My name is Jinx.

I am not human.

Nor am I monster.

Nor am I animal.

I am simply invisible.

No, I’m not dead. I’m very much alive, thank you for your concern and undying care.

I’ll have you know that I have rather cynical and sarcastic tendencies.

My story starts with the young woman who can see me. Long story turned short, she terrifies me. Not because she is particularly horrendous, or monstrous. No. In fact, she is absolutely beautiful. Possessing long, dark, silken hair, and glittering violet eyes. Ivory skin and a lithe build. Not only is she beautiful, but she is intelligent. So clever that her every play on words puzzles and mystifies those around her. Indeed, she is a wonder, but unfortunately for those of you who read this in hopes that I am deeply in love: I do not fancy her. My conundrum, has nothing to do with her beauty or intellect, but the fact that she can see me.

Which, for one, means I must wear clothes. For two, means that if I ever talked to her, she could tell me what I look like. For three, means that she could be stark-raving mad. For four, means that she can actually, maybe, hopefully become accustomed to my presence.

I’ve been existing entirely alone ever since I became invisible, left solely to this pen and paper I write with. Yes, I write this so that at least one person will know of me. I write in hopes that someone will understand what not to do with their lives. How not to become me.

I will start by telling you how this mess happened, and then I will introduce you to Dianne, though I do not promise you I will have the courage to speak with her. But because this is being written, I will give it a name.

I suppose I will call this book: “How to not be Jinxed”

©Nightingale