Status: comin out once i finish it. can't estimate when, so sorry! chap1 is just a tease.
Oh, Annie
chapter 1;
7:12 a.m. That’s what my phone said as the bus skitters to a stop in front of Silgride High School. I sigh as I realize I’ve 18 minutes to kill before the bell rings for first period.
I step off the bus. The chill of Washington’s air immediately sends down shivers through me. My cheeks and nose start to sting as my eyes water just a bit.
I start walking with my head down, solitary and very painfully conscious of the loud groups of kids I pass by. Where do I go? Where do I go?
The library is off my list ever since this Asian girl noticed me always using one of the library computers. Time to time, she’d come there with a friend to print out something. Whenever she does, I’ll be there, too.
“It’s really sad when people keep coming to the library,” she once said to her friend as I sat next to them, fumbling with the mouse and readying to print out something. “I mean, dude, go get some friends.”
Her beauty is wasted on her. I was pretty sure those words were directed indirectly to me. So I left the library with the same, useless document in one of my hands. It was just so I could look like I was only there because I needed to print out a project or something.
So where do I go? I’m still walking—upon the crunch of the frosted grass into the solid glaze of the frosted concrete. I’ve gone so deep into the school that the presence of my fellow peers is starting to wilt down to some lone wolves, isolated non-conformists and a few couples cuddling here and there.
Shivering, I look at my phone again. 7:17 a.m.; 13 minutes to go. I keep walking until I reach the portables along the staff parking lots at the very back of the school. I sit against a cold wall, drop my bag to the floor and sigh contently; I am finally left alone. Finally. The sky remains a shaded blue-black, with stars blocked by solid and threatening clouds. There is not a hint of light or sun among its vastness.
Clunk! A car door closing.
Startled, I jump up to my feet. I stay still for seconds.
I can hear soles slapping lightly against the concrete a few yards away. They’re getting louder and louder with every step. I look around frantically and finally see a small figure emerging from behind a car. It comes and starts to near me. As light starts to touch it, I immediately recognize him. The balding head is a giveaway and the short height is just so Salls, my Creative Writing teacher.
“Hello there, Annie.” He nods towards me with a weary smile. “Top of the morning to you.”
“Good morning, Mr. Salls.” I muster back a smile. He must think I’m a loser now—standing here all alone at the very back of the school, seemingly hiding from everyone else. Well, I don’t want any sympathy.
“How’s that poem turning out for ‘ya?”
I shrug. Lately, I haven’t had any inspiration to write. Not even just a spark of art to give me a head start. “Still haven’t started.” I shrug again. “I think it might be because of a writer’s block.”
“Ah,” he takes a breath and chuckles, “hate those.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle along.
“Well,” he huffs, “just keep pursuing, that block will fade away. I know it’s going to be good one, this one. I just know it.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Hey, I’ll see you later, alright?” He waves as he walks away, the heels of his shoes slapping against the concrete again.
I sit back down against the wall and recover my silence and complete solitude.
My non-improvement in my writing has bothered me so much lately. Ever since Salls advised me not to ‘force it out too much so it won’t sound exaggerated’ on the last poem I turned in, I haven’t shown any progress.
I would sit in front of my computer, just watching the insertion point blink so many times that I’d end up typing nothing and my mind a complete whiteout. I mean, I have done that before; just stared at my computer without typing anything. But, at least, in my mind, I’ve actually got something like chronological sets of ideas or thoughts. Recently, though, the page on Microsoft Word is as blank as my mind.
7:26 a.m.; four minutes to go. Right then, the intercom goes off: “Good morning, Vikings!” The voice was silly, artificial and sounding so much like a fast-food restaurant mascot inviting you to try out their burgers. “Today is the first day of second semester! If you don’t know your new schedules yet, you may grab ‘em at the office. Viking pride, keep it alive!” Silly and artificial.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. This only means new classes with more strangers.
I step off the bus. The chill of Washington’s air immediately sends down shivers through me. My cheeks and nose start to sting as my eyes water just a bit.
I start walking with my head down, solitary and very painfully conscious of the loud groups of kids I pass by. Where do I go? Where do I go?
The library is off my list ever since this Asian girl noticed me always using one of the library computers. Time to time, she’d come there with a friend to print out something. Whenever she does, I’ll be there, too.
“It’s really sad when people keep coming to the library,” she once said to her friend as I sat next to them, fumbling with the mouse and readying to print out something. “I mean, dude, go get some friends.”
Her beauty is wasted on her. I was pretty sure those words were directed indirectly to me. So I left the library with the same, useless document in one of my hands. It was just so I could look like I was only there because I needed to print out a project or something.
So where do I go? I’m still walking—upon the crunch of the frosted grass into the solid glaze of the frosted concrete. I’ve gone so deep into the school that the presence of my fellow peers is starting to wilt down to some lone wolves, isolated non-conformists and a few couples cuddling here and there.
Shivering, I look at my phone again. 7:17 a.m.; 13 minutes to go. I keep walking until I reach the portables along the staff parking lots at the very back of the school. I sit against a cold wall, drop my bag to the floor and sigh contently; I am finally left alone. Finally. The sky remains a shaded blue-black, with stars blocked by solid and threatening clouds. There is not a hint of light or sun among its vastness.
Clunk! A car door closing.
Startled, I jump up to my feet. I stay still for seconds.
I can hear soles slapping lightly against the concrete a few yards away. They’re getting louder and louder with every step. I look around frantically and finally see a small figure emerging from behind a car. It comes and starts to near me. As light starts to touch it, I immediately recognize him. The balding head is a giveaway and the short height is just so Salls, my Creative Writing teacher.
“Hello there, Annie.” He nods towards me with a weary smile. “Top of the morning to you.”
“Good morning, Mr. Salls.” I muster back a smile. He must think I’m a loser now—standing here all alone at the very back of the school, seemingly hiding from everyone else. Well, I don’t want any sympathy.
“How’s that poem turning out for ‘ya?”
I shrug. Lately, I haven’t had any inspiration to write. Not even just a spark of art to give me a head start. “Still haven’t started.” I shrug again. “I think it might be because of a writer’s block.”
“Ah,” he takes a breath and chuckles, “hate those.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle along.
“Well,” he huffs, “just keep pursuing, that block will fade away. I know it’s going to be good one, this one. I just know it.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Hey, I’ll see you later, alright?” He waves as he walks away, the heels of his shoes slapping against the concrete again.
I sit back down against the wall and recover my silence and complete solitude.
My non-improvement in my writing has bothered me so much lately. Ever since Salls advised me not to ‘force it out too much so it won’t sound exaggerated’ on the last poem I turned in, I haven’t shown any progress.
I would sit in front of my computer, just watching the insertion point blink so many times that I’d end up typing nothing and my mind a complete whiteout. I mean, I have done that before; just stared at my computer without typing anything. But, at least, in my mind, I’ve actually got something like chronological sets of ideas or thoughts. Recently, though, the page on Microsoft Word is as blank as my mind.
7:26 a.m.; four minutes to go. Right then, the intercom goes off: “Good morning, Vikings!” The voice was silly, artificial and sounding so much like a fast-food restaurant mascot inviting you to try out their burgers. “Today is the first day of second semester! If you don’t know your new schedules yet, you may grab ‘em at the office. Viking pride, keep it alive!” Silly and artificial.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. This only means new classes with more strangers.
♠ ♠ ♠
just a lil' taste for ya, and a lil' tester for me.