The Willow
Chapter 8
Thisbee’s heart thumped erratically in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her face. She pushed her hand through her hair, and tugged the strands in despair. God, at times like this she hated herself. She felt so worthless, and just wished that she could be anyone else at the moment. Desperately, she yearned for a time machine so she could go into the past and correct her mistakes; be a better person.
Something so trivial sent waves of shame through Thisbee, and her face crumpled yet again, and her mind focused on her mistake. Thisbee had just checked her quarter grades, and they were not pleasing at all. Chemistry: D, Algebra 2: B-, Dance P.E.: B, French 2: B, English H: B-, A.P. Euro: B. Disappointment rippled through her chest as she thought of all the other grades her friends were getting. Everyone was so much smarter than her. She drew her knees up to her face and rested her forehead on them. The dim light seeping in through her windows reflected off of her brown hair, giving the air around her a dull glow. She threw her head back against the wall and clamped her left hand on her shirt, directly above her chest. Tears began to stream down her face as she thought of the atrocity she created. How could she be so reckless? Such a careless piece of trash? What college would accept her with grades like this?
She brought her right hand up absentmindedly, and without thinking about it, sharply punched the right side of her ribcage. She exhaled quickly from the pain and landed a couple more punches before resting her hand on her knee.
“Why do I have to be such an idiot. God! No one deserves to even know me. How am I so stupid?!?!?”
She sent her fist flying toward the wall, but hesitated before it collided, to avoid the noise and attention it would cause. She breathed in heavily, and allowed the tears of shame, anger, and frustration to make their way down her face as she yet again ran her hand through her hair; disheveling it further. She gave up her sitting position for a fetal position lying on the floor. She drove her fist into her ribcage a couple more times before gasping out in pain. The tears that escaped her eyes began to glitter slightly, as the pain that shot through her chest waned. Her light began healing her.
Coming to this realization, Thisbee moaned in frustration. She couldn’t even punish herself properly! She rubbed her forehead against the hard wood floors in desperation. The T.V. rang out behind her in an annoying theme song, drowning out any soft whimpers Thisbee let escape her lips. She curled herself in tighter as more negative thoughts began to pound through her racing mind, and leave her heart aching.
“I’m not even a real artist!”
“I’m ugly as sin.”
“No one likes me, or wants me, or even wants to be around me.”
“I’m all alone, and will be forever.”
“I have no talents whatsoever.”
“I have shitty grades, and no college will want me.”
“I’m a disappointment to my family.”
“I lie to everyone, and pretend I’m someone I’m not.”
With each though, Thisbee brought her fist down and slammed it against her side, with the intent of pain. She felt utterly worthless curled up on her floor, crying like a pathetic piece of garbage. She had absolutely no one to talk to, no one at all to even just be around. Thisbee was utterly lonely, and this loneliness caused her to starve for perfection, in the pointless hope that people will befriend her if she was perfect.
She exhaled sharply and wiped her tears. She rubbed her left temple as she pulled herself into a sitting position. She rubbed her tear stained cheeks, and placed a hand absentmindedly over her chest, as she fought off the suffocating loneliness that was fighting to drown her. She placed a closed fist against her forehead and continued her slightly labored breathing, fighting an internal battle within her self. She shook her head quickly, not quite successful in clearing her thoughts, but delaying them as she brought herself to her feet. She ran a hand over her face and cleaned her glasses of the last salty evidence of her breakdown.
Once steady on her feet, she walked over to her laptop and closed the window of shame. Landing one last punch to her ribcage, she shut her laptop and turned the T.V. to a different channel. She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes, only one thought ringing through her mind,
“You better get fucking good grades next year, or else.”
Something so trivial sent waves of shame through Thisbee, and her face crumpled yet again, and her mind focused on her mistake. Thisbee had just checked her quarter grades, and they were not pleasing at all. Chemistry: D, Algebra 2: B-, Dance P.E.: B, French 2: B, English H: B-, A.P. Euro: B. Disappointment rippled through her chest as she thought of all the other grades her friends were getting. Everyone was so much smarter than her. She drew her knees up to her face and rested her forehead on them. The dim light seeping in through her windows reflected off of her brown hair, giving the air around her a dull glow. She threw her head back against the wall and clamped her left hand on her shirt, directly above her chest. Tears began to stream down her face as she thought of the atrocity she created. How could she be so reckless? Such a careless piece of trash? What college would accept her with grades like this?
She brought her right hand up absentmindedly, and without thinking about it, sharply punched the right side of her ribcage. She exhaled quickly from the pain and landed a couple more punches before resting her hand on her knee.
“Why do I have to be such an idiot. God! No one deserves to even know me. How am I so stupid?!?!?”
She sent her fist flying toward the wall, but hesitated before it collided, to avoid the noise and attention it would cause. She breathed in heavily, and allowed the tears of shame, anger, and frustration to make their way down her face as she yet again ran her hand through her hair; disheveling it further. She gave up her sitting position for a fetal position lying on the floor. She drove her fist into her ribcage a couple more times before gasping out in pain. The tears that escaped her eyes began to glitter slightly, as the pain that shot through her chest waned. Her light began healing her.
Coming to this realization, Thisbee moaned in frustration. She couldn’t even punish herself properly! She rubbed her forehead against the hard wood floors in desperation. The T.V. rang out behind her in an annoying theme song, drowning out any soft whimpers Thisbee let escape her lips. She curled herself in tighter as more negative thoughts began to pound through her racing mind, and leave her heart aching.
“I’m not even a real artist!”
“I’m ugly as sin.”
“No one likes me, or wants me, or even wants to be around me.”
“I’m all alone, and will be forever.”
“I have no talents whatsoever.”
“I have shitty grades, and no college will want me.”
“I’m a disappointment to my family.”
“I lie to everyone, and pretend I’m someone I’m not.”
With each though, Thisbee brought her fist down and slammed it against her side, with the intent of pain. She felt utterly worthless curled up on her floor, crying like a pathetic piece of garbage. She had absolutely no one to talk to, no one at all to even just be around. Thisbee was utterly lonely, and this loneliness caused her to starve for perfection, in the pointless hope that people will befriend her if she was perfect.
She exhaled sharply and wiped her tears. She rubbed her left temple as she pulled herself into a sitting position. She rubbed her tear stained cheeks, and placed a hand absentmindedly over her chest, as she fought off the suffocating loneliness that was fighting to drown her. She placed a closed fist against her forehead and continued her slightly labored breathing, fighting an internal battle within her self. She shook her head quickly, not quite successful in clearing her thoughts, but delaying them as she brought herself to her feet. She ran a hand over her face and cleaned her glasses of the last salty evidence of her breakdown.
Once steady on her feet, she walked over to her laptop and closed the window of shame. Landing one last punch to her ribcage, she shut her laptop and turned the T.V. to a different channel. She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes, only one thought ringing through her mind,
“You better get fucking good grades next year, or else.”