REPORT A PROBLEM
Can I write a whole paragraph or a little something using no more than one-hundred words? That is the quest right now. Today, October the 9th, is the first day of my attempt to write exactly one hundred words. It all occurred as a spur of the moment thing. One minute I am ready to spend my entire night studying for the SAT's, with no distractions at all, but the computer calls me. It wants me, and unfortunately I want it. It has lured me in, entangling me in writing a short paragraph about nothing in one-hundred words.
As I sat in front of my computer, I realized i was missing a shoe. I have my black jeans that is a must for football games when they are away. Away games are usually the most fun. We do not have to wear our uniform, our shakos (or "hats") with our yellowing plumes, our stiff marching shoes, our many buttoned jacket, our puffy pants. For Away Games we wear blue shirt and black pants. After the games, I am exhausted, and usually end up sleeping early, but not this time. I plan to stay awake, wearing the one shoe.
On October 3rd, I remember we had a parade. It was our first competitive parade where other bands would be competing in different classes. Our first 'big' performance was a parade at the L.A. County Fair. It was a little long, tiresome, and the stench of all the smoke and steam coming from all the different grilled food was nauseating. Everyone who performed at the parade got a trophy. In our competitive parade we were against 4 other high schools. Our band placed second place. Our Drum Major, that's me, placed Fifth place out of five mace Drum majors.
From now on, I am going to try to come up with one word, just one, and describe all my thoughts when i think of that word. For example; Bites. The first thing i thought of was the bites i have on my legs. I have no idea where i got them from, but i know it is some kind of insect that is nocturnal. I have numerous red spots where an insect (bed bugs?) has bitten and left an itching, sore, tiny bump. Is there something in my room that dwells within my blankets? I hope that's not it.
Trapped. That's what I was. The cold was finally getting through my layers of clothing. The darkness consuming every corner of my cell. There really was no way out. All the bars were sturdy. The walls were all the same. No windows, no space, no air. My breath came quicker now. I was trapped. As I ran a hand through my hair, I heard voices approaching. Were they here to save me? Or was all hope lost? Footsteps. Hushed voices. Two pairs of footsteps. One was sturdy, rough. The other sharp, staccato. Heels? They stop outside my door. Complete silence.
Another day of work. I clocked in. 5:58 pm. As I took the elevator to the second floor, I noticed something different about the lobby. New decorations. Halloween. Great, I thought, now I have to put up our decorations in our department. Ding. I got out of the elevator and stole to the restroom. I hated being early. The students waited outside, while I got to waltz in. They stared as I passed. Was she a student? Then I had to sit in my chair and wait until 6. I hid in the restroom. 6:18. Time to work.
Blood dripped from my hands. My breathing, which had been quick and harsh a few seconds ago, was finally calm and steady. I stood up, knife in hand. They would be coming for me. The blood, they would smell. I no longer belong in their world. The forest called to me, spoke. The months to come would be gruesome. I would have to run. For how long, I didn't know. I would travel East, and keep running until I found him. He was my only reason not to drive this knife into my heart. Finding him meant finally being safe.
She was staring at me. No, not staring, glaring. Her nostrils were flared, her lips in a tight thin line. Anger radiated off her. Slowly, I brought my hand up to ruffle his hair, making sure she caught every moment of it. He laughed and bated my hand. He hadn't noticed her, he never did. My smile turned into a pout removed his hand from my waist. He rolled his eyes playfully and kissed me, a soft peck. I smiled into the kiss and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him in. She broke the glare, lips quivering, tears streaming.
As I sulked through the halls of the school, my phone rang. It was him. I ignored the call and trudged on. Tears began running down my face. I couldn't stop them. The halls were empty. School had been out for hours now. No one would notice me here. If they did, they wouldn't care. Nobody cared. Not even him. I had been so wrong about him. My phone rang. A text. 'I'M SRRY.' Lies. He did it on purpose. He knew what he was doing. He wanted to hurt me. Another text. 'U DESERVED IT ANYWAYS'. Sticks and Stones?
"Hello, welcome to Moonlite, may I take your order?" The customer gave me a look. "Nothing for us, thanks," he practically sneered at me. Offended, I huffed away. Why did people who had no interest in eating come here anyways? They always came around midnight, sat down and talked. No food, no drinks. As I watched them I noticed they all glanced at the clock, waiting for something. They wore the same expectant expressions. For what, I would find out tonight. As the clock struck 12am, their expressions turned hungry, the talking stopped, their eyes fixated on me. They rose.
His hand was around mine as we strolled through the park. His smile was huge, giddy. He draped an arm around me, pulling me closer. Stroking my hair. The park was almost empty. The few people who stayed were couples. Pairs. Like us. Some of the other pairs gave us weird looks. My eyes followed those people. His hands trapped my face making our eyes meet. Then, right there he kissed me. My heart beat faster. We were alone now. Just us two. We reached his car. "Don't worry, I wont hurt you...much." I screamed as he raped me.
It was hot. The air burned as I breathed. The hunger and thirst only made things worse. My big brother, who had given me every morsel and crumb he had, looked half dead. His eyes were dark and sunken. His skin was pale and bruised. It looked used. His once dark beautiful locks were limp and straggly with sweat. I hated to see him like this. A man came up to my brother, gave him money and then walked into his car. My brother looked tired. He handed me the money, and left with the waiting man, promising his return.
The whole place was burning up. The smoke made it impossible to see, and impossible to breathe. I could hear no other noise besides the cackling of the fire, laughing, screeching, pleased that it had trapped me. Its flames licked my skin, leaving patches of red blistering skin. It wanted me. It was hungry, starved, and now, finally set loose, it would be able to roam wherever it chose to. I, captured between the walls of my home, was powerless to the great creature, who chose me as its lunch. Tired of running, I gave in and let it feed.
It had started out innocent. Doesn't it always? We lay on the couch watching some tv. "so...where's Thomas?" he said, stretching. Our movie had just ended. "I don't know. He said he was going to buy more chips.." i said, standing up. I stretched, my arms rising above my head, then headed for the kitchen. I was starved. Thomas came in behind me, and before i could say anything, we both heard the front door open and close and Thomas call out "Honey! i'm home! and guess who and what i brought!" He had brought beer and his friends.
Time is running out. The deadlines are approaching, and I have again waited until the last minute. How long will I have this disease? I blame society. Not really, but I would like to. I want someone else to blame for my issues, but I can't. I did this. I don't remember when it started, but I have a vague idea. Somewhere in my 5th grade. I had not done an assignment, and I was hurriedly trying to finish it. I remember now. Our class lined up, ready. A student let me borrow his assignment. That's how it all began.
Purple flowers. Somewhere this place exists, a place where everywhere you look purple flowers dominate the field. A field of purple flowers as far as the eye can see. The sun shines low in the horizon, casting orange and yellow hues on the field. I run. Through the field, happy, smiling. A dog follows me, its tongue hanging out, panting. The dog is named Snuffles. He runs at my heels. And through all this, we run. But suddenly, the image, the perfect place disappears, and I remember. My dog Snuffles died in the same car crash that left me paralyzed.
When will it be my turn? When will I have the glory that others have taken so lightly? I yearn to have the highest grade in the class. I yearn to be the smartest in the school. I yearn to be the very best. But all my yearning leads me nowhere. I am stranded. I have developed habits that prohibit me from being the best. How will I get to be on top? That's the problem; I won't. I never will. There's no chance, no lucky draw, no fated glory. I will always be the girl who almost placed last.
I see them walking with a swagger through the halls, the ones that everyone looks up to. They see them as some great clique of hot guys with hot girlfriends who always look down at everyone else. These are the jocks. They think they are the best, but in reality they are not. They're grades are mediocre, their looks are forgettable. They are not who they appear to be. You would think that they would be smart, as smart as they are popular, but no. Some are retarded, others are stupid. But the only thing I envy is their confidence.
We walked hand in hand through the school. Heads turned. Some looked surprised, others disgusted, but they all stared. I had never been accustomed to being watched. Their eyes drew mine downward. He just smiled and waved. My friends told me we were perfect for each other, but were we? There were a lot of flaws in him, more than there should be. He lied, all the time. There were a few times that I didn't know if he was being serious or not, and I hated being gullible. So I stopped trusting him; every word out of his mouth.
The storm rambled on outside, making the inside of the shack quiver with each rumble. Alone in the cot I found myself praying. I was never one to be religious, to turn to God in need, but at this moment in my life I had to. The impulse was too strong to ignore. I bundled up my blankets and placed them on top of me for warmth. Poundings rattled the front door, but I did not hear them. All I heard was the whistle of the storm and the occasional rumble. It was time, the hurricane was at my door.
His eyes glowed in the dark. Their hue was usually a light brown color with specks of gold in them depending on the day of the month, but in the complete darkness they glowed. The gold stood out so profoundly that it made his eyes appear yellow, like a monsters. He was a monster. There was no way to sugarcoat it. He was an evil creature of the night, but to me he had always been that sweet boy. The boy who always said please and thank you, who was very shy and quiet;the boy who was a werewolf.
We both heard the footsteps at the same time. They echoed through the hallway, bouncing off the walls. As quietly as possible, I grabbed his hand and ran to the nearest door. It was a cupboard. I groaned internally, my cheeks burning in embarrassment. Just great, stuck in a cupboard with the guy I had a crush on while we were in danger of being caught and suspended. I gathered my wits and arranged myself inside the cupboard. It was just big enough for the both of us, but I could hardly breathe. Or maybe it was just his nearness.
The cheetos tasted dry. The juice box, which was supposed to be sugary, was so diluted with water that the flavor disappeared. I hadn't eaten all day, so these snacks were simply divine. What might have tasted as cheesy, stale, soggy chips on a any normal non-starving day, tasted like heaven. The cheese melted in your mouth. As my teeth came down upon the chip, I could imagine the chip bursting with the force, exerting a puff of cheesy flavor. As the cheeto becomes millions of pieces, the flavor expands so that it completely overwhelms my mouth with cheesiness.
After a long and tired day, I lay on my couch, ready to divulge in hours of reading. I sat down in my plush chair, feet folded in, a blanket over me, one hand holding a cup of hot cocoa while the other held the novel I was currently reading. The fireplace burned with new fervor as I settled in. Suddenly, I heard someone knock. At this late hour, I had no idea who it could be. Sighing, I stood, not knowing that in my last hour, I had secluded myself and had turned to the company of my cocoa.
My hair had been curled for this special occasion. My dress, which was a beautiful white color contrasted perfectly with my cascading locks. I wore a little bit of blush and eyeliner to make my eyes noticeable. My friends all gushed over me, but I didn't care about them at this moment. All I cared about was him. What would he say when he saw me? Would he say the cliche " You look nice" he had often told me but never with sincerity? Tonight was my only chance. It would either break or make our platonic relationship. Was I ready?
I stared at my reflection for a few minutes. The face reflecting back looked depressed, as if it never smiled. It tried it now. The smile that appeared seemed force, reluctant, cautious. Sighing, I lifted the hair spray and sprayed my hair, making sure no hair would get out of its perfect place. I quietly got out of the restroom and to retrieve a shirt. When I returned, I saw the hair spray bottle was closed. I had left it open. My clothes, which I had folded up, were strewn across the restroom. It was very late. Everyone was asleep.
The wait is nerve-wracking. My foot taps a meaningless beat with complicated notes. My nails are now jagged from biting them. They call me up. I rise. I try to move gracefully into the limelight, but I know my bare legs are shaking. My footsteps feel uneven. I strike a graceful pose, then bow. A voice announces my presence. I begin. I've done this a million times in practice; I know I can do this. I spin on my toes, but my leg become entangled. My balance is off. I fall. My career as I've known it flashes by.
My arm rises in front of my face to block the attack, but alas, it is too late. The knife slashes through my skin like paper and lands on my chest, piercing my lungs. I can't breathe. My body lays crumpled on the ground. My attacker stand for a few moments then runs. He runs into the darkness. I'm dead, yet I am able to see; able to know. I run toward my attacker. In an instant, I am gliding alongside him. Surprisingly, the murderer is able to see me. He gasps and falls, drawing back in fear. I glower.
Your eyes bore into mine. Your face was expressionless. And in that instant I felt guilty. I don't understand why. We are not together. I am not yours. You are not mine. Yet the guilt was still there. I had been hugging Nameless, while Nobody laughed nearby. We had been discussing how much I would miss them when I left. How they were my world. They were trying to hug me, but trying not to harm the flower I had pinned to my breast pocket. Their different tactics made me laugh. Then, from your own group, I saw you looking.
The walk was humiliating. My head was down, trying to deflect the stares that people threw at me. Their curses echoed in my mind. Some people had torches in their hands. Others pickaxes. They shook their fists at me, spiting on my path. The two guards at my sides seemed to enjoy my fear. They walked at a leisurely pace, smiling and laughing. A man stood in our path. With his hands, he gently pulled my head up. I jerked away. With forceful hands now, he made my eyes meet his. He spit on me, then pulled his fist back.
The dance was infectious. The beat swayed your hips. My date was dancing next to me, laughing and smiling. The heat from all the bodies was too much. I beckoned him toward the punch. The teachers who had been at the table were gone. I shrugged it off. We grabbed some punch and headed outside. It was quiet here. The blaring music becoming background music. We drank our punch. We coyly walked around the gym, enjoying the changed scenery. Confessions of love were made. And now, 9 months later, my newborn child has no father. The punch had been spiked.
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