I was born with a terrible personality. But growing older, it got worse. People at my school would ignore me, fearing that I would hurt them if they even said "hi". One day, I had a fight with my parents, and my sister, who had a sickening happy personality. I couldn't handle being around any of them, so I just... Left. I went to a lonely, dark part of town, where a lot of homeless people resided. To a normal person, it would probably be more creepy, but to me, it was a perfect home for me. Just me, myself, and a bunch of strangers I don' t even know. It was lonely, which was just perfect for me, but... I didn't like the feeling. It was like having an empty hole deep in the pit of my stomach. It was like living back at home; nobody spoke to me at all, but there was less, you know, yelling. I guess fighting was my only way of communicating to the rest of the world. I hated it. I hated having, no friends, a family that is constantly trying to handle me, and, my personality. It's all my fault that I don't have anything. No life at all. I couldn't believe I had only realized this now, walking back home, instead of a long time ago. I walked over to my door, and it creaked open. I gasped in shock. I watched darkness seep into everyone's soul. Mom's, Dad's, even my smiley little sister. The darkness of my soul was affecting their's. And this would spread to more and more people. All because of me.