Post by Firefly on Sept 28, 2010 18:59:51 GMT -5
Yes, I, the one that goes by many names, has decided to write a little story... You may reply if you wish, but if it is not finished when posted, there will be a strip of text at the bottom that will tell, and this post may be modified in the future. But please, by all means, reply. I love it when people reply to things like this. 
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! My alarm clock blared as I reached up, face still buried in my pillow, the rest of me still in a safe cocoon in my blankets, turning the alarm off. Six o' clock a.m., just another day in my long and lonely life. Me, the lost soul, me, the girl who can't ever be the one to instigate anything but a fight... The girl who possessed battle scars from the blood lust of our mangy school. Yeah, I'm that girl.
Slowly I pushed myself up, wriggling my way out of my cocoon of safety, out of the warmth, my tanned skin prickling as the cool morning air hit it, the breeze through the window smelling sweet enough to make me sick. Just another typical morning. I moved to get dressed, get that crappy excuse of a backpack together, and make my way to school. Another boring day of school, just like any other. More droning teachers, another fight or two, another long conversation with the vice principle, and another warning.
Just a waste of time, if you ask me. But you never did, did you? I left my room in one of my typical outfits - Dark, heavy jeans, heavy and very well-made leather boots, and a black tank top. The only reason I had any clothing this nice was because of my Gothic cousin, and the only reason she gave me any is because otherwise, in her words, I may as well be running around with nothing on. It'd suit me fine. Believe me, it wasn't always like this. Not until 'Dad' was caught... Again.
I tossed my hair in a quick ponytail with my small red ribbon, after brushing through the rats in a half-hearted attempt to make it look like I care. A quick glance in the mirror revealed the black eye I had received the other day, bordered by a scar right under my right eyebrow that I'd had for about three months now. Other scars and bruises littered my form - each a symbol of a different fight for survival.
For survival? Maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe not. My brown eyes gazed out at the run down town as I prepared to leave, a toothbrush sticking out the side of my mouth as I brushed and walked at the same time. Yeah, I may be a fighter, but I'm not going to let that orthodontic work go to waste - not when I shouldn't have gotten it in the first place.
I walked past an old run-down neighborhood, turning in to reach an old, run down school. Yeah, it was a dying town, but it was my home. Don't you forget that. I walked into the building, the white brick walls seeming to watch me, the sickening color of the pale green lockers staring at me. Conversation swirled around me in a dull thrum, and I weaved my way through the crowd. Some guys turned to stare me down.
Let them stare, I think, let them stare at the forbidden fruit, at the one beauty they'll never get their hands on. I'm, supposedly, of a far better form than most any other girl in the school. I am, supposedly, the taunting force, the one girl a guy wouldn't mind getting hit by. I could care less. By the time I reach my locker, the bell's already rung for first period. I'm late, as always. I take my time anyway, grabbing my Chemistry 2 Book, and then making my way slowly down the now-empty hallways.
I may be late a lot, but that doesn't make me a bad student. I don't care for school - but I do care about my future, and if good grades means a better future, then I'm all for it. I can do whatever other than that, right?
The brown hair in my ponytail teased my lower back as I walked into the room, brown eyes scanning for a moment before nonchalantly taking my seat. I was a Junior in High School, a year younger than the other students. I don't particularly care about not fitting in. I'm a fighter, I'm a smart kid, and I'm independent in more ways than one.
The day crawled by, slow, steady. It was a normal day, at least. Then came lunch. Lunch is a time of socialization for most students. For me, it's a stress break. I sit at one of the loudest tables in the room. It's not because they're my friends... But I feel safe. Surrounded by bodies and laughter on all sides, a place I can withdraw into myself within the gentle hum of things.
And so it was this day, this day at lunch, that I was finally punished. Yeah, I start fights, but I'm usually on good enough terms with adult figures that I get off with warning, after warning, after warning. Today, though... Today was different.
As usual, I pulled out my journal to write. I'm a writer at heart, and you can't take that away from me. But again, as usual, the jostling of the table made it really sloppy. Today though, a line was crossed. Today, they took my journal. And the following events would change things for forever.
John leaned over me, whispering in my ear. "What you writing today, hun?" He asked, continuing, "It isn't anything about me is it?" He then fell into his creepy, snorting laughter as his hand ran up my thigh, my journal in his other hand, moving away as though he was going to take it and read it. This was too far. It kicked him in the shins - hard! - and shoved him out of his chair, standing up, fists branded.
One thing you should know. You never take my journal, and you never - I repeat, NEVER - try to 'flirt' in a physical manner. With John on the floor, sprawling to get up, I took an attack, a sharp kick to the ribs, knocking the air out of his form, sending the journal skittering across the floor. I started to bound after it, but John recovered fast, tackling me from behind. Stupid jocks, pulling there sports moves on me...
I hit the ground hard, head smacking against the tile floor. Where were the paras? Oh, there they were, afraid of getting in the fight. Of course, last time a para got involved in a fight that I was in, they walked away with a broken nose... But now I was on the ground, John on top of me - sounds like the start of a sick joke - hands grasping for the journal.
In a quick move, I brought my elbow down - hard! - into his face, smacking him in the eye. Now, I was in some pretty nice pain right now, with a throbbing head and sore ribs, where he had grabbed me, but in was in a much worse condition. With him instinctively grabbing his face, as though trying to remove the pain with his hand, I pushed up with both arms as hard and fast as I could, smacking him in the chin with my hip. Hope he bit his tongue, that jerk.
As I wiggled my way off the ground, he again started to recover. By now we had a pretty good audience - including the vice principal. Oh, how I felt honored. As I again grabbed for the journal, my hand brushed against the edge before I received a swift kick in the ribs. This time it was my turn to curl up in an instinctive ball of pain on the floor, and he took advantage of this, kicking and spitting at me.
Neither of us could take much more, though. Still suffering the blows, I pushed on the floor with one foot, my other leg whipping around, knocking him on the floor, as I scrambled to get my journal. Finally, I managed to get to it without incident, but by now the campus policeman arrive, and he grabbed me - and my journal - without a word. This would be Rick. We knew each other pretty well, actually, but that didn't by any means make him hesitate in doing his job, and I didn't want to fight him. Now I submitted. However, John was giving the paras a pretty good fight by himself, and I snickered a bit, with a disapproving glance from Rick, as one of the paras landed on the floor, clutching their mid-torso.
........
TO BE FINISHED. (Laptop battery dead.)
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! My alarm clock blared as I reached up, face still buried in my pillow, the rest of me still in a safe cocoon in my blankets, turning the alarm off. Six o' clock a.m., just another day in my long and lonely life. Me, the lost soul, me, the girl who can't ever be the one to instigate anything but a fight... The girl who possessed battle scars from the blood lust of our mangy school. Yeah, I'm that girl.
Slowly I pushed myself up, wriggling my way out of my cocoon of safety, out of the warmth, my tanned skin prickling as the cool morning air hit it, the breeze through the window smelling sweet enough to make me sick. Just another typical morning. I moved to get dressed, get that crappy excuse of a backpack together, and make my way to school. Another boring day of school, just like any other. More droning teachers, another fight or two, another long conversation with the vice principle, and another warning.
Just a waste of time, if you ask me. But you never did, did you? I left my room in one of my typical outfits - Dark, heavy jeans, heavy and very well-made leather boots, and a black tank top. The only reason I had any clothing this nice was because of my Gothic cousin, and the only reason she gave me any is because otherwise, in her words, I may as well be running around with nothing on. It'd suit me fine. Believe me, it wasn't always like this. Not until 'Dad' was caught... Again.
I tossed my hair in a quick ponytail with my small red ribbon, after brushing through the rats in a half-hearted attempt to make it look like I care. A quick glance in the mirror revealed the black eye I had received the other day, bordered by a scar right under my right eyebrow that I'd had for about three months now. Other scars and bruises littered my form - each a symbol of a different fight for survival.
For survival? Maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe not. My brown eyes gazed out at the run down town as I prepared to leave, a toothbrush sticking out the side of my mouth as I brushed and walked at the same time. Yeah, I may be a fighter, but I'm not going to let that orthodontic work go to waste - not when I shouldn't have gotten it in the first place.
I walked past an old run-down neighborhood, turning in to reach an old, run down school. Yeah, it was a dying town, but it was my home. Don't you forget that. I walked into the building, the white brick walls seeming to watch me, the sickening color of the pale green lockers staring at me. Conversation swirled around me in a dull thrum, and I weaved my way through the crowd. Some guys turned to stare me down.
Let them stare, I think, let them stare at the forbidden fruit, at the one beauty they'll never get their hands on. I'm, supposedly, of a far better form than most any other girl in the school. I am, supposedly, the taunting force, the one girl a guy wouldn't mind getting hit by. I could care less. By the time I reach my locker, the bell's already rung for first period. I'm late, as always. I take my time anyway, grabbing my Chemistry 2 Book, and then making my way slowly down the now-empty hallways.
I may be late a lot, but that doesn't make me a bad student. I don't care for school - but I do care about my future, and if good grades means a better future, then I'm all for it. I can do whatever other than that, right?
The brown hair in my ponytail teased my lower back as I walked into the room, brown eyes scanning for a moment before nonchalantly taking my seat. I was a Junior in High School, a year younger than the other students. I don't particularly care about not fitting in. I'm a fighter, I'm a smart kid, and I'm independent in more ways than one.
The day crawled by, slow, steady. It was a normal day, at least. Then came lunch. Lunch is a time of socialization for most students. For me, it's a stress break. I sit at one of the loudest tables in the room. It's not because they're my friends... But I feel safe. Surrounded by bodies and laughter on all sides, a place I can withdraw into myself within the gentle hum of things.
And so it was this day, this day at lunch, that I was finally punished. Yeah, I start fights, but I'm usually on good enough terms with adult figures that I get off with warning, after warning, after warning. Today, though... Today was different.
As usual, I pulled out my journal to write. I'm a writer at heart, and you can't take that away from me. But again, as usual, the jostling of the table made it really sloppy. Today though, a line was crossed. Today, they took my journal. And the following events would change things for forever.
John leaned over me, whispering in my ear. "What you writing today, hun?" He asked, continuing, "It isn't anything about me is it?" He then fell into his creepy, snorting laughter as his hand ran up my thigh, my journal in his other hand, moving away as though he was going to take it and read it. This was too far. It kicked him in the shins - hard! - and shoved him out of his chair, standing up, fists branded.
One thing you should know. You never take my journal, and you never - I repeat, NEVER - try to 'flirt' in a physical manner. With John on the floor, sprawling to get up, I took an attack, a sharp kick to the ribs, knocking the air out of his form, sending the journal skittering across the floor. I started to bound after it, but John recovered fast, tackling me from behind. Stupid jocks, pulling there sports moves on me...
I hit the ground hard, head smacking against the tile floor. Where were the paras? Oh, there they were, afraid of getting in the fight. Of course, last time a para got involved in a fight that I was in, they walked away with a broken nose... But now I was on the ground, John on top of me - sounds like the start of a sick joke - hands grasping for the journal.
In a quick move, I brought my elbow down - hard! - into his face, smacking him in the eye. Now, I was in some pretty nice pain right now, with a throbbing head and sore ribs, where he had grabbed me, but in was in a much worse condition. With him instinctively grabbing his face, as though trying to remove the pain with his hand, I pushed up with both arms as hard and fast as I could, smacking him in the chin with my hip. Hope he bit his tongue, that jerk.
As I wiggled my way off the ground, he again started to recover. By now we had a pretty good audience - including the vice principal. Oh, how I felt honored. As I again grabbed for the journal, my hand brushed against the edge before I received a swift kick in the ribs. This time it was my turn to curl up in an instinctive ball of pain on the floor, and he took advantage of this, kicking and spitting at me.
Neither of us could take much more, though. Still suffering the blows, I pushed on the floor with one foot, my other leg whipping around, knocking him on the floor, as I scrambled to get my journal. Finally, I managed to get to it without incident, but by now the campus policeman arrive, and he grabbed me - and my journal - without a word. This would be Rick. We knew each other pretty well, actually, but that didn't by any means make him hesitate in doing his job, and I didn't want to fight him. Now I submitted. However, John was giving the paras a pretty good fight by himself, and I snickered a bit, with a disapproving glance from Rick, as one of the paras landed on the floor, clutching their mid-torso.
........
TO BE FINISHED. (Laptop battery dead.)
