Knives and Pens
Knives and Pens
Chapter 1
It was a dull moment for me. The pencil hovered over lined paper, just waiting to mark it with its lead tip. Inspiration did not come at all; it buried itself in the back of my brain and refused to come out. I closed my eyes, trying to picture something I could draw. Different images flowed through my mind and I tried imagining a way to draw each thing. I opened them, gripped the pencil and began sketching the first thing that came to my mind. My hand guided the pencil across the page, down and over, trying to create at least a good drawing.
Miss Fitzpatrick droned on with the lecture, possibly putting half the class to sleep. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, and she was nice but she taught my least favorite subject.
Calculus.
I didn’t feel like paying attention, I just drew until I felt a tap on my arm. I looked up. Annabelle was smiling at me. I smiled back because who couldn’t? She was just like this big bubble of happy you always had to be near.
Her smile turned into a pout, not really a sad one but a bit more playful.
“Jackson was mean to me again today!” Said Annabelle.
I sighed and dropped the pencil, “What happened?”
“I wanted to show him a picture of me and Matt on my phone, but he snapped at me and told me to go away!”
I shrugged, “Anna, Jackson is like that. If he wants to be left alone, then respect that.”
Annabelle sighed and looked back at her computer screen. “I guess so…”
I poked her in the side with my pencil. She yelped and sunk back in her seat, a smile playing at her lips.
“Harley!” Annabelle whined, trying to contain her laughter.
I laughed then turned around to check the clock.
1:56
I only have a minute to put my stuff away. I closed my notebook and shoved it into my bag, and then I shut down my computer and put it into its case. The bell rang and I slung my bag onto my shoulder, following Anna out the door. She waved as she went the opposite way to catch up with our friend Joey.
I trudged down the hall, pushing past other students, and one knocking into me. He just kept walking, pretending I don’t exist.
I’m not surprised; this is just how it is. No one cares anymore.
I kept moving, keeping my eyes on the ground until I came to my history classroom. It was dull, with white colored plastered walls and a few pictures of George Washington and Theodore Roosevelt to try and make it look nice.
It still felt like a prison.
Mr. West sat in his chair in the front of the room, probably trying to figure out YouTube.
I sat in the back and put my stuff down while the other students piled in. Mr. West stood from his chair then began a lecture on the assassination of Lincoln. I glanced around the room, seeing half the class weary with tired eyes. One kid was literally asleep, his head on top of his arms and a small amount a drool seeping from his mouth.
The history teacher droned on, barely even noticing the class was out cold. His grumpy, old deep voice finally came to a halt when the bell rang. Annoyed that he did not get to finish the lecture, he put the chalk down and shooed us out the door.
“Harley!” A voice behind me said. I turned around to face my art teacher, Mr. Bander. He held a piece of paper in his dried up hands.
“I wanted to let you know that there is an art showing tonight, and I would like you to be there.” Mr. Bander handed me the paper.
“I don’t know, sir.” I said, scanning the flyer.
“Oh come on, Harley! This would be a perfect opportunity for you to get some ideas for that contest you said you might sign up for!”
I sighed, running a hand through my raven black hair. “I guess I could come check it out.”
“Wonderful!” The art teacher grinned and patted me on the shoulder before heading down the hall.
I pressed my lips into a tight line before I turned the other way to my locker. I spun the dial, grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. I shoved the unwanted books inside and grabbed the ones I needed. I closed the locker, slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked out of the school.
Chapter 1
It was a dull moment for me. The pencil hovered over lined paper, just waiting to mark it with its lead tip. Inspiration did not come at all; it buried itself in the back of my brain and refused to come out. I closed my eyes, trying to picture something I could draw. Different images flowed through my mind and I tried imagining a way to draw each thing. I opened them, gripped the pencil and began sketching the first thing that came to my mind. My hand guided the pencil across the page, down and over, trying to create at least a good drawing.
Miss Fitzpatrick droned on with the lecture, possibly putting half the class to sleep. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, and she was nice but she taught my least favorite subject.
Calculus.
I didn’t feel like paying attention, I just drew until I felt a tap on my arm. I looked up. Annabelle was smiling at me. I smiled back because who couldn’t? She was just like this big bubble of happy you always had to be near.
Her smile turned into a pout, not really a sad one but a bit more playful.
“Jackson was mean to me again today!” Said Annabelle.
I sighed and dropped the pencil, “What happened?”
“I wanted to show him a picture of me and Matt on my phone, but he snapped at me and told me to go away!”
I shrugged, “Anna, Jackson is like that. If he wants to be left alone, then respect that.”
Annabelle sighed and looked back at her computer screen. “I guess so…”
I poked her in the side with my pencil. She yelped and sunk back in her seat, a smile playing at her lips.
“Harley!” Annabelle whined, trying to contain her laughter.
I laughed then turned around to check the clock.
1:56
I only have a minute to put my stuff away. I closed my notebook and shoved it into my bag, and then I shut down my computer and put it into its case. The bell rang and I slung my bag onto my shoulder, following Anna out the door. She waved as she went the opposite way to catch up with our friend Joey.
I trudged down the hall, pushing past other students, and one knocking into me. He just kept walking, pretending I don’t exist.
I’m not surprised; this is just how it is. No one cares anymore.
I kept moving, keeping my eyes on the ground until I came to my history classroom. It was dull, with white colored plastered walls and a few pictures of George Washington and Theodore Roosevelt to try and make it look nice.
It still felt like a prison.
Mr. West sat in his chair in the front of the room, probably trying to figure out YouTube.
I sat in the back and put my stuff down while the other students piled in. Mr. West stood from his chair then began a lecture on the assassination of Lincoln. I glanced around the room, seeing half the class weary with tired eyes. One kid was literally asleep, his head on top of his arms and a small amount a drool seeping from his mouth.
The history teacher droned on, barely even noticing the class was out cold. His grumpy, old deep voice finally came to a halt when the bell rang. Annoyed that he did not get to finish the lecture, he put the chalk down and shooed us out the door.
“Harley!” A voice behind me said. I turned around to face my art teacher, Mr. Bander. He held a piece of paper in his dried up hands.
“I wanted to let you know that there is an art showing tonight, and I would like you to be there.” Mr. Bander handed me the paper.
“I don’t know, sir.” I said, scanning the flyer.
“Oh come on, Harley! This would be a perfect opportunity for you to get some ideas for that contest you said you might sign up for!”
I sighed, running a hand through my raven black hair. “I guess I could come check it out.”
“Wonderful!” The art teacher grinned and patted me on the shoulder before heading down the hall.
I pressed my lips into a tight line before I turned the other way to my locker. I spun the dial, grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. I shoved the unwanted books inside and grabbed the ones I needed. I closed the locker, slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked out of the school.