Get real

"Where in the world are we
Everything's fake nothing's real
I guess it just depends on how you feel"

" Loveday Gwen Thompson Lewis?" The principal asked me. She was an old woman, who clearly thought herself to be the most wise and distinguished of all. I spent lot of time at her office during the next few years. It had no windows and It felt ALOT like a prison.
"Yes its me."
She looked at me from feet to head, apparently analyzing my looks. I was a great looking pre-teen, and everyone thought it was a shame, such a waste. I resembled lot of Antoniette, her intense almond shaped blue eyes, her tall cheeks, her pale skin, her reddish thick lips, even the ring of light freckles below my eyes, but not the hair. I had black hair, just like Richard, the only proof that he was actually my father.

"Why are you wasting my time
With questions when everything's fine
Why are things so nice"

"Well welcome to Nancherrow I hope you find your stay very pleasant" She handed me a blue folder and said "Here is your schedule, good luck"
I cursed to myself and found my way out of the office.

It didn't took to long to find my class, and I just entered, presented my self simply as "Gwen" and bowed my head down, refusing to look at anyone as I passed their seat and I chose the last row, a seat on the corner, next to the window. None of those uniformed students talked to me. None of the suit teachers looked at me. I opened the folder and checked my schedule, I had not one class that felt worth it, except ART.

Hours later I walked into the cafeteria, stood in the line, walking and nodding as instructed, and waited for my food, and my dessert: souffle.
What a joke right? I remember the long fine tables and benches, the symbol of the school in posters hanging from the top of the roof. I heard laughs and gossips, screams and cocky comments on the rest of the world. I disliked all these people, a day before, they would have become my friends but now...

"Is this the place that they call Paradise"

You see to Antoniette It was as if I had just destroyed the family, to me it was still shocking the words that I had pronounced, and my hand still felt numb, as if I had hit her face a second ago.
I took the tray out with me, and I sat by a cherry tree, half blooming, half dead. As I stared towards the luxury building that felt so wrong. The skies opened and drops of water splashed around me. The sensation went through my spine again, as I held the porcelain plate of souffle and threw it to the ground.

A guy passed by me, with his jacket on top of his head running away from the rain, with his clothes shinning clean and his face revealed he thought I was a "lunny", his hair was plastered to the back. He stopped dry and stared at the broken plate
The feeling rushed to my head, and something made me raise my hand, and salute him with the middle finger. Years later I knew what the feeling was, rebellion they used to call towards my lifestyle.
The rain was becoming harder and harder, and the pounding rays filled the sky, but I stood there. Feeling drops sliding through my being.

"Oh it's Paradise"

"Hey there, you should really go in, the rain is turning into a storm" She held her hand to me. Her blue eyes looked so much like mine, and her red perfectly straighten hair resembled lot of the life style we shared. At least I thought so at first.
I was a kid, and I was very near to something amazing, something wild and impossible to destroy once it was alive, but I was a kid, and I shook her hand. In the back of my mind I always knew it was temporary.

"You are right, I'm Gwen, you?"
"Tyler lets go inside"

A year or two went by, with not much to talk about. I was a sucky student in every class, I had to take individual lessons to pass the school year. Somehow I made it, and I was 3 months away from my thirteen birthday. In those two years Tyler and I had become great friends.
Our differences were more than our similitude, but she liked the way I talked about "Neverland" Yes that's right, even at age 12 almost 13 I was dreaming about Neverland. It was not the same Neverland anymore, it slowly changed. First it was a place to live adventures, then a place were everyone was happy and then a place for "subhumans"

Through the years my family and I had grown apart, nothing definitive and wild just small differences. Small conflicts, small disagreements, but behind them there were great opinions and ideas. My teachers thought I was a troublemaker, I wasn't. I was pretty damn obedient, pretty damn indifferent, but they would call me "Rebel" I always liked it, it was like a sign on my head saying I was somehow not the same as any of them. They knew I was different, and they kept their distance, but no one knew how different I was until that day.

"Look around you day by day
See the people on their way"

That fine day.

It was art class, my favorite, even though I wasn't;t anything like talented. I enjoyed it, I was in my seat minding my own work. We were supposed to make a painting, it was the assignation of the month, and the theme was "Dreams".
It was the last day, just for the final touch. No one had seen my paint, not even Tyler, or Zeph. Hell not even the teachers. I was putting everything into it.
The class was almost over, and the teachers were now evaluating the work. It was a large room with a good vibe. There were long thick red curtains on the windows, it made it all look more opaque and mysterious. Each had a designated space to work in, and you could choose to leave the curtains opened or closed. Mines were always in the middle, my table was to the wall and the easel had its back to the rest of the class. I would turn it to the side a little, just so no one could see. I was signing it, with white paint. When one of the teachers came along.
His face was a mixture of horror and indignation, looking at me as if I was out of my mind, his eyes flicked analyzing every part of the composition. Excruciating with disgust. His mouth twitched as if he had seen the most gross thing in the world.

"On Friday nights collecting their pay
So don't tell me what's wrong and what's right

"What.. What is this Thompson?" His voice was cracking and the scene was so ridiculous, that I must have grinned, because he leaned for my paint. And what was I supposed to do? Let him take it away. The whole deal was so ridiculous. So fake.
So I step infront opening my stretchign my arms as wide as I could, protecting my territory.

"NO!" That strange sensation again, as if something was screaming for me. A beast inside. He sorta jumped back, surprised and furious, for my actions.

"Step aside, that.. that thing is goign to the principal, lets see what she thinks about it" I didn't move just stared straight into his eyes, with all the hatred and self confidence that I could manage.
"Move" He tried to push me aside, gently but firmly. He was trying me to give up. I stood on my ground, chained to the floor.
"No" Clear and loud. The whole classroom was now gathering around us, their faces were so meaningles to me. So ful of shit. I was focused on the bloody man infront of me.

"'Cos a knife fight on Saturday night
Is the only kind of justice not nice"

He pushed strong aside, I almost lost my balance, but my mind was to determinated. Even when his fancy shoes stepped closer to my paint. The students seemed to agree with him, bowing their heads down.

He took it in his hands, and pull it closer to his face. For a second the memory of my mom spitting on the boy, came back to my mind and he looked so disgusted. I couldn't let him happen.
The beast flowing through my veins, as I sprang in the air and in one movement tackled him. His suit so bloody fake, and he looked at me in fear what a twat.

"You punk" His words were meant with all the despite and hatred. I gripped my hands on the edges of the canvas, and I ripped it away from him.
It was the first time I was called punk. All because of a paint, and you must be wondering what it was right?
It was a man on his knees, taking support on a broken flag, trying to stand up while a man in a suit and a woman in a shinny dress, with jewerly all around, were beating him down.
This was not a dream but a nightmare and it was real. Oh and the man was naked. The first time I was called punk', because I dared to tell a truth, and it was just a painting. Just an image, but it was real.
It was supposed tobe an insult but punk felt like me.

"But it's the only kind that's given here in Paradise
Oh it's Paradise"