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Created By

pastPayne

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<div style="border:1px #ccc solid; background-image:url('/images/ray.gif'); font-family:arial; width:200px; padding:5px;"><center><div style="font-size:20px;"><a href="/story/pastPayne/32136">A Recipe for Pain -1-</a></div><table><tr><td width="50"><div style="color:#2CC362; font-size:15px; padding-top:4px; background-image:url('/images/profratebg.gif'); background-repeat:no-repeat; width:44px; height:26px; text-align:center; font-weight:bold; vertical-align:middle; padding-top:8px; padding-left:1px; " valign="top">2</div></td><td><div style="height:100px;width:100px; padding-top:9px; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-image:url(/images/storyCover.png);"><a href="/story/pastPayne/32136"><div style="margin-left:9px; __padding:0px; height:90px; width:70px; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-image:url('http://www.testriffic.com/storyfiles/32136.jpg');"></div></a></div></td></tr></table></center></div>

0	A Recipe for Pain -8-
+ 3	A Recipe For Pain -7-
+ 2	Never Come Back -2-
+ 2	A Recipe for Pain -6-
+ 3	A Recipe For Pain -5-
+ 6	A Recipe for Pain -4-
+ 2	Never Come Back -1-
+ 4	Don't Come Back -Intro-
+ 3	A Recipe for Pain -4-
+ 6	A Recipe for Pain -3-
+ 4	A Recipe for Pain -2-
+ 2	A Recipe for Pain -1-
+ 2	A Recipe For Pain -Intro-
+ 2	An Occasional Someone -5-
+ 1	An Occasional Someone -4-
+ 1	An Occasional Someone -3-
+ 1	An Occasional Someone -2-
+ 1	An Occasional Someone -1-

My name, if you really have to know, is Jordan, but you can just call me Jay. I like it better anyway, because I think Jordan is a guy's name. But whatever.

I've lived in the same damn town for the seventeen and a half years of my pathetic life, in the same damn house. and let me tell you, it couldn't suck worse. I used to have friends, but the lucky jerks moved in middle school, leaving me to face the damn jock crowd myself. As if I didn't have enough problems already. High school has not been a picnic, it's been more like freaking dumpster diving. Actually, I think dumpster diving would have been  preferable, at least for me anyway. So, now I am a friendless half-emo in my last year of high school. And I can't wait until I get out of the freaking house, you can't believe how much I am looking forward to escaping that hellhole. Then again, not many people can.  The people in this town think I'm a freak, simply because of my bright red hair and my preference for dark clothing. so what? I can dress however I friggin' want. It's not like It reflects bad on them.

Do you guys have enough background info now? Can I start the damn story?

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