I hear friends talking and laughing, bringing up tales and memories of their summer holidays. Both Gin and Taissa are loud talkers, they drown out the rest of the conversation. I turn to the girl sitting next to me. She has light, strawberry blonde hair, and blue eyes. She looks shy. This must be Garrett’s sister. 

“Hi, i’m Precious!” I say enthusiastically. This could be a chance to make another friend!

“I’m Jean,” Jean says reluctantly. She doesn’t reach my eyes, but scratches a pattern into the wooden table. 

“How was your Summer?” I ask politely. 

“Good,” Jean replies. She looks away, and doesn’t carry on the conversation. I frown slightly, out of worry. Did I do something wrong? Jean doesn’t talk to me for the rest of homeroom. 

Out of curiosity, I look for Jean’s aura, but all I see is a black fog surrounding her. From what I know, black is not good.  What is going on with this girl?

“Right, class!” Mr. Egan calls out. “To the Geo room!” 

I am a millennial. Generation Y. Born between the birth of Aids and 9/11, give or take. They call us the global generation. We are known for our entitlement and narcissism. Some say it’s because we’re the first generation where every kid gets a trophy just for showing up. Others think it’s because social media allows us to post every time we fart or have a sandwich for all the world to see. But it seems that our one defining trait is a numbness to the world; an indifference to suffering. I know I did anything I could to not feel: sex, drugs, booze. Just take away the pain. Take away my mother, my asshole father, the press, and all the boys I loved who wouldn’t love me back. Hell, I was gang raped. Two days later, I was back in class like nothing happened. I mean that must’ve hurt like hell, right? Most people never get over stuff like that and I was like, “let’s go for Jamba Juice”. I would give everything I have, or will ever have, just to feel pain again. To hurt.
—  Madison Montgomery, AHS Coven