This is not a story about love. Neither is it a love story or anything to do with love in general. I suppose our story is about a different kind of emotion, one that gives you the illusion of love, but it’s secretly something else. What is love anyway? This is a word that has been thrown around so casually and commonly that it has completely lost its sentimental value, subsequently making the despicable four letters meaningless.  Many congratulations to the brilliant work of my generation, you have out done yourself yet again. Although this story contains elements of love (mainly on my part) I hope that you do not expect to find a darling story that entails a romantic hot scene full of passion or a destined couple that’s destiny was written in the shimmering stars above (which usually play a key role in sappy, fake stories like that). Sadly, your wishes will not be granted. Adding to that I also hope you weren't fooled by the title of this book and are lurking to read about a psychopathic killer; as again I regret to inform you (you freak), this is not what this story is about.
In the simplest of terms, this is a story of a girl and to anyone else she was nothing important, regular and not somebody interesting enough to take notice of. But to me, well she was the cause and the rest of my life is the affect.
I am telling this story because it deserves to be known, her life deserves to be read about. Her jokes were made to be laughed at and her outbursts where shouted so someone would hear her. Well I heard her, and I don’t believe I’m lucky enough, never mind special enough to be the only person who knew about her inimitable, spectacular, mind boggling life. Now before you begin thinking ‘wow, how could a girl like this exist and only a lanky, drug addicted, therapy attender know about her?’ I want you to understand (before you throw a catastrophic tantrum about the ending of this book towards your poor unsuspecting parents who just don’t understand how a book can affect you so g------ much!) that the lady of discussion, the girl who unconsciously put a new meaning to the word ‘perfection’.
Well, she no longer exists.
And on this sorrow, smile-stealing note, I will begin to bless you with the unconventional story of the life and death of Talia Kairbloom.
Before I introduce Talia, I should formally introduce myself.
My name is Wade Masson and I am 17 years old. I live in a very big town full of very big people, Rainford. The thing about Rainford is that it’s so big and loud that you couldn't stand out if you went to church with nothing but an African headdress on. In simpler terms, everybody is a nobody unless you’re really somebody. I mean, our population doesn't even know the name of our governor, never mind who are next door neighbors are. Everyone is so busy with their own lives, kids, jobs and other compulsory things like that, so no one notices anything outside their bubble really. I think that’s a sad way to live, each having our own individual suffocating bubble; I think we should all share one big bubble and float about together.