Hello There.

I'm guessing that none of you truly care about the author and only want to see their other stories because you enjoy the author's writing style. I know that, I admit that I hardly if ever read another user's bio. Honestly, you're not that important. Still, as I am in fact a narcissist, I shall take the time to fully explain myself. Although, this would probably be more appropriate to put in my original fiction account, I'll still post it here anyways. I doubt any of you actually understood that last sentence, but you would have if you've read any of my original fiction. There, I can stretch beyond the boundaries of fan fiction and make the characters as sarcastic and sadistic as I please. If you knew me, you'd know that most of my most evil characters share the same character flaws as myself. I am not perfect, I in no way claim to be a nice person; I only wish to say that I'm honest when it counts as in when I'm referring to my personality or lack thereof. But still, I'm a liar through and through until the day I die, that shall be true.

Name: Call me Mits if you wish to speak with me. For the those who are less intelligent than others, Mits is an acronym for Marker in the Sand. Marker in the sand is a a song by Pearl Jam; Mits is easier to type. My real name isn't important seeing as how I don't like it anyway.

Age: 17. Technically, I am only seventeen. I hardly ever seem my age. In appearance, I can pass as a twenty year old, and I have an attitude to match it.

Gender: I am female, if that interests you at all.

Now for my personality.
I am not normal, nor will I ever be. Although many people claim to be 'unique', little have the personality to prove it. I can and will show you exactly what makes me different from the majority. Irrelevant as it may be to my stories on this website, you shall be interested none the less.

To put it in the simplest terms possible:
I am a heartless narcissist who never shows any remorse for the actions she commits against anyone else.
I am a bad person, and the thought of it, rather than repulsing people and causing guilt as most people should feel, I find excitement in that. It leads me to make decisions that I shouldn't because morally, I have no inhibitions. I am a sociopath on her way to becoming a psychopath.

'How can that be true?' is what you're thinking, correct? And before you even think it, no, I have not had any childhood trauma that caused this type of behavior, it is just the way I think.

Now, I shall expand upon the idea.
I have said that I'm a bad person, but what exactly does that mean? I guess, it differs for the person you're referring to. For me, it simply means that I care only for the benefit of myself, and if given the chance, I will insult and hurt the people around me. Why? Because it gives me some sense of enjoyment. Few people realize how truly entertaining simply watching another person's behavior can be. How many of you have spent hours watching people, just watching to see what they'll do? I'm sure some of you have done that. The question that differs me from the rest is: how many of you deliberately cause another stress to see their reactions to it? You see, while most 'people-watchers' take a passive role, I take it a step further; forcing the subject to react. Now, here is where you begin to question my behavior, correct? But this is only the beginning. I have only started to reveal the insanity that is my mind. You do not yet know of the atrocities I think and the lying that consumes my mind. I shall get into that shortly.

Lying. Most don't have a problem with it. Yes, you tell little white lies when someone asks if these pants make them look fat or maybe you lie to your parents about homework and such. How often do you lie? Just an estimate. Two maybe four times a day? Not too often, right? I've counted my lies before, curious as I am about anything that concerns myself. Do you know what my number was in an hour? 25. Twenty five lies in a short sixty minute period. When I say I lie, I truly mean it. It's not some simple one-liner. No, it's an in-depth story created right off the top of my head. Why do I lie, you ask? Well, why not? Why should I trust others with the truth? These people, any person really, they cannot be trusted. And also, because when you lie this feeling shocks your whole system. The adrenaline begins to pump, you ask yourself: 'will they believe this?' 'how many details should I add?', fear of someone catching you in the act, all of these only increase the intensity of the lie. It's an exhilarating experience that rivals that of arguing. Once again, I use a less than common expression. Ah well, my comparisons are never quite what the 'normal' people would come up with.

But alas, I cannot lie about everything. How would I amass any credibility if I never ceased lying? Well, if anyone ever caught me lying. It is a skill that many try and few succeed it. I count myself with the latter because to this day, not one has called me out on a story I've told. Why would they question what I say? My demeanor seems innocent enough, I'm practiced in the art of looking into someone's eye. If a complication does arise, it's easily avoided. No, not avoided, I face it head on and find another way around it, adding more and more details until the person cannot possible believe it were true otherwise. But enough about the lies, I've made is painstakingly clear how it consumes me, correct? and I have more matters of which I'd like to discuss.

I am not a loner; as hard as I try to push people away, they come back time and time again. Much to my dismay. You would think that constantly belittiling someone to the point where you're wishing they would die would cause someone to turn their back from you, and yet depsite my best efforts of crushing someone's spirit, they return. They find it humorous that I am so cynical, so reserved and demeaning. Only once has someone truly believed my insults. Shall I tell you of her fate? Or do you wish to lay soundly in your beds without this disturbance on your conscience? I'll choose the latter option if only to save myself from writing of the entire situation. But alas, it is true; people still accept me as their friend. The foolish peers of mine have not yet experienced the real world outside of high school; they do not realize that life is unfair, so why should someone hate them so much so instantly? Their brains can simply not accept that.

How am I a bad person? As in, what do I do that makes myself qualified to classify myself as such? Well, the first part is simply in the manner of which I think. Not once in my entire life that I can remember, have I felt any signs of remorse. People have died in my class or in my family, though not because of my doing, and I shed not a single tear at their absence. Nor did I feel the need to console the those who felt the loss the worst. I quite honestly consider myself above everyone else. While there are those that are smarter or better looking or more athletic, none of those truly understand human nature at its worst. Many of you, I'm guessing, have written about a villain in one of your stories. How many of you know what is going through their head when they are committing a crime? You would never in your wildest dreams begin to fathom what it is like murder. Don't take that the wrong way; I have not and most likely will never commit a murder. Simply because I do not wish to go to jail, though the desire is definitley there. But even without my own experience, I could tell you in detail what the murderer was thinking at that moment.

Human nature is predictable. I no longer feel the need to converse with others because it is far easier to answer for them. If I were to meet someone of some intelligence with conflicting arguments on an issue, then yes, I would have a discussion with them. But few in this world are capable of holding a debate without resorting to childish tactics. Quite honestly, I'd rather live in my own head. At least there, I think everything through. Admittedly, I am not always right. I accept that. No one is perfect and those that claim to be should be shot. I do accept others' views. Although that does not mean I won't argue with them until I'm absolutely convinced of their stance. Politics and religion are among two of my favorite discussions. For those that are interested: politically I'm a liberal republican (though democratic on various stances), and as for religion, I am an atheist. If you so wish to argue with me about my lack of faith, feel free to do so, but be warned if you resort to petty insults, I shall not hold back. Being guilt free constitutes a risk for those around me; not everyone can handle the brutal reality of the truth, and I have no qualms when it comes to sharing it.

I find faults in everyone; while some may be their intelliegence or to be more precise, lack thereof, most often it's their behavior that infuriates me to no end. I hate every person I've ever met; from my first grade teacher to my own parents. Although, most would consider them good people, I cannot stand to be associated with them. If only I could live on my own in a secluded cabin the woods. If only I could become the hermit I so wish to be. But alas, that shall never happen since I would lose the ability to argue, insult and lie. Though, I would probably be just as well if I conversed only with myself. I do not lack imagination. In fact, I'd do well to lose some of it. But that is hardly possible.

Why is is that I wish to explain my life to anyone of you? Because I seek for someone to understand me? Because I secretly hold the desire to be open and honest? Or is it simply because of the narcissism that I claim? It is the final answer. As I've said before, I am posting this because I would quite like someone to ask me what the hell I'm thinking. If you were to have a serious negative reactions to this my bio, then by all means, yell and scream at me for it. You have no idea how I'd love that.

Would you like to learn of my past? Admittedly, it as not quite as interesting as the previous parts, though it does pick up when I discuss my brother. You hardly have any choice in this matter, for I will write about it regardless.

Starting at an early age, my parents knew something was different. One doctor told them it was autism, another brilliance. Some days I'm not so sure of which was correct. Why exactly did they think this? Well, as a child, I had trouble when people asked me questions. The most infamous one in my family would be ' what color is this?' But how do I answer that? Sure, the majoirty of it was red, but what of the streaks of orange or the yellow? You cannot simply ignore them, but maybe that's what they want me to do. How could I be sure of what they sought? So, I would ponder over these questions and finally reply. My hesitance they took as fear of communicating; I had yet to develop the proper speech to enlighten them with the true reason.

Even in school, I have been more advanced than the rest of the children in my class. I can precisely remember one day in Kindergarten. It had been in the fall only two months into my first chance at school. I thought I had been doing well in class, and yet when the teacher asked to see me after school, trepidation seized me. What had I done? I considered leaving school altogether instead of going to that meeting, but of course that would have been impossible as a five year old. So, when that fateful meeting came, I clenched my fists and walked into the classroom waiting for her to decide my fate. But it was different than what I had expected. Although the meeting did change the way I view school completely, it was not the way she had intended. Do you know what she told me? No, of course you don't as I am about to tell you. Her words were "Dear, you must stop answering all of the questions. Give the other children a chance. We all know you are smart without you proving it." Not put up my hand anymore? As a child, I didn't quite understand, but I did it none the less. And to this day, I seldom if ever raise my hand in class.

To be continued