Mark One There's a small scar on the corner of my eye. It's only about an inch long and thin, nothing weird. Two years ago I was angry. No one saw me as I was, I was just another pretty face with an attitude and a interesting fashion sense. But I wanted to be noticed. With the way my family treated me, I needed to be noticed. It's not like I just started being an ass and cut my face with a knife from the kitchen cabinet, the glass one with the polished wood. It was gradual. This is the story of how it started. I walked out of the bathroom, holding my head high with my heels tapping the ground audibly with every step. The halls were silent during sixth period, gym. Gym was the one class everyone enjoyed, mostly because all you had to do was show up. But I hated gym, it was easy and methodical. It was designed for brain dead fellow students with were tired of work. --- OR
So for an hour each day, I paced the halls and looked through fashion magazines. Somedays I left early, on occasion I went to gym so I didn't fail. I sauntered through the freshmen wing that afternoon. I dragged my fingers across lockers, taking in the sights. This was where I was last year. I didn't notice them at first, but there were several Juniors around me.
I'm dropping this for a different story more my speed. Sorry folks collage is the world for me right noww