in the frigid air. She glanced up at the large full moon that hovered in an allyship with billions of the glowing orbs of gas in the almost pitch black sky. The tip of [Y/N]'s nose was now an irritated red due to the cold air nipping at every exposed area of her body that it could. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes to get rid of any stray tears.
