Sullen Self

I hate that man. I despise everything in regards to him. He observes and scrutinizes every move I make with bitter hatred. He copies everything I do; his movements duplicated from my own. The lurking feeling of disappointment lingers in my mind as I can see those convictions in his eyes, as are in mine. The bitterness in my voice that runs through my taunts and insults go through him and back into my own direction. That manmy worst enemy is always the one I can run to when in doubt or in frustration. He is always there to mentor me, prick at me, or to belittle me whenever I need comforting. His hatred for me never seems to match that of mine, yet his piercing eyes can always drill through my stare and into my soul. His blood that runs through his veins run through mine; his reflection and world are that of my own. My worst enemy is the one I see in the mirror, the reflection of my own pathetic self, but how he seemed stronger than I.

Even with the black hair obscuring his vision, he knows when I am in mental anguish. With his left hand holding him upright on the bathroom counter, he stares into my disillusioned mind. I look into his trembling right hand and notice the upward lift it made towards his own mouth. With mouth open agape, the feeling of noxious caplets fell onto my own tongue. I watched curiously as his head snaps up and engulfed the baneful pills. Moredo I need more? I thought to myself. His head shakes slowly in satisfaction and I can see the movement of his hand move back towards a translucent, orange container.

His hand clasped tightly around the small cylinder. With sluggishness, the container cautiously moved towards his body. I watched and observed as he stood up straight and dragged his left hand out towards the container. He gritted his teeth as his fingers pushed back the child-safety top and smirked at the thought: child-safety lockswhat nonsense. The vibrations in the air from the container ran to my ears, soothing my tensed up body. Any second now, I now this reflection will sort my problems out for me. Why think for myself when someone like him can do it for me? He looks back at me with his cold, sullen, blue eyes and for the first time, I noticed the black bags underneath his eyes.

You should rest first, I mentioned to him slowly. He smirked at me and shook his head no. Are you sure? You may-

He interrupted me with the thought of the pillsoh how availing they seemed and make my body feel. He knows me so well, yet I felt some sense of hesitancy in my own thinking. Is this what I really want? Will they work? The last time it only seemed to have made the situation for both of us worse. The lines of animosity ran across his face at such foolish thoughts. You are right, I think to myself. Just one more, then no more right?

His baneful look still sent shivers down my spine, and I could now feel why he looked the way he did. An atrocious thought needed to be kept away from both of our minds. His right hand shook out a single pill into his left palm and stopped. Then with little hesitation he looks back up at me and frowns. I sigh slightly and decide to shake out another pill for both of us; I could see the expression of merriment spread across his body and face. I then see his mouth extend open, and with the left hand moving towards his orifice, he plops the pills down the abysmal hole without even a swallow. I can only watch his actions and feel myself doing the same. I feel myself being trapped under hypnosis, yet plead to not be brought back to reality. What could reality offer that he could not?

A bit of tension and strain was blocking my airway. I looked up to him for aid, and could see the pressure in his eyes as well. I began to hammer at my chest and throat, gagging for oxygen to fill my deprived lungs. With the final blow to my breast, the choking ceased and the dirty breath of life began to fill my lungs. It did not sooth me, however, yet how he was calm. I feel the stove turning to high, boiling my blood and making it fume.

You did nothing. You just gawked at me. I bet you fucking enjoyed every bit of it, didnt you? Didnt you?! I bellowed at him uneasily. He seemed to have been yelling as well, losing all feeling of placidness in his voice. I could feel the rage he aimed at my way, and by impulse began to throw insults back at him. After awhile, the insults stopped flying, yet the beating of my heart throbbed faster. I clasped my shirt tightly, feeling the pounding of my arteries against my rough-skinned hands. The valves desperately trying to pump blood in and out through my heart; I can still feel the straining it bestowed upon me. He directed my gaze towards the pills once more. I gaped at the cylinder and could feel my body heat up slightly. A few bits of condensation built up on my brow as the sense of turmoil was building up inside of my stomach.

Yeah, taking more sounds like a fabulous idea, I said sarcastically, yet instinctively grasped the container. Is that what you want me to do? You hedonistic son of a bitch; are you using me for your own benefits?

A single thought ran through my mind: why arent you stopping yourself then? I could only stare at his complacent smile, and know that he was enjoying this.

Fuck you, I whispered hastily, beginning to turn the container sideways. The opaque cylinder slipped from my shaky grasp and fell to the tile floor. The pills scattered in every direction and all I could do was just stare and listen, the noises illusively getting louder and reverberated throughout the bathroom. I moved my hand in front of my face and rubbed the skin, wiping the sweat and numbness from it. I anxiously fell to my knees to pick up my belongings, trying desperately to fumble with the capsules and store them back into the container. My hands increased in trembling, creating a bit of a predicament in gathering the prizes. My swiped my mouth with the back of my hand once more and felt how dry it really was; I direly needed water.

No, not yet, I lethargically mumbled. The straining in my heart increased, pain shooting through every valve in my chest. A soft, squeal of agony escaped my lips and echoed through the bathroom. I closed my eyelids tightly and grabbed for my heart; I wanted the pain to go away. The air whispered around me as I felt myself falling rapidly. My head and heart throbbed, blocking out anything else around me, but nothing could block out the enduring pain of the tile flooring as my skull came crashing down on top of it. A loud bang erupted through my head and a simple grunt flew out of my mouth. Glowing colors shimmered briefly through closed eyes as my vision went even darker. The pain in my chest subsided, as the world around me came to a screeching halt. The blackness swallowed my body and mind, leaving my reflection to leave my wounded head.

================

This is actually part of an English paper I'm writing. The actual story is much longer than this. By the way, don't argue with me on side effects of certain pills, trust me. By the way, I'm not emo. Any crits or anything?

This post has been edited by -=Chris Redfield=- on September 21, 2006 03:17 am

Nice. You're good with pshycological stories Chris. As well as violent ones (like that random murder fic you wrote a while back). This particular one kind of reminded me of Silent City, which was a collection of stories about survivors of a zombie outbreak. One of the survivors is a loon from a mental institute, and he has a mirror personality as well.

You should write something like this into a zombie horror story Chris. It will add to the bleak atmosphere and make it a whole lot more interesting to read. In short, combine the themes from this vic and the other violent one into a zombie fanfic, and you got yourself an awesoem story.

Did I make sense at all? And a hard time wording this...

This post has been edited by Security Corporate on September 21, 2006 10:03 am

Yeah, I understood. And don't worry, I thought about adding on to this with zombies etc., but it ended up being like that one mod for Half-Life. But yeah, I'll make a different story.

OK, here is my proofread version. I am now much more satisfied with it. Even though no one besides SC was remotely interested with it (doesn't really bother me though) my English teacher almost O'd at this story. English teachers are suckers for tragic stories.

===============

Sullen Self

I hate that man. I despise everything in regards to him. He observes and scrutinizes every move I make with bitter hatred. He copies everything I do; his movements duplicated from my own. The lurking feeling of disappointment lingers in my mind as I can see those convictions in his eyes, as are in mine. The bitterness in my voice that runs through my taunts and insults go through him and back into my own direction. That manmy worst enemy is always the one I can run to when in doubt or in frustration. He is always there to mentor me, prick at me, or to belittle me whenever I need comforting. His hatred for me never seems to match that of mine, yet his piercing eyes can always drill through my stare and into my soul. The blood that runs through his veins runs through mine; his reflection and world are that of my own

Even with the black hair obscuring his vision, he knows when I am in mental anguish. With his left hand holding him upright on the bathroom counter, he stares into my disillusioned mind. I look into his trembling right hand and notice the upward lift it is making towards his mouth. With mouth agape, the feeling of noxious capsules fall onto my own tongue. I watch curiously as his head snaps up and engulfs the baneful pills. Moreis more needed? I think to myself. His head shakes slowly in satisfaction and I can see his hand move back towards a translucent, orange container.

His hand clasps tightly around the small cylinder. With sluggishness, the container cautiously moves towards his body. I watch and observe as he stands up straight and drags his left hand towards the container. He grits his teeth as his fingers push back the child-safety top and smirks at the thought: child-safety lockswhat nonsense. The vibrations in the air from the container run to my ears, soothing my tensed up body. Any second now, I know this reflection will sort my problems for me. Why think for myself when someone like him can do it for me? He looks back at me with cold, sullen, blue eyes and for the first time, I notice the black bags underneath his eyes.

You should rest first, I mention to him slowly. He smirks at me and shakes his head no. Are you sure? You may-

He interrupts me with the thought of the pillsoh how availing they seem and make my body feel. He knows me so well, yet I feel some sense of hesitancy in my own thinking. Is this what I really want? Will they work? The last time it only seemed to have made the situation for both of us worse. The lines of animosity run across his face at such foolish thoughts. You are right, I think to myself. Just one more, then no more right?

His hateful look still sends shivers down my spine, and I can now feel why he looks the way he does. An atrocious thought needs to be kept from both our minds. His right hand shakes a single pill into his left palm and stops. Then with little hesitation he looks up at me and frowns. I sigh slightly and decide to shake out another pill for both of us; I can see the expression of merriment spread across his body and face. I then see his mouth extend open, and with the left hand moving towards his orifice, he plops the pills down the abysmal hole without even a swallow. I can only watch his actions and feel myself doing the same. I perceive myself being trapped under hypnosis, yet plead to not be brought back to reality. What can reality offer that he can not?

A bit of tension and strain is blocking my airway. I look to him for aid and see the pressure in his eyes as well. I begin to hammer at my chest and throat, gagging for oxygen to fill my deprived lungs. With the final blow to my breast, the choking ceases and the dirty breath of life begins to fill my lungs. It does not sooth me, however, yet he is calm. I feel the stove turning to high, boiling my blood and making it fume.

You did nothing. You just gawked at me. I bet you enjoyed every bit of it, didnt you? Didnt you?! I bellow at him uneasily. He seems to be yelling as well, losing all feeling of placidness in his voice. I feel the rage he aims my way, and by impulse begin to throw insults back at him. After awhile, insults stop flying, yet the beating of my heart throbs faster. I clasp my shirt tightly, feeling the pounding of my arteries against my rough-skinned hands. The valves desperately trying to pump blood in and out my heart; I feel the straining it bestows upon me. He directs my gaze toward the pills once more. I gape at the cylinder and can feel my body heat slightly. Bits of condensation commence on my brow as the sense of turmoil builds inside my stomach.

Yeah, taking more sounds like a fabulous idea, I say sarcastically, yet instinctively grasp the container. Is that what you want me to do? You hedonistic son of a bitch; are you using me for your own benefits?!

A single thought runs through my mind: why arent you stopping yourself then? I can only stare at his complacent smile, and know that he is enjoying this.

Fuck you, I whisper hastily, beginning to turn the container sideways. The opaque cylinder slips from my shaky grasp and falls to the tile floor. Pills scatter in every direction and all I can do is just stare and listen, noises illusively getting louder and reverberating throughout the bathroom. I move my hand in front of my face and rub the skin, wiping the sweat and numbness from it. I anxiously fall to my knees to pick up my belongings, trying desperately to fumble with the capsules and store them back into the container. My hands increase in trembling, creating a bit of a predicament in gathering the prizes. I swipe my mouth with the back of my hand once more and feel how dry it really is; I direly need water.

No, not yet, I lethargically mumble. The straining in my heart increases, pain shooting through every valve in my chest. A soft, squeal of agony escapes my lips and echoes through the bathroom. I close my eyelids tightly and grab for my heart; I want the pain to go away. The air whispers around me as I feel myself falling rapidly. My head and heart throb, blocking out anything else around me, but nothing can block out the enduring pain of the tile floor as my skull comes crashing down on top of it. A loud bang erupts through my head and a simple grunt flies out my mouth. Glowing colors shimmer briefly through closed eyes as my vision grows even darker. The pain in my chest subsides, as the world around me comes to a screeching halt. Blackness swallows my body and mind, leaving my reflection to leave my wounded head.

****
My eyelids open lazily, allowing light to pour into my dilated pupils. I groan slightly, and try to move my right arm to push my weight up from the groundbut stop. I could not feel my arm.

Oh God! I whisper to myself. Did I lose my arm?! I look down quickly and notice that I was laying on it and had cut the circulation off. Sobriety never came to me as I lay in a dizzy state on my tile flooring. I grudgingly roll to my side to transit my right arm out from underneath me and plopped back down on my stomach. I drop my face back into the floor and closed my eyes once more. A buzzing noise slowly begins to enter my ears and I raise my head from the floor. With eyes aghast and glassy, I look around my surroundings and can not find the cause of the meddlesome noise. My head darted from left to right, the images slowly trying to catch up with the speed of my head movement, and anxiety and uneasiness begins to set in. I feel lost in my own thinking space and unable to cling on to what little peace of mind I have left. A loud knock on my door had me jump out of my skin with fright.

Honey, my mother, Jane, calls from the other side of my vibrating door. I dont know how much longer you need in thereif its a guy thing or what, but it is already seven fifteen. I dont know if you want to be on time or She drifts off and stands at the door for another few seconds before walking off. I was out cold for over four hours

The pins and needles in my right arm begin to diminish and, taking advantage of this, I haul my body up from the ground at one knee at a time. The blackness slither up to my eyes once more and I grab for the ledge of the bathroom counter. I stand for a few seconds with my eyes closed and begin to mumble for my head to receive whatever amount of blood it needs. As my body felt more relaxed - or as relaxed it could ever feel anyway - I look to the ground and notice the dozen or so capsules left over from a couple of hours ago. I slowly bent down to pick up the container and scoop up the remaining pills into it. I snap the cap back on and rest my eyes once more. My eyelids feel exhausted and drained, yet my brain feels wired and elated.

A cramp begins to build in my stomach, and it slinks up towards my throat. I start to burp and sputter, throwing my head towards the toilet bowl. The burping becomes sporadic and then it hits me: with eyes closed, a single tear coming through the slit, heaved and regurgitated stomach acid and food particles. After the initial puking, I relaxed my throat on the toilet once more and waited for the next round. After a couple of seconds, the burping occurred once more and more vomit entered the murky toilet water. My rubbery leg muscles tighten around my bones and my back stretched out in response to the pungent fluid leaving my body again.

Third times the charm, I mumble slowly, wiping away the gunk smear around my lips. I fumble for the metal object to flush the toilet and pull down on it. A few water bits spray my face and eyes, resulting in my head jumping back weakly. I watch the water move clockwise around in the bowl and am brought back to reality with one more burp.

My hands clasp onto the toilet and as I push off, I reach out for the bathtub. I clumsily turn it on and feel the rush of cool water against my sinful hands. I cup my hands together and pool some of the refreshing water to drink. I sip some of it and toss the rest at my face. I grab another handful of water and splash my eyes to rid them of anymore grogginess. I turned the shower off and steadily get up on my own two feet. I bend over, grab the translucent container, and slip it into my jean pocket for safekeeping. My body now feeling anew, I open my bathroom and am greeted with an older man. He was mid-thirties, slight balding at the top of his oval shaped head. His hazel eyes bear down on me as if I am no more than a mere child; he always forgets that I am at least half his age. I have met this man before: he is one of the many men my mom brought over from time to time. The reeking aroma of alcohol radiates off his clothes and skin. His temper is always vile, moreover when he is intoxicated.

Boy, he slurs. Your momma asked for you to get ready for school and youre still in theredoing God knows what! How many times do I have to tell you not to disobey her, you little piece of shit?!

I glare at him and open my mouth to respond, but am only able to let out a loud oomph as his clenched fist struck the side of my left cheek. My body clashes against the panel of the door where my skull collides with wood, leaving a small crack in the boards. I crumble to the floor, shielding my face with my arms to block away any more blows. I hear a drunken laugh explode from the man and I drop my guard, letting my arms slide down my face for a quick look. I retreat my arms once again towards my face as I saw him retract his left leg back like a spring. I felt a sudden sensation of pain in my ribs as his boot gave it a hefty stroke. I let out a loud gasp and feel my body jump back towards the wall for any salvation from this man.

Just like your mom, he slanders. Youre weak and pathetic. I guess it runs in your genes, eh? Hell, your own dad proved that by running away, probably trying to get away from a brat and a whore of a wife.

He gives another laugh before stumbling back towards the kitchen. I lower my arms from my face and slowly begin to get up, but stop as an abundant amount of pain flew through my ribs. I grimace scornfully, but not sure at what; the fact that I just endured unnecessary ache, the fact that I did nothing, or what of my own motheroh God, I can only imagine whats going to happen in the next few seconds. I grab my side and, despite the perpetual throbbing, get to my feet. I look into the mirror and see the blue eyed man.

Youre not looking too good, I say to him. Your hair is a bit red in the back.

He slowly moves his hand to the back of his head and brings it to his face. I see the damp blood that is left from the impact from the door. The hand is trembling slightly, either from slight anger or horror, but I look up to him and notice his nodding. I give a quizzical look with my head cocked sideways, yet he just looked towards the direction of the kitchen and mouths just a couple of words: do it. I nod my head, understanding what needs to be done. I wipe my moist palm on my pants to rid the nectar and set out towards the arguing and abuse in the kitchen.

The denim covering my legs swishes together as I move towards the dispute that rang out through the house. I brush my hair out of my eyes with the stroke of my hand and clench my other hand tightly. As my sneakers pat the tile flooring, the petty lighting shows me the amoral, oppressive man in his work clothes tensing his teeth tightly as my mom - who was still in her nightgown - stares into his villainous eyes. Then her mouth opens to conceive whatever point he made - my mom was terribly gullible - and is met with his bitter retort.

You really think that Im going to stay here and deal with you, as well as your bastard son?! he shrieks at my mother. She moves her eyes towards the floor and gazes at the white tiles. The man licks his lips before going to the refrigerator to grab another beer. His body wobbles with each step yet manages to reach the refreshments, and with one quick kneel, he pauses for a nanosecond before getting back to his feet.

Wheres the rest of the beer? he asks angrily. He turns his head towards my mother and points accusingly at her. Oh, I see how it is. You think this is some kind of game, right? Like, I wouldnt notice the beer that I bought with my own money would have been drank by some loose woman?!

My mothers eyes goes from sorrowful to enraged in less than a heartbeat. She opens her mouth, but then closes it and proceeds to stay in her dormant state. As if on queue, he slams the fridge door and moves in on my mom with a drawn back arm. I instinctively shift my body to a rush and am met with his stare of wrath. I realize I only poked the hornets nest with a short stick as his clenched fist that was meant for my mother smashes against my right eye. Stars and lights erupt through my brain, as my cerebellum feels shifted, causing me to loose my balance. My knees buckle and my body begins to tumble towards my right side. The buzzing noise begins to get louder, and drowns out my mothers scream of fright. I close my eyes and feel gravity take over. With arms flailing, my left shoulder collides with the ground roughly and then my head came next. A crack rings out through my head - and maybe even the kitchen if my mom was not creating such a clamor - making me close my eyes even tighter. Even in darkness, I can make out the mans foot as it thundered against my ribs. I cry out in pain and impulsively reach for them to cradle the pain away.

I open my right eye to view the abuser and watch as my mother grabbed the mans throat to propel him away from my frail body. The man, even caught off guard, effortlessly swats my mother away with the backside of his hand. Her head wipes to her side from the blow, but is struck across the other side of her dainty face with his left fist. As she is falling to the floor, she tries to grab anything to support her fall, yet receives nothing but thin air. Her head smashes against the sink counter and the sound of her skull cracking sends chills up my spine.

Mom! I cry in agony. I forget all the pain in my sore ribs and strive to be by her side. However, the man strikes out with his foot towards my body. My torso jolts from the impulses from my nerve endings, and I wail in pain. I crumble again to the floor and feel another kick to my side, and this time I felt a sudden rush of discomfort and torment through the bones. I look over to my mother and see the tears in her bewildered eyes. Oh how even to this day I try to find some sort of sanctuary and relief in those caring eyes, despite how futile it really is. The man towers over my bruising body and can only stare with his merciless eyes.

That was the most pathetic attempt to save someone. A paraplegic could have put up a better fight, he says before turning his back on us all and ventures out away from the kitchen. I can only wish that this will be the last of him, but he is not the worst out of the men my mother brings home. In the next few days, there will be another oneone she promises that will be different from the rest. If only she knew that picking up men at bars is not the most reliable way of finding the right guys. However, I was never the greatest at picking up the right girl at a bar eitheror anywhere for that matter. Well, aside from one, but that is a bit of a touchy subject I am not comfortable with getting off my chest.

Mothers head rotates towards my withered body and mumbles a sorry. If only she truly understands what she is really apologizing for and as to why.

Oh mum, I whisper, holding my side with my left hand and pushing my weight towards the refrigerator. I lean my back against the white fridge, exhaling softly from the soft touch from the coolness. I let my eyelids drop for a few seconds to recollect the images as to what just happened.

===============

Well, next segment will have monsters and zombies. So stay tuned!

This post has been edited by -=Chris Redfield=- on October 13, 2006 06:29 pm

I've only read the first segment, I'll save the next for later. But the one I read was really, really good.
The descriptions are fantastic, giving it a claustrophobic and scary feel. You can see the character fighting against his inner urges, as well as a mirror personality.

Real good writing

Well done with your edits. They really improved the story ten-fold.

Overall, this is a well done, finished story. Good job! You should post more often.

nice one mate are you carrying on the rpg i never even got the chance to own some zombie ass poor old Mrmicky

Cont.

****

I hold the crumpled paper towels against the back of my head, applying pressure to stop any blood from seeping through. I move towards the front door and bend over to grab my white shoes. I snatch them up with one hand and trickily twist the doorknob, allowing the door to swing open freely. I walk out onto my rocky driveway and view my surroundings: green-brown grass, conforming houses lined up next to each other, a couple of cars backing up with people leaving for work or school, and then my car parked on the lawn. I move a foot after the other, each loose rock sticking to the skin. As I reach the grass, I frown at the sight of the abusive mans car parked in my driveway. His silhouette apprehensively sitting in the drivers seat, presumably waiting for me to leave the residence. What could I possibly do about it?

I went to my 98 Camry and set my shoes down to fumble for my car keys. I slip my hand in my right-side pocket and grasp onto the jingling car and house keys. I pull them out and clumsily go through them to grab hold of the right one. I twist my head back behind me to get another look at the other mans car while trying to unlock my car door. A loud click flows out of the lock from inside. I pull the key out and push the jumble of metals back into my pocket. I open the door, bend over to pick up my shoes, and sit myself down in the drivers seat.

I rest my sore skull on the headrest and slip my keys into the ignition. I churn the engine and place my hand on the stick. I put it in drive and pull out of my yard and onto the road. I look into my rearview mirror and notice the car in my driveway open. I focus on the road, not wanting to imagine the horrors of what my mom will be going through. I leave my neighborhood and am on the main road.

The main road is just a long stretch of road with adjacent trees on both sides. The occasional hotel, and stores are there. The sense of a developing town was in the air, and the cement trucks, eighteen wheelers, and Hispanic workers showed it. I came to a red light, and slowly my car came to a halt. No cars were on the perpendicular road, making me realize how much I hate timed streetlights. Stupid invention if you ask me. I grab my rearview mirror and focus it on my face. The swellings in my eyes are blatant, but I mentally shrug it off. Nothing new for me to have acquired bruises and cuts over the night. In fact, people always question it, thinking that I must be one hellva hardass to get in as many fights as I do. On the other hand, I am just a problem child and I have abusive parents - which is not too farfetched. Either one makes me frown. People that I dont even talk to all ready throw sympathy in my direction. Unlike an attention whore, I do not welcome it with open arms.

I stare at my reflection and it just stares back at me. He almost looks angry with me, as if I did something wrong.

What? I ask him grumpily. He just stares and points to the back of his head that is matted with dry blood. Well, how observant of you- He still just points at the back of his head and licks his lips.

You should have put up more of a fight. You are a damn disgrace; you let your own mom down, so she can get the beating of her life. I am sure that is exactly what she wanted her son to do. Just to walk away and let the man waltz back into the home, his thought runs through my head.

Well, what else could I do, huh?

Use your imagination!

Like what?! I bellow at him.

Do I have to lay everything out for you? You could have grabbed him by the throat and not let a single breathe of air escape his lips. You could have used a knife from the kitchen and dug it into his neck. Oh, but wait! What did you do again? You fell to the ground and cried. Way to go. Really, he expresses. His forehead scrunches up in disgust and I can only look back down at my hands on the steering wheel. He is right; I could have done more. I could not even defend myself from his drunken self. The light ahead of me turns green; I release my foot off the brake and slip it onto the gas. I creep forwards and again make my away to my high school.

After fifteen minutes of driving, I come to Saints Way Street. I take a right at the light and my school gradually begins to come into my view. The large parking lot in the front of the school is separated into three different sections: senior, underclass, and teachers. I pull into the senior section and see a parking spot near the front.

Christ I got here early, I say lightly to myself. I am here fifteen minutes early however, people dont start to get here five minutes before the bell rings, or after the bell. Thankfully, my school is a tad lenient on tardiness and skipping. I turn my back and look into my backseat. Sitting neatly on the cushions are my school books which consist of one Law Studies book and a black spiral notebook. I lean over to grab them and a loud smack of a palm hitting my passenger side window caused my hands to shrink back towards my body, jumping slightly, my head slapping the ceiling of my car. I apprehensively whip my head towards the hand and see a stupid, grinning face from an eighteen year old boy. His appearance is that of a stereotypical surfer: blonde hair, surf shirt, boardshorts, deep tan, skips to go the beach everyday. You get the picture.

Wow, he says with an insipid smile spread across his face, someone is a tad paranoid today. Rough morning?

I frown, grab my books hastily, pull my keys out of the ignition, and get out of my vehicle. I stand up, pull my blue shirt down so the tail of the shirt could rest slightly past my belt.

Is the shirt tight enough?

Shut up, I mumble, wiping my hair out of my sunken eyes.

Jesus Christ, Dole! he says exasperatedly, referring to my nickname. By definition, dole means charity. Either it means I am a very nice person or a leach; I have yet to figure it out. What in the Hell happened to your eye? He walks over to me and his hand raises in the direction of my face to get a better view of it. My left hand quickly comes up to grab his wrist.

Calm down. I am just tryingChrist, Dole. What in the Hell he trails off. No words can come to his mind I suppose.

Its not that bad, Andrew, I say monotonously. I let go of his wrist and shake my head around to get my bangs to cover it delicately.

Want to talk about it? he asks slowly. He already knows the answer, yet I suppose I should appreciate the notion.

No.

He stares at me with concern, but I look away. I make my way over the curb I parked next to, and onto the front courtyard. The school is composed of five unattached buildings: one in the middle and the other four surrounding it. The center building being the biggest, as well as the one that contains all my classes. A few groups of people are hanging out in the courtyard, sitting on the benches and a few on the side of the fountain. The kids around the fountain were comprised of the wealthier, hard-nosed, obnoxious students; Andrew makes his way over there running, jumping onto one of his other surfer friends back. I look over to the left and see four or so kids sitting on a bench. They talk nonchalantly, laughing as to what one of the other is saying. Upon resting their eyes on me, one of the girls brings her arms up to wave me over. I flash a quick smile and move towards their direction.

===============

I lied; no zombies or monsters in this segment.

You bastard. No zombies? nooo...

But it was really greatly written. I still like the first segment best, but the others are amazing too.

This post has been edited by Elite viking on December 27, 2006 11:40 pm