Who knew oranges were flammable? I certainly didn't, and despite what others present at the incident say, there is no way that they knew either. I mean, unless you have nothing better to do with your life but spend all of your time looking up random facts.

          For one thing, it's not really common knowledge. Twelve years I've been in school and I had never learned this rare, somewhat useless, but very needed information that would come in handy at this point in time. How was I supposed to know that oranges are composed of the chemical Limonene, which just so happens to be very flammable? Keep in mind that if this were in a different context —one in which a person would desire for a flame to be present —an orange may just be the variable that a person would need to stay alive. Like, in the woods for example. If it were like, you know, Georgia. Or Florida. Or somewhere tropical. Or you packed a hearty and healthy lunch and you yourself over by taking the wrong turn. You know what I mean?

          Wow. I'm rambling, aren't I?

          Well, if you haven't figured it out by now, I ed up. I ed up sooo bad, that it's unbelievable. You're probably wondering how an orange jumbles into this equation of me ing up. I honestly do not even know where to begin. Should I write this out first? Like, make a rough draft? Maybe practice with Siri? Should I just wing it? Should I be more formal and narrative about this, or go into third person? 

          Jesus of Nazareth, who am I kidding? I'm literally thinking out loud to myself. There's no one here, Eunkyung. It's your ing brain.

          Regardless, I'm the kind of person that has to socialize with themself and discuss some sort of plan before delivering.

          Wow.

          You know, I have never put that concept into words, but now that I have, I sound like a ing sociopath. Am I mentally impaired? Or special? In a good way?

          Yeah, I'll just wing it.

          So there's this guy. Ha, don't most regretful stories start off like this? But back to me — there's this guy, who just so happens to be the most perfect man I have ever laid my eyes on. I've known that I've been in love with him since I was able to smile — which I didn't know how to do until I saw him. I know, right? That's some inspirational movie poster .

          I rarely smiled when I was a child, and when I did, it was during an inappropriate time, like during a funeral. My mom said that I was a grumpy kid growing up and that I actually scared off most of the other kids my age, and every kid older than me that I came across, especially when I was sitting still at an event and only smiled when people started crying. In my defense, I hated seeing people all sad, so I smiled to cheer them up.

          I think.  

          To be honest, I don't even remember my life back then. You can't really blame me for looking evil. At least when I saw the love of my life the first time, I began to understand the significance of a smile. Or something. Regardless, my older brother mentions often how I resembled a demon child with my emotionless face, and as much as I find that statement amusing, it's the reason why I still don't have any friends to this day.

          Well for one thing, I intimidate people. I'm sort of a rebel? That's what I think personally, anyway. I've been told that I cross the line a lot, but I just speak my opinion when I deem it necessary. I'm a bit of a smartass, which is one thing I pride myself over. That, and I enjoy pranking snobby princesses and pompous s. And no, they aren't some half-assed middle school outcast type of pranks, my pranks consist of destruction.

          Annihilation.

          Wow.

          I think I'm a sociopath.

          In other words, I get back at people. And it is well done. Keep in mind, these are my redeeming qualities. That, and the fact that I'm actually really, really good looking. Yeah, I'm in basic classes. Sure, I don't really understand big words. Of course, I don't have any hidden talents or even any exposed talents to be upfront with you, but goddammit I am ing beautiful.

          You can learn to be smart and talented, but not everyone is born beautiful. Especially this beautiful. A lot of people go through extensive plastic surgery just to have a nose like mine. People around the world pay a lot of money to get liposuction and bone shavings and implants. But guess what? I'm a ing goddess and I'm all natural.

          And believe me when I say that I use that to my advantage.

          My bad qualities— actually the main reason why I am in some serious right now— include my clumsiness and my lack of self-control. I know, right? How am I such a prankster goddess, yet I can't even be graceful enough to escape stealthily? That's honestly the main reason why I don't even try to hide when I prank people, because I know that I'll make an idiot out of myself by hiding or running away or better yet, tripping, falling, and rolling down a hallway in front of my peers. Instead, I'll own up to it and take the spotlight. That, and I look like an untouchable and fearless badass.

          My lack of self-control? Let's just say that I don't like any girls talking to him. Or standing near him. Or looking at him. Or thinking about him. So, I usually take things into my own hands. I spread rumors— but I make sure none of them trail back to me— I blackmail them, and best of all, I show them up. 

          It usually involves cleavage or a lot of leg. It really depends on the situation.

          But before things get to that extent, I warn them to back off. Most of them are smart enough to listen, but there are those select few who think I'm bluffing when I say that I will destroy them. In the end, they realize their mistake.

          I admit my faults. I know that I'm not the smartest person out there. I can't sing or dance or play an instrument or sew or draw or whatever. I can, however, seduce a man. I can pull off a low cut dress. I can walk out of any situation without battle scars because as arrogant as this is about to sound, I am witty as . I also point out other people's flaws, too.

          Hey, if I'm going down, then others are coming with me. I'm that kind of person.

          People these days get offended by everything, therefore people are too scared to express their opinions. I really just do not give a . I have lost all motivation to blend into society and try to make people like me. I have absolutely nothing to lose. I'm already an outcast, I don't have many friends, and as much as I love Im Jaebum, I'm in too deep to turn my life around. Along with that, I can roast the out of someone. Even though I may not be book smart, I make fantastic jokes when it comes to people's flaws.

          But, whatever.

          There are haters everywhere. They can't take criticism or suggestions. It's not like I try to sound like an , that's just how I talk. The only person that I sort of kind of act different around is Jaebum, but only because HE'S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.

          Damn.

          I'm so ing over it. I'm so sick of people judging me for being the way I am. That's the reason why I am such an uncontrollable savage ninety-five percent of the time.

          You know, I'm probably just perfect and everyone else around me has issues. If this offends you, talk to me when you finally grow a pair of .

          ...

          ...

          ...

          Alright.

          So, yeah.

          An orange.

          I guess I got off track.

         Well, to get back to the background of my ing up, I live in a small town. A wealthy town, but a small town nonetheless. Everyone knows everything about everyone. You can't even take a without people finding out about it. Once, a guy sneezed during a funeral reception and he got hate mail for it, even though it was his own uncles funeral and only fifteen people attended. What the is that about?

          With that bit of information, you can conclude that this town is all about reputation. It's always about who dresses the nicest, who has the biggest parties, who drives the nicest cars, and all that materialistic crap that runs people's lives. A lot of ahjummas brag about their children during their evening tea or at their book clubs, boasting about how their Suzy looked absolutely mesmerizing at JYP's ball a few nights ago, or how Taecyeon went overseas to film a movie. Meanwhile, my mom nods and chuckles nervously, avoiding mentioning my name at all.

          I'm pretty much a disappointment to my family. My older brother, Park Jinyoung, who just so happens to have the same exact name as JYP, is absolutely adored. Girls literally faint when he walks by them. Mothers are trying to find ways to set him up with their daughters. Young guys try to befriend him, and older men try to scout him into their business. Jinyoung, who was pushed out of my mother's cervix and immediately branded as a prodigy, who was raised to become the charming and dashing man that he is today, who learned to deliver inspiring speeches as he politely bows and greets everyone, is the golden child of his generation.

          And then there's me. 

          Let's just say that whenever I come up in a conversation, my mother immediately changes the subject. Or chugs alcohol. Or leaves the room. Or pretends to sleep. It's almost entertaining to see what she'll come up with to evade talking about me. The only thing she prides over is my appearance, because then she can link it back to herself. Which—well—she’s not lying. My dad is also one good looking mofo—literally— and it's all thanks to them that I look like I descended from the heavens.

          I don't care about how self-absorbed I sound. This is all I have going for me. Let me have this.

          My parents run the place that these wealthy bastards rely on the most: the bank. My parents are well known and highly respected throughout this small community, and that is why my family is invited to every damn event to ever exist. One of them includes the Mayor's Annual Summer Gala, the same one of four that takes me about a month to prepare for, simply for appearance reasons.

          The Mayor, by our town's tradition, is required to sponsor and host a gala every season. This gala is what keeps this city funded and functioning. As rich as all these pompous d-bags may be, they all want this community to be successful and allow generations to grow up in the best environment possible. It also means the more you donate, the more respect you have. And control. And influence. And fame.

          These are the reasons why you cannot even have a hair out of place. You have to look perfect at these things. Of course, I handle the physical part quite well, however my manners aren't the best. I ten to trip a lot. And fall. And break things. Which makes my mom's heart beat a mile a minute when the times draws nearer to these events because in the past, I've done some pretty controversial .

          One time, one of the little hooky things on this super exotic looking purse that I bought, somehow attached itself onto the table cloth and brought the whole table— adorned in very, very, very expensive silverware and food—  down and onto the people sitting and trying to enjoy a meal. And well, they didn't. Another time, I tripped over my own dress that my mom told me not to wear, and spilled cranberry juice all over the bride's dress made out of Swarovski crystals. And well, they became rubies. 

          In other words, I'm a walking hazard. 

          A natural disaster.

          Whatever.

          So the mayor asked my parents to give a speech at the gala, and of course my parents were absolutely delighted with the opportunity and immediately accepted. The speech was about expanding the options of banking and making it a lifestyle as opposed to a necessity. Or something. I don't even think that made any sense? Whatever, it was something that I didn't care to listen for at dinner. But anyway, because of the speech, there would be extra attention on our family, and as awesome as that sounded at the time, the days grew closer to the gala and my parents starting getting paranoid.

          "Oh, God. What is she going to mess up this time?"

          "Do you think we can just hide her and then tell anyone who asks that she went to America for a photoshoot?"

          "No, the Mayor already knows she'll be in town. Oh my God, I'm having flashbacks to that time when the waiter—"

          "—Let's not bring that up again, please. I won't be able to sleep tonight." Cue excessive sighing.

          Yeah. 

          Woo! 

          Those are my parents. 

          The and the egg. 

          Yeah, well thanks to their encouragement and hopeful views of my life, I am currently walking in the middle of the night toward the woods because I hate people and civilization and it seems like I'm too much of an animal to live in this town anyway.

          Besides, I can't really keep explain everything that happened through a narration because honestly, is my brain advanced enough to do that? I know my limits and that surely is not something I was born with the ability to do. Jinyoung definitely can, but I'm the disgrace of the family, so I will never compare to him.

          God, I hate everything.

          And who the am I even talking to? Myself?  I don't have to explain ! I already know what I went through, why must I relive it and hate myself even more?!

          ing oranges. I hate fruit. And limonene. And fire. And social gatherings. And thirsty girls trying to touch Jaebum. 

          Honestly, I probably am a sociopath and I think I have learned to accept it. Everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours justifies my actions. Don't believe me? Take a look.

          ...

          ...

          ...

          Goddammit, why can't I stop talking to myself?

LOL.

WHAT EVEN IS THIS.

Well, it's a semi-crack fic. This was written kind of like a ninth grader because this protagonist is a dunce and speaks like...well a dunce. I hope you enjoy it. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Next chapter will have the story. Only reason I didn't put it in here was because I want balanced chapters with regard to length.