Okay, so I've wanted to write something personal for a long time and it's very hard for me to articulate sometimes how strongly what this thread's content affects people. I've been going through this for a while and I hope you like this. •••••••••••••••• It's so detailed. Creating the exact image of whats in front of it. It almost makes it shine...glimmer. From that description I suppose you'd believe that it's a good thing. I know better. It points out the endless flaws and makes them clear, ugly to the naked eye. Even without meticulous nature you can see the body, face of blemishes. My glare tarnishes the image in front if me more but I'm unfazed. To me it all amounts to the same face. A Picasso jigsaw puzzle thats been fixed together wrong. And thats some screwed up skin. I feel the urge to crawl back into my bed, so I do. After of course hanging a sheet over the reflective Satan held at least twice over in every household. The weight in my chest hangs heavy and the dull, grey light slipping through the cracks of my curtains eliminates any hope of motivation. My phone vibrates, a loud, sickening sound. I wrap the two duvets around me, obscuring the view any onlookers may see of my face. Sleep comes easily, for sleep is bliss. It provides a temporary escape and a new story your mind has imagined. Minutes later, I'm awoken by my mother. "For gods sake? Do I have to do everything? Get out of bed and go to school! Grow up!" My mothers unbrushed hair appears similar to a birds nest, a cluster of sticky chunks of hair combined to stick out in odd, abnormal places. "No, mother. I'm on it. Promise." I reply in a monotone. She grumbles, staggering out of the doorway, vodka sloshing in the bottle thats clutched by her bony, gnarled fingers. I feel sorry for the bottle. Soon after this I'm sat on the bus. I'm not sat next to people. Scrawled across girls bathroom wall is 'Carson Antler. Mysterious? Narcissistic? Bad ass? Stupid? No one knows me you see. They ask all these juvenile questions about me. But if they really wanted to know they'd ask me. They seem to have created a shell around me, something they're scared of; forbidden territory. It's an illusion of the mind. Teachers tell me I need to be more outgoing; the phrase 'come out of your shell' appears but consider the metaphor involving a shell I used earlier and ask yourself this. If a shell is created around you, without your consent, who will remember to leave an escape from said 'shell'? Well I'll leave you pondering on that question. I'll elaborate on how my... intriguing -?- school day goes when it happens.
The bus ride is uneventful, if you consider curious eyes all over your body uneventful. Which I do. My shoes slapped against the pavement and I walked through the iron gate that leads to my school. The grass looks green and luscious but the sky contradicts the mood it sets. I slip inside a door, (not sure which one, the visions blur) my form room is filled with chattering, naive voices. The florescent lights are blinding and there are no windows but you know the worst thing? The room goes that little bit quieter when I walk in. I know that they're all looking at my long platinum hair. Looking at my fat frame. My tiny nose, my small mouth, my numerous spots, my too close together eyes, my uneven eyebrows, my tall body, my legs that are too long for my body, my greyish blue -ditchwater- eyes, my fat chest and hips...my ugliness. I sit down and the second bell rings. Mrs. Duncombe enters the room and a very tall, unfamiliar face can be seem behind her. He's beautiful, everyone else seems to be but he's special, different. Dark brown, almost black hair is styled into a petite quiff, bright blue eyes set him off and I swear they illuminate the room. He's muscular, I'd love to see the chest that rests underneath our uniform. I'm jealous. Go figure. "Right, 10R this is Kingston Kendall. He's moved here from Manchester. Take a seat next to Carson." Side note, I do not sit next to people. Loner, remember? "Oh miss, Kingston can sit next to me!" Penelope Thatcher says. She's gorgeous too, auburn/red hair and these glimmering green eyes that make you want to do anything for her. "Yeah...no thanks." Kingston says awkwardly, "I'll sit next to Carson." "Why?!" I shut my mouth as soon as I've said it. Everyone is staring like I'm a lab animal or a child under observation. I look down and conceal my face with a canopy of hair. "Sorry." I mumble. Mrs. Duncombe sighs. "Just sit down, Kingston. You're causing a fuss." Kingston rolls her eyes as of to say 'Like it's my fault'. He strides over to the seat on my right and for some reason he deliberately sits close enough that our arms are touching. F*** yeah I know it was deliberate. At some point during form time he leans over and whispers in my ear. "Reason 1, She looks like a manipulative, egotistical b****. Reason 2, You're hot." It's the last bit that bites and a move my chair as far away from him as possible. What kind of sick joke was that?
Short. Sorry its 2 am. Quote of the update: 'The only reason I'm not ordinary is because no one sees me that way.' ~ Jessica Sorensen from her book Ember. Think about that one for me. ••••••••••••••••••••••••••• Kingston walks beside me to the next class; Penelope following him like he's mother duck and shes his freaking duckling. "Can you not walk near me please? I'd rather not hear anymore sarcasm about my appearance." Kingston squints in a confused manor. "Do Irish girls understand sarcasm?" "Yes." "Well I hate to break it to ya, darling, but that wasn't it." Penelope narrows her eyes, shooting daggers at me. Does he mean that? Why would so many people stay away from me if I wasn't ugly? "Kingston, c'mon lets go to class together! We don't want to be with this weird, freakish loser!" "Well maybe weird, freakish losers turn me on." By this point both of our jaws have dropped to Australia. Kingston smirks at me and whispers in my ear. "You're only called that because thats what you've been told all your life, Carson." Soon, he's pushing me into a classroom. I wander in the very corner, staggering slightly and letting the old wooden desk screech into the darkness of the walls. Kingston doesn't sit next to me and I'm grateful for the slither of privacy I shall hug onto tonight. I don't listen. I don't care. I think about the things wrong with life, with me..., with everything. I like thinking about that and I hate it too. All these thoughts, opinions and emotions crash through my mind at once. Thats the bad part. When the thoughts, opinions and emotions become loud and frightening. But the good part is that I think about it.
Bump! Amazing details and great plot line few grammar mistakes here and there but otherwise a fantastic. Story so far
Quote of the update: 'She called it silence; he called it all that ever left his mouth when in her gaze' ~ Beth Jeans Houghton and the Hooves of Destiny, from their song Veins. ••••••••••••• Kingston has the same timetable as me and my suspicions are veering towards demonic spirit plotting to steal my damaged soul. He constantly looks at me and a burning sensation will run through my cheeks each time. Maybe he's just a sadistic b*****d. Anyway at break I'm sitting in my usual spot, next to the lockers. It's not like I eat anything anyway. So of course Kingston sits next to me. Even I can see that one coming. "Hey, Carson." he breathes in my ear, sending a shiver down my cheek. I stay silent, not because I'm being an anti-social b**** but because I'd say the wrong thing if I opened my mouth. He slips an arm around shoulder. "The f*** are you doing?" I grunt. "F***ing a pigeon." "Nice." We sit like this in calm silence, each of us content to do so. It feels...exhilirating almost... When I get home mum is passed out on the floor, I kick past her. Isn't it supposed to be the seventeen-year-old daughter on the floor from drinking, not the thirty-three-year-old mother? The abnormalities of my life. I get changed into a black tank top, a pair of high waisted disco pants and a pair of lace up black heels. I apply some dramatic makeup and leave the house. Time to make myself feel a whole lot better. When I reach the bar its packed full of people, I order myself an English Garden and sit down at the bar. This is how I 'feel better', by exploiting myself to men who will tell me anything for a shag. I sip my drink and tuck the hair behind my ears and close my eyes for a second. "Hey." My eyes flutter open and I'm met by a pair of glittering, green eyes. "S***. Why do you have to turn up here." I grumble. "I followed you." "Stalker." "Damn, f***ing. straight." He lays a hand either side of me on the bar and his face is close. I hate it, he can see how ugly I am. The spots, the blemishes, the freckles! He smirks and I try to shove him away from him. "Get the f*** off my girl." •••••••••••••• Oooh, who is it! Reply who you think it may be and well hope you like it!