In Her S****y Bin?

“You write your characters, but can you feel them? Can you see what they see, can you relate to them in any way, shape or form?” Mr. Walter spoke, sending us into the surreal world of Writing101. Ignoring his utterly pointless lecture, I grab the roll of red duct tape out of my bag and started to tear it. The scratching noise of the rip sent stares of curiosity beaming my way.

            “The last time I checked Romy Vanderbell, this is Writing101 not art class.”

Not replying, I kept my short piece of duct ape and threw the rest of it in my bag waiting for the booming bell to save me from this agony. Not only was this class a waste of time, a total failure, and not helping my academic grades but continuing to keep me away from home.

            Home.

Home didn’t feel like a home, but more like an inescapable prison guarded, gated, and a complete outcast to the rest of civilization. Mom’s body has been deceased for the past thirty years of my everlasting life, as I continue to believe her soul still lingers. My life has been a complete disgrace to those who live around me. Them getting older every single hour, as I stay here and deal with the cruel, jaded world taking twist and turns on my life.

            The bell knocked me out my deep thought, signaling me for my next class. I sigh, bending over slipping my bag’s straps over my shoulder and ambling slowly out of class. School was crucial, I guess. I’ve never really thought about it, but it’s the continuous mechanism of learning. It’s basically the same thing repetitively but more advanced for our evolving mentality, as we advance to more complex grade levels. Well, for humans that is.

            “You snapped out of it yet?” Dray asked, catching up with me after her extra circular class. My lids fell slightly over my eyes, a signal of annoyance. Today Dray decided to rock a black silk skirt stopping at her ankles, and a black long sleeve blouse covering almost every inch of her upper body. Her blond side bangs fell over the corner of her left eye fixed, hairspray and sculptured into pure perfection.

            “Yeah, just sortta out of it today and not to mention Mr. Walter’s stupid lecture didn’t really help,” I spoke, letting my voice drag of dullness. Dray stared at me, fixing her eyes on my silver pendant hanging from my neck.

            “You know, you can start your day over at any time. I mean, there’s no need to hate one class and then all the others.” Dray’s thick French dialect began flooding through her fake American jargon slow and vivid. I shrugged, ignoring her idiotic horoscope line. 

Changing the subject, I said, “How’s Abby doing? Is she still trying to escape her s****y nut bin?”

            My eyebrow rose in curiosity, as Dray narrowed her eyes and stared at me like a morbid creep. Abby’s horrible behavior was the reason she was sent to that creep-crawling place anyway, going crazy in her own mind.

           “She’s decided to rest herself for a few days in the corner by her pallet,” Dray said, as me entered the next section of our high school, “but I don’t know, maybe we should get her a psychiatrist or something.” My feet planted themselves to the floor, hearing the word psychiatrist. I rubbed my eye against my arms and turned to look at Dray right in the eye.

            “Dray, do you know how completely demented you sound? You sound like you don’t even know what’s going on around here, like you’re clueless and waiting for someone to just tell you what you’ve been waiting to hear.” My words echoed through my head word by word, but the whole reprimand flowing out my mouth like a trivial lecture.  But it was too late to take all of it back, but why should I? Because Dray’s feelings are as soft as a marshmallow, and she can’t seem to pick the crumbs out of reality like she can from her fantasy replaying itself in her loopy head? This world is not a reverie, and surely not a place where you can manifest anything you’d like.

            “Okay, alright! No need to get your panties in a bunch, because I suggested something,” she adds, “but its –”

            The bell sounded, both of realizing we’ve been standing in front of our third period this whole entire time, speaking about things that – if eavesdropped- can get us into deep predicaments.

            Dray and I part ways into our second periods, as I walk in the room greeted by a cranky math teacher and obnoxious pupils.