1. Demon

"What are Demons really? Some who wonder are the ones who cast the shadows of the future. They will lead us somewhere where we, ourselves, cannot go. Demons, some say, are nightmares caused by one's thoughts to become so enphazised that he becomes delirious and begins imagining what he would become if the thoughts were to, in a word, 'get to him'. Others, whom dismissed the explanation that they weren't real, studied the point. They agreed to dismiss anyone who stood in the way of discovering this socalled 'nightmare'. Finally, they came up with a Scientific explanation; Demons were chemicated beings made from malicious nightmares. The remains that troubled one's mind were chemicated and recreated to make the form of the being known as a Demon. What if the explanation for the existince of Demons weren't scientific? What if..." the words of the teacher carrying on drifted in and out of my mind. My thoughts were elsewhere, in my memories. My nightmares. My daydreams. If Demons were really created from the existence of one's nightmares, they were practally feasting on mine.

 

The teacher, Mr. Mason, strode to his desk like a cougar would easily stalk it's prey. He grinned when the students began to look away from his slim figure, their eyes wandering. "Now," he began, his annoying and boring voice echoing into the ears of the intimiated students. "I want you all to write an paper tonight about what you think about the existence of Demons and about you're previous nightmares and how they effect you."

 

We had to write about Demons? I didn't even believe in the creatures. Sure, they were something, for our incredibly and irresistibly boring English teacher blabbed on and on for two hours about them. And all my recollection said was one sentence; Demons could be fictionous or scientific beings. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist that's been studying Demons for years to figure that out. And now the whole class had to suffer through a whole night of writing on and on about the intimidating subject of Demons.

 

Mr. Mason snatched up his colored blue chalk and swralled on the blackboard: "DEMON AND NIGHTMARE ESSAY/PAPER. MINIMUM; 13 HANDWRITTEN PAGES, BACK SIDES INCLUDED. MAXIMUM; 200 HANDWRITTEN PAGES, BACK SIDES INCLUDED. CANNOT BE TYPED. GRADE WILL COUNT ON EFFORT, PENNMANSHIP, AND THE TOPICS OF THE PIECE."

 

I had to write more that thirteen pages! My heart nearly jumped out of my ribcage and did and nervous dance right there on my desk. I was so happy, too, because English was my last class of the day, and I had no homework. So much for that dream turned nightmare. Maybe that's what I should write about. In big letters I should write: "I THINK DEMONS ARE STUPID. AND MY DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES EFFECT MY BY THINKING, 'YAY, I HAVE NO HOMEWORK!!!', THEN MY STUPID, FREAKING ENGLISH TEACHER HAS TO GIVE MY HOMEWORK. THEN, MY BEAUTIFUL DREAM BECAME A NIGHTMARE. THE END. HAPPY?!?!?!?!"

 

I think I'd fail English. And that goes on my personal record. And that doesn't look good on a collage application. Yet, this was murder!! I couldn't think of how horrible it would be to see that my computer and my graphics stuff sitting in front of me, then I'd see lined paper glowing like a florestent sign on my desk, probbing me and calling my name in a zombie like manner. How could I survive? That was my, you know, "thing". I could reinvent any graphic I saw in my own individual manner. I loved making graphics. 

 

Mr. Mason glared around at the moaning class. "Aw, comeon." he snapped. "It's not that bad."  he grinned at his own cunning. There was no reply to his lie. There was only moaning that followed, floating around the room like a angry, black raincloud that was working itself up to storm over the land below. And that land below was the sea of humans that were, at first, incredibly bored, then, within a moment, incredbily shocked, annoyed, stunned, and still bored. It was TOURTURE!!

 

Nearly everyone in Mr. Mason's English class was relieved when the bell rang, so that he couldn't give anyone else homework. I practally ran out of the classroom, my backpack half open, my purse I carried around with my unzippered. I was a complete, disastorous mess, and no one said a thing. 

 

I arrived at my bus before anyone else. The bus driver had just arrived, and the entire row of seemingly leather, brown patched seats were silent. It was eerily quiet. 

 

I carelessly flung my backpack over one of the silent seats, and dropped like a heavy, full wheelbarrow onto it. I sighed loudly, and flung my esassperated head backwards. It had been a long day. I had English homework. I hated English. It was, like, my worst subject. I couldn't do a thing in English. And worst of all, I hated my stupid English teacher. He was the worst teacher on my team, and he barely even taught us anything. All he did was blab on about the importance of stupid things. The whole class was stupid. 

 

My sister Jill sat in the seat next to me. She was in eighth grade, a year older than I was. She was 13, and I was still standing at 12. Jill had suffered through English, with the exact same teacher, but she enjoyed it. She could write. Unlike moi. She even wrote for the school paper.

 

Jill's best friend Gwyn sat down next to her. Suprised, I hissed to Jill, "What's she doing here?"

 

"Oh, Mom didn't tell you?" she acted all suprised, like the little prissy she was. "Gwyn's coming over. Mom let me. I got an A+ in Math, Science, English, AND Social Studies AND Health! Beat that!"

 

"Don't plan on it," I muttered.

 

Jill ignored me. "So mom let me have on friend over. She didn't say when, so I asked mom if I could have a friend over today, and she said, 'Yes, my darling Jillian, because you're such an AWESOME girl. I love you. You're so much better on my stupid other daughter,  Lauren'. See, she loves me more."

 

"Shut up, you ingrate." I snapped selflessly. 

 

"What's that?" she pointed a scrawny finger at the wordless, loose-leaf paper that fluttered in the wind in my hand. "Are you creating a list of insults for me?"

 

"Shut up!" I growled, leaping at her, discarding my empty, careless assignment paper.

 

My hands were clasped around her throat. She was going to DIE. Jillian's breath came in labored gasps, her eyes wide with real terror. I smiled selfishly. Somehow, I enjoyed this. And one day, I sware I was going to kill her.

 

I felt myself being dragged away from her. I began swearing purfusiously at my captive and my "rescuer", screaming wildly. I saw Jill gasping for breath, her face colored with suprise and fear. My smile rippled wider. What was wrong with me? Had I gone insane? 

 

I turned back angrily to see that my "rescuer" had been the new kid, Josh Bellahdrole. He grimaced slightly at the pain he was enduring, trying to keep ahold of my stuggling organizim. Screaming, I tore free from his grip and pounced on Jill again, fury driving my actions. She yelped under my weight, and I heard a crunch. I might have broken her arm, which was limply struggling under my weight. I roared as if an untamed creature and choked her, shaking her head back and forth. I knew what I was doing. Yet, I couldn't stop myself. I heard a choking sound. Not like a "help, someone's blocking my airpipe" choking, but like a immenent sobbing choking. I thought it was her and ignored it. 

 

Anger, fury, rage. They all had been bundled up in the core of my soul for as long as I had lived.  Jill had tourtured me everyday. She hadn't noticed how pained I was feeling. Neither did I. Now, I was realising it. What was wrong with me??

 

Josh pulled me back again with seemingly inhuman strength. This time, I didn't want to struggle. I lay limp in his arms. I heard another chokeing/sobbing sound. Then, I realized it was not Jill, but me. I was sobbing, my arms shaking, enduring a slight convulsion. I sobbed out. For a moment, I thought my tears had turned red with anguish, like tiny little flames inside of the water droplets. Josh held me, this time gently. Almost involunatrily, I whipped around, smacked him across the face, then fell into his arms. 

 

He held me in my seat until the principal came for Jill, Josh and I.

 

Even then, I think he carried me all the way to the Office. 

Author's Note

:D This may be one of the longest chapters I ever written!! :D

Reviews

[James Watts]

I got an A+ in Math, Science, English, AND Social Studies AND Health! Beat that!"( try using italics here for your "ands" and other where you show emphasis. It is a much cleaner read and easier on the eyes, rather on a screen or in print)

Not a bad start.