Chapter 1

     Getting off the bus I start my walk towards the dreaded hellhole I call school. Two long blocks that could very well be considered four. As I walk in my green and gray striped shirt and new jeans I feel butterflies in my stomach. My blonde hair is down like it always is and always will be. My greenish blue eyes searching for a friendly face or even a person as shy and nervous as I. I reach the middle of the first block and keep walking. The people around me pay no attention to the freshman passing by. They keep talking and walking much faster then I. I take a deep breath and pick up my pace to match the crowds. My heart racing with both excitement and fear.

    I reached the end of the second block and crossed the street. I called a friend from Middle school. Keith was his name. I asked him where he was and went to meet him. We stayed on the monkey bars for a while and called another one of our friends that went to the school. Mammoth. He and I met in the summer. I was sitting under a tree on my own when he had come up to me. He was with two other people. Denis and Serge. That’s beside the point. We had met up with Mammoth and two of his friends. I didn't know them and they didn't know me. I stayed quiet the first few minutes. Five people. Mammoth, Keith, Victor, a girl I do not know, and me. I stayed close to Mammoth. Keith and I are freshman. Fresh meat. We had no idea what was going on or what will be going on.

    They had finally started calling people into the school. Keith and I walked in with the sophomores. Mammoth is a sophomore. So was the girl. Victor was a junior. Victor. My first impression of him wasn't a bad one. He was quiet. Didn't say a word. His gaze was cold. I had never thought that I would be close to him. Never thought I would like him. He was cold. He didn't scare me but he did send me the "don't talk to me" glare. I didn't mind. I was able to look into his eyes for a moment. But only for a moment. And in that moment I lost myself. His eyes carried me into a place I'd never been. I looked away and walked to the school.


    Alone. No one I knew. No one I talked to. No one to be with. I stayed on my own. I wished the day would end. And it did. My sleep had died. My eyes had died. My dreams had stopped. My nightmares begun. My life had fallen once I stepped inside. The school itself was a colorful hell. The walls with painted tiles sickened me. I say on the forth floor where no one would find me for my OPTAs. I didn't move from there for the first two weeks of school. Every OTPA spent on the forth floor. For two weeks I stayed silent. I didn’t talk to anyone I didn’t know. All my friends were in classes as I sat there on the fourth floor writing in my journal.

Author's Note

Ignore any grammar or spelling problems please. Please tell me what you think.

Reviews

[Jaclyn]

What is an OPTA? You would definitely need to explain what that is...

I know you said to ignore grammar and spelling problems, but there is a SEVERE punctuation problem here that makes reading this very difficult. I wanted to read it more carefully, but I couldn't get around all the sentence fragments and oddly placed periods.

On the bright side, when you started out, you were closer to "showing" me your main character rather than "telling" me about her. I didn't get much of the sense of that throughout the rest of the chapter, but I definitely think you've got it in you to continue descriptions that will allow the reader to really visualize what you're trying to get across. Take every action, smell, taste, sound, visual cue and expand on them. You'll get there...whenever I write stories, I do the same darn thing and "tell" instead of "show". It's one of the hardest things people have to learn in writing, I think. I still would like to read more if you can fix the punctuation and fragmentation. There's something there.

[Eagle Cruagh]

Your grammar, spelling and punctuation are for the Editor.
When you wish to submit your writing for publication, then
submit it to a friend, or other helpful person who can help you
with the fine points---- until then just write, drag the story up
from your memory and from your passion and write.

This is a fine example of the STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS, that
storehouse of knoledge and emotion deep within your being.
When you have dredged it up and exposed all those fine things to
the light of day, as you have here, then you have written.

As one who enjoys reading honest literature, I walked beside you,
felt your isolation and my heart ached for you. That is the best that
fine writing can accomplish , to bring another along on their journey.

Congratulations ! This is a winner. I hope the remaining chapters are
nearly as interesting and sincere as this one has been.

My favorite !

---- Eagle Cruagh