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Hate Kills
Teachers
Dear Myself,
The plane ride was horrible. Luckily, I slept through most of it, but every tiny gust of wind sent shivers down my spine. Sleeping only brought nightmares though. Every one about that day. Do you still dream about it? God. I am at it again. Asking my questions that I know you can't answer.
The dream was of when the lightning struck. The flash made my eyesight go blind for a second, and it took a while to see clearly. When my view was normal once more I saw Daddy. Blood flooded from his head, and his body lay on the control board. Until then I thought it was impossible for a person to seriously smoke.
Daddy was still hot as I pushed him off the controls. The plane was spiraling downwards as I grabbed hold of the steering wheel. I pulled up with everything I had. The crying and fright made my strength triple. I was able to make the plane level out as it touched down onto land. It still hit the ground with enough force to give me a concussion and black out, but I wasn't dead.
The last image I remembered was an empty street in the middle of no where and the night sky illuminating the metal all around me. After that I only remember waking up in a hospital with my mother crying next to me. She held a picture of dad. That memory still haunts me. Does it haunt you?
That is where the horrific nightmare ended. I woke up to the sound of the sweet voice of our mother. She told me to wake up and we got off the plane, but my mind was still not there. It was still in the stormy clouds with the dreaded lightning.
Today I am moving into my room. It is big and definitely enough space to study and write in my spare time. That is if my teachers let me have spare time. Last year every teacher was out to get me. Just because of my writing they gave me extra homework. They tried to make me just as good as my peers.
That isn't what I wanted. That is why I hate teachers. All they want to do is level the playing field for each of their students. That isn't the case with prodigies though. We are meant to be better at things, but no teachers cannot accept that fact.
Maybe I am bitter and have had all the wrong adults teach me. Maybe I will find an adult I can trust to help me. Ha! Fat chance. Adults hate me is the sad truth. The ones who do like me push and push me to become a writer. Did you finally find a teacher that accepts you? I really hope you have.
The space in my room will help me with the essays and letters and homework that they will assign. The good things it is also big enough to study what I want to be when I grow up. You remember right. It is the same plan we have had for many days now. For you most likely many years. Have you kept our promise? Have you become what we wanted? Please tell me you have.
I will try not to hate my teachers so much and I will try to find the one adult who will save me. Following our motto...and Daddy's, Hate Kills.
-Hannah (13) HK
The plane ride was horrible. Luckily, I slept through most of it, but every tiny gust of wind sent shivers down my spine. Sleeping only brought nightmares though. Every one about that day. Do you still dream about it? God. I am at it again. Asking my questions that I know you can't answer.
The dream was of when the lightning struck. The flash made my eyesight go blind for a second, and it took a while to see clearly. When my view was normal once more I saw Daddy. Blood flooded from his head, and his body lay on the control board. Until then I thought it was impossible for a person to seriously smoke.
Daddy was still hot as I pushed him off the controls. The plane was spiraling downwards as I grabbed hold of the steering wheel. I pulled up with everything I had. The crying and fright made my strength triple. I was able to make the plane level out as it touched down onto land. It still hit the ground with enough force to give me a concussion and black out, but I wasn't dead.
The last image I remembered was an empty street in the middle of no where and the night sky illuminating the metal all around me. After that I only remember waking up in a hospital with my mother crying next to me. She held a picture of dad. That memory still haunts me. Does it haunt you?
That is where the horrific nightmare ended. I woke up to the sound of the sweet voice of our mother. She told me to wake up and we got off the plane, but my mind was still not there. It was still in the stormy clouds with the dreaded lightning.
Today I am moving into my room. It is big and definitely enough space to study and write in my spare time. That is if my teachers let me have spare time. Last year every teacher was out to get me. Just because of my writing they gave me extra homework. They tried to make me just as good as my peers.
That isn't what I wanted. That is why I hate teachers. All they want to do is level the playing field for each of their students. That isn't the case with prodigies though. We are meant to be better at things, but no teachers cannot accept that fact.
Maybe I am bitter and have had all the wrong adults teach me. Maybe I will find an adult I can trust to help me. Ha! Fat chance. Adults hate me is the sad truth. The ones who do like me push and push me to become a writer. Did you finally find a teacher that accepts you? I really hope you have.
The space in my room will help me with the essays and letters and homework that they will assign. The good things it is also big enough to study what I want to be when I grow up. You remember right. It is the same plan we have had for many days now. For you most likely many years. Have you kept our promise? Have you become what we wanted? Please tell me you have.
I will try not to hate my teachers so much and I will try to find the one adult who will save me. Following our motto...and Daddy's, Hate Kills.
-Hannah (13) HK
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Sorry it is short BLEH Leave a comment!