The Iceberg Tipping
Summertime.
Lockers slammed shut all around and teachers stayed shut up in their rooms while student milled around the hallways looking for entertainment. Sunlight was pulling through the entire area, making it bright enough without the energy eating lightbulbs that they turned on anyway. Wouldn’t want anyone tripping and falling down the stairs. Emma could only dream.
indent Just as she thought, the building seemed to be sucking the life out of her. It was a parasitic work site, someplace only the very desperate enjoy going. Unfortunately, Emma felt she was past the ‘must go to school to see friends’ stage and was on into the ‘what friends?’ area. She curled her toes further into her boots and lazily clunked herself from the bent out of shape locker and into the next classroom she would be tortured in. Hanna somehow ended up in stride with her and said a chaste hello.
indent That became the routine as her spirits slowly dwindled and the air became less of a cool breeze and more of a heat wave. Anywhere and everywhere you could feel the pressure of summer coming fast. The trees were no longer skeletal beings, instead standing still with their boring brown and green business suits on. Younger kids scaled them, though, and hid inside their leaves while the older, much cooler, kids sought shelter from the sun beneath them. Emma did neither, she passed them by, feeling no need to interact with such life.
indent She almost felt as if everything she touched rotted. It was easy to hang around dead things when you felt that way, she knew. You don’t leave molded bread with ripe bananas, live things didn’t play with dead things and Emma was okay with that. In fact, she was absurdly content with sitting around in her attic all day, pretending she was really dead and plotting out how it would work.
indent School bells were ringing and the first real days of summer had hit. Emma turned down countless offers of summer fun. She lived just to think about dying and she’d just die if she thought about living. Depression seemed to become the glue holding her together where it was normally the termites tearing someone apart.
indent Getting up and walking over to the mirror Emma found that should could probably use a haircut. It was getting harder to see past the bangs and she tended to push her hair off to the sides anyway, leaving a triangle of skin showing on her forehead. She grabbed her coat and a bit of money from her safe box before heading out the door, thinking about asking for a full fringe and a much shorter cut.
indent Just as she thought, the building seemed to be sucking the life out of her. It was a parasitic work site, someplace only the very desperate enjoy going. Unfortunately, Emma felt she was past the ‘must go to school to see friends’ stage and was on into the ‘what friends?’ area. She curled her toes further into her boots and lazily clunked herself from the bent out of shape locker and into the next classroom she would be tortured in. Hanna somehow ended up in stride with her and said a chaste hello.
indent That became the routine as her spirits slowly dwindled and the air became less of a cool breeze and more of a heat wave. Anywhere and everywhere you could feel the pressure of summer coming fast. The trees were no longer skeletal beings, instead standing still with their boring brown and green business suits on. Younger kids scaled them, though, and hid inside their leaves while the older, much cooler, kids sought shelter from the sun beneath them. Emma did neither, she passed them by, feeling no need to interact with such life.
indent She almost felt as if everything she touched rotted. It was easy to hang around dead things when you felt that way, she knew. You don’t leave molded bread with ripe bananas, live things didn’t play with dead things and Emma was okay with that. In fact, she was absurdly content with sitting around in her attic all day, pretending she was really dead and plotting out how it would work.
indent School bells were ringing and the first real days of summer had hit. Emma turned down countless offers of summer fun. She lived just to think about dying and she’d just die if she thought about living. Depression seemed to become the glue holding her together where it was normally the termites tearing someone apart.
indent Getting up and walking over to the mirror Emma found that should could probably use a haircut. It was getting harder to see past the bangs and she tended to push her hair off to the sides anyway, leaving a triangle of skin showing on her forehead. She grabbed her coat and a bit of money from her safe box before heading out the door, thinking about asking for a full fringe and a much shorter cut.