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Profound Writer
Join Date: Apr 2006
Gender: Female
Posts: 1,302
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Unfinished Fiction
The feeling of the cold, unfortunately hard marble met my hands and eventually my cheek as I allowed my arms to collapse and stop supporting my exhausted body. I was used to just getting up, brushing myself off, and staring into the eyes of amused bystanders. This time, however, I didn’t have the initiative. Instinctively, my arms pressed against my sides and my legs swept together in order to avoid my limbs from throbbing in pain from careless missteps. This method wasn’t completely successful, as my right hand, my left calf, my hair, and even my back were stepped on accidentally. If these incidents are accidental, that means that they are oblivious stomps that inflict reluctant damage, contrary to being on purpose, in which the smirking perpetrator puts his or her foot on an extraneous part of your body but subconsciously applies a certain amount of force to not cause too much pain. Both suck.
There I was lying on my stomach as the first bell rang. “Fan-freaking-tastic,” I muttered to hurried students who realized they had been loitering for much too long. I still did not possess the motivation to move, and I figured class time would be better spent napping in the hallway. After about two minutes, however, my solitude was interrupted by nearing footsteps and the impatient clearing of what sounded like a man’s throat.
“Young lady, why aren’t you in class?” the man spoke, or at least I hoped it was a man.
I thought for a moment and discovered that I didn’t have a logical answer. Why was I partaking in a much-appreciated slumber in the halls during school hours? It really didn’t seem logical.
“I…someone pushed me…I mean, not purposely, but…now I’m here.”
I tilted my head up and then ventured to turn on my side, so the front of my body was toward the person, which was confirmed as a male. He glanced at me suspiciously, but since my ramblings didn’t seem threatening or sarcastic enough, he simply muttered, “Get to first period.”
Freshmen always have excuses. We’re young. We’re naïve. WE DON’T KNOW ANY BETTER. Honestly, we’re new here. How would we know not to take a nap in the hallway during class? Maybe that’s what I did in middle school. It’s possible that I was enrolled in the School of Sleep Appreciation and Dream Interpretation. I’m a mysterious enigma that can only be identified by the files in the main office computer, or if you take the time to actually to get to know who I am. Until then, I’m basically capable of stimulating havoc and producing chaos throughout the entire student body. When they question me, I’ll respond, “I was lost!” They’ll instantly take pity on my pathetic soul, and I will be vindicated. That’s why freshmen are always the most energetic and carefree. They haven’t appreciated the art of consequence yet. I didn’t get to enjoy that stage of high school because the second I walked into Mr. Sander’s chemistry class, I was screwed.
“You’re late,” he spat. “What’s your name?”
“Abigail,” I replied. “Abigail Hills.”
He sighed in a disturbed fashion and scribbled something down on a piece of paper on his podium. After gesturing to a seat, I sat down, having the first chance to take a look around and get a good look at my classmates. Naturally I didn’t know anyone, but that was expected. I placed my purple backpack on the ground and tried to catch on to what the class was doing. It didn’t seem like much of anything. I stared at my new teacher, his thinning hair, his short, plump figure, his pointed nose, and his greasy complexion. He actually had pens peeking out of his chest pocket. Are you serious?
“Let’s see how much you sardines know,” croaked the teacher.
Did he just refer to his students as sea creatures?
“You!” he barked in happiness, supposing that I had a lack of knowledge when it came to the subject of chemistry. “What is the atomic number for Hydrogen?”
Could he have asked an easier question?
“One,” I answered with a confident flare, knowing I had caught him off-guard.
“That’s…correct,” he muttered somewhat despairingly. The class continued this way, him not exactly teaching anything, but seeing if he can expose the stupidity of any student he could. I recognized this as a way for him to boost his own self-confidence. I was relieved to get out of there.
Second period – Creative Writing. Third period – Geometry Honors. Fourth period – American History. Lunch. It wasn’t until the end of my schedule was met that I met someone remotely interesting.
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