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I was pretty pissed when I wrote this, but ain't it the sad, sad truth? DON'T enjoy; it's too ANGRY to enjoy. mrgreen
If life were a prison, 'twould be infinitely better than this jail.
High school was not for the weak-hearted. People died. People were raped. People suffered, people bled, and that one fat kid kept snotting on himself in AP chemistry. He was too dumb for AP. No wonder he was failing miserably. Thirty, twenty-two, fifteen, forty-six were his first four test grades. Ninety, ninety-four, eighty-nine, ninety-seven were mine. And I'm the one burned a hole through my desk. That really said something about the intelligence of our generation. It made me sad.
Yes, I prided myself for my lack of stupidity. At least I was not going to be a burger-flipper, like all of these people were bound to. But people sucked. So much potential, and they allowed it to be sucked right out of them. Like bugs under a microscope, they were being watched. Tested. Probed. We all were. 'Twas high school.
I popped an Advil to soothe my migraine and made my way out of the bathroom. I had washed all traces away, but I could still smell the stomach acid, mixed with the sickly-sweet fruity-ness of Skittles. No, I was not bulemic. I was fifteen, and it was health class. The gruesome gore of puberty. A sharp pang in my abdomen. Should've brought more pills. Today was it. I'd stopped counting.
I slipped back into the classroom, the scent of tictacs and trident emenating from me. The sound of twenty-four teenagers chomping away at their bazookas and chiclets lulled me into oblivion as I stared at the video playing, not watching it at all. Health class. Birds and bees were animals, dammit, not organs. Stop beating around the bush. I knew when I was eight.
Tiffany leaned over, her too-huge bleached-blonde hair bouncing, her puke-green eye shadow reminding me of broccoli. "You, like, got the notes, Elle? I, like, completely, like, zoned, you know?" her nasal twang sounded in my ear.
"No." Why would she need notes on sex? She was the goddess. She knew better than I did.
"Aw, you gonna let me fail, Elle?" She stank of Orbit and hairspray. Wouldn't she ever leave me alone.
"Ask someone else. I don't have them."
With that, I turned on my iPod and drowned her out, dozing to the familiar sound of Blue October's 'Ugly Side'.
 Broken_Soul_Torn_Mind · Fri Nov 21, 2008 @ 11:06pm · 1 Comments |
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