Status: A work in progress for years and years and years ... etc
Headfirst for Halos
Who is it?
Dear you,
So i guess you'll want a proper introduction. my name, my age, my background. I will tell you all of this, but i won't mention any names because i think it's better you dont know my name. At least this way you can focus on who i am as a person and get to know the real me. I guess you could call me your close-to-home penfriend?
I guess i can begin by telling you that i can't wait to leave the shit-hole of a school either. The sooner i can get out, the better. Which shouldn't be too long.
So what type of things do you enjoy? Sports? I like soccor, but I love music more. What would you like to do when you leave school? I'd like to be in the music industry or if that fails, i think i could always become a soccor coach.
From me.
A new week had begun and still Billie had taken no notice of me. My life was trouble free. And i now had someone to turn to. My mystery penfriend. A note had landed on my desk the next morning. They obviously weren't taking the piss. I was so glad, yet i still feel unsure. Why the sudden interest? I had never made a best friend in high-school. Hell, i was sure that no more than ten people knew my name. All that has changed now though, they point and stare in their groups. Then giggle. Always the infamous teenage giggle. Then there's the jocks who just look at you as if you'r a piece of dirt. Either that or they nudge their nearest companion and snigger. Nearly no one has been symathetic except the teachers and my family. The teachers act as if they are treading on egg shells whenever i'm in one of their classes. The only person acting kind towards me so far is my penfriend. I don't even know them and yet i feel closest to them.
I sat in my class looking at all my fellow pupils around me. Who could it be? Him? Nah, he wouldn't know my name if his life depended on it. Her? Wait... she couldn't string together a coherent sentence, so its definately not her. Who could it be? I guess it doesn't really matter. If they wanted me to know, i would have been told. Now to concentrate on what i'm meant to be doing, Math. It wasn't that hard, but it was boring. And that's what made it terrible. It was like nearly every other class. Quite easy, but terribly boring.
I made it home quite quickly again today. I ran all the way, a habit i must get out of. I dropped my bag in the hallway of my house and disgarded my jacket along with it. I would take them upto my room later when i was going to get changed.
"I'm home!" I yelled to my mother, who was probably in the kitchen.
I made my way towards the kitchen door, avoiding all the cleaning products that lay around. My mother had her own little obsession with cleanliness. And routines. Every Monday she would scrub the whole house, except my room. I loved my room with a passion. It was my space. My rightful place in the world to do whatever i pleased. Paint, write, draw or even to make things. I loved most things to do with art. I draw things whenever boredom strikes. I paint when i get the chance. I love painting things on my wall. I had been allocated one wall to paint stuff on as i pleased. The other walls to be left alone, so i put all the wonderful things that pop into my head on my wall. I have paints especially for my wall. And being the conservative soul i am, i always draw my ideas out first. I see painting them on to my wall like getting a tattoo. They're my tattoos. So perfect and intricate. And no way was i ever giving my mother a chance to clean it all off or paint over it. That wall was my soul, and hardly anyone knew about it. Even less people had seen it.
"How was school today honey?" my mom asked her voice echoing. Only her backside was visable, her head inside the oven scrubbing at only a weeks worth of grease and grime.
"Its was okay," I replied, "As okay as school can be." I muttered under my breath. "What's for dinner?" I asked.
I thumbed through the newspaper that lay open on the worktop while i waited for my mother to finish her cleaning and finally emerge from the oven.
"Chicken and veg. It should be ready in about an hour so you, young lady, have ample time to go do your homework or study." she said, shooing me out of the kitcen and back into the hallway.
So i guess you'll want a proper introduction. my name, my age, my background. I will tell you all of this, but i won't mention any names because i think it's better you dont know my name. At least this way you can focus on who i am as a person and get to know the real me. I guess you could call me your close-to-home penfriend?
I guess i can begin by telling you that i can't wait to leave the shit-hole of a school either. The sooner i can get out, the better. Which shouldn't be too long.
So what type of things do you enjoy? Sports? I like soccor, but I love music more. What would you like to do when you leave school? I'd like to be in the music industry or if that fails, i think i could always become a soccor coach.
From me.
A new week had begun and still Billie had taken no notice of me. My life was trouble free. And i now had someone to turn to. My mystery penfriend. A note had landed on my desk the next morning. They obviously weren't taking the piss. I was so glad, yet i still feel unsure. Why the sudden interest? I had never made a best friend in high-school. Hell, i was sure that no more than ten people knew my name. All that has changed now though, they point and stare in their groups. Then giggle. Always the infamous teenage giggle. Then there's the jocks who just look at you as if you'r a piece of dirt. Either that or they nudge their nearest companion and snigger. Nearly no one has been symathetic except the teachers and my family. The teachers act as if they are treading on egg shells whenever i'm in one of their classes. The only person acting kind towards me so far is my penfriend. I don't even know them and yet i feel closest to them.
I sat in my class looking at all my fellow pupils around me. Who could it be? Him? Nah, he wouldn't know my name if his life depended on it. Her? Wait... she couldn't string together a coherent sentence, so its definately not her. Who could it be? I guess it doesn't really matter. If they wanted me to know, i would have been told. Now to concentrate on what i'm meant to be doing, Math. It wasn't that hard, but it was boring. And that's what made it terrible. It was like nearly every other class. Quite easy, but terribly boring.
I made it home quite quickly again today. I ran all the way, a habit i must get out of. I dropped my bag in the hallway of my house and disgarded my jacket along with it. I would take them upto my room later when i was going to get changed.
"I'm home!" I yelled to my mother, who was probably in the kitchen.
I made my way towards the kitchen door, avoiding all the cleaning products that lay around. My mother had her own little obsession with cleanliness. And routines. Every Monday she would scrub the whole house, except my room. I loved my room with a passion. It was my space. My rightful place in the world to do whatever i pleased. Paint, write, draw or even to make things. I loved most things to do with art. I draw things whenever boredom strikes. I paint when i get the chance. I love painting things on my wall. I had been allocated one wall to paint stuff on as i pleased. The other walls to be left alone, so i put all the wonderful things that pop into my head on my wall. I have paints especially for my wall. And being the conservative soul i am, i always draw my ideas out first. I see painting them on to my wall like getting a tattoo. They're my tattoos. So perfect and intricate. And no way was i ever giving my mother a chance to clean it all off or paint over it. That wall was my soul, and hardly anyone knew about it. Even less people had seen it.
"How was school today honey?" my mom asked her voice echoing. Only her backside was visable, her head inside the oven scrubbing at only a weeks worth of grease and grime.
"Its was okay," I replied, "As okay as school can be." I muttered under my breath. "What's for dinner?" I asked.
I thumbed through the newspaper that lay open on the worktop while i waited for my mother to finish her cleaning and finally emerge from the oven.
"Chicken and veg. It should be ready in about an hour so you, young lady, have ample time to go do your homework or study." she said, shooing me out of the kitcen and back into the hallway.