|
Any good?
Well here's the deal, I've started to write a story, but am not sure if it's any good so far. If it's good I'll keep writting it, but if it's crap then, bye-bye.
psy·chol·o·gy
n. pl. psy·chol·o·gies
The science that deals with mental processes and behavior.
The emotional and behavioral characteristics of an individual, group, or activity: the psychology of war.
Subtle tactical action or argument used to manipulate or influence another: He used poor psychology on his employer when trying to make the point.
Philosophy. The branch of metaphysics that studies the soul, the mind, and the relationship of life and mind to the functions of the body.
--------------------------------------
Mark grabbed his shaggy brown backpack from the small wooden hall table, shouted "See ya mom!" and headed off to school. Today's morning wasn't much different than any other. Mark had skipped breakfast as usual, had just started his homework that was already due three days ago, and was already running a couple minutes late. He knew his history teacher was going to crucify him when she found out he still hadn't finished the work, but that didn't really bother Mark. Grades weren't exactly on the top of his "to-do" list.
He wasnt that much of a talker, but he could hold up a decent conversation with anyone. Sometimes you can just tell when certain people have a lot more going on in their mind than they like to spill out. He was one of these people. Mark's personality was fragmented amongst his aquantences, every one of them knew something about him the others didn't. Mark was a puzzle fresh out of the box, waiting to be put together.
He hurried down his front steps, then his driveway, and took a left on the sidewalk. His sneakers were worn out, but not old. The dangling chain from his pocket, combined with a couple of nickles and dimes made a series of musical clashes as he walked. Mark observed around him, all the houses and all the maples trees were synchronized, perfectly in line. He then gazed up, it had been a mixture of cloudy and rainy for the past week. The sky was clear today.
Mark was careful with his steps. He didnt want to step on any cracks, not because he was afraid of bad luck, he just didn't want to. He paced down the street to the corner and made another left, had to be quick to catch the bus. Mark came to recognize and question himself, "If right is right, left must be wrong. Right?" He looked up from the ground he had been starring at. "How many left hand turns have I made in my life?"
Shouts started to appear from the other side of the street. "Wiggers." Mark muddered to himself. He didn't appreciate the fact that people just couldn't accept who they were. It's fine to listen to the music, speak the words, dress that certain way, but there's still the limits. There's certain people who listen to the music that you can just tell that's it, but then there's always the few who believe they are something they're not.
They called out their comments at him, but Mark ignore it. They always liked to travel in packs. Indivdually they wouldn't harm a fly, but when you get them together, there's not much you can do. With the thoughts now flowing through Marks mind, any background noise seemed to fade before it touched his ears.
Mark was completely zoned out until he noticed the bus, driving away. He ran to catch up to it, but either the bus driver didn't notice, or didn't care. He probably didn't care, and sadly the average speed of a human is only about ten miles per hour, and a bus' average speed is well, a lot more. Mark had broke his concentration, and could now hear the laughter of the wiggers behind him. He began to walk instead of run, he was already late right? So what's the difference between early late and late late? "Nothing."
|
