Valient
21-02-2005, 08:29
It was awkward, and not the kind that was good. You know, the kind that existed when you go in to kiss your new boyfriend or girlfriend goodnight for the first time.
No, it was the sort that trapped you, tied you down on the railroad tracks and left you to be run over by that barrelling train, or in this case be ran over by the thick emotions of two best friends.
Tim sat behind me in that creative writing class. He was thin and wiry, like an ostrich ready to peck your eye out. His brown hair was spiky in a faux punk way, and his dark clothes only further helped his image, or hindered it.
Anne sat to the front of me. Her similarly colored hair was long and wavy, like the ocean tide crashing against the seawall in Vancouver. Just seeing her made you think of the exact same thing – she had that power over men.
I looked behind me, and was met with downcast eyes. I looked forward, and was met with a wall of hair. So lived the life of a man caught between two bitter ex-lovers.
I gave up and looked at the clock. It read half past 10. Still over an hour to go in class. We were writing some inane exercise about building dialogue between our characters. Ironic I thought, as I couldn’t get two of my own even talking.
I glanced at Tim again, and he looked back at me, his eyes dark and brooding. “Leave me alone, all of you,” they seemed to say, as they went back to the lazy scrawl on his looseleaf paper. I wanted to press more, but I felt eyes staring at me. It was the teacher, Ms. Timoshan. That woman really loved creative writing, but it was hard to instil such love into grade 11 students who were preoccupied with other matters.
I nodded, and went back to my writing. The desk was beginning to cramp my style, and my legs. Suddenly, I felt another gaze, but this time, they were not mad. They were… sad.
Anne coughed softly, and then dropped a small fold of paper onto the edge of my desk, between the rings of my binder. It smelled vaguely of her – herbal essence shampoo mingled with strains of marijuana.
She got up and left the room before I could read it. Students at QE were able to leave the room without telling the teacher. I did not pay attention to the note initially, I was more preoccupied with how I would be able to have my superhero deal with the zombies that had ravaged his countryside.
But that got boring soon enough, and with tired hands, I opened the note.
“I can’t take it anymore.”
That’s when I heard the scream.
Everyone in the room was startled by it, save for I. I knew who it had to be, and with a mind that was not exactly clear, I made my way out into the hallway.
There, I saw Anne, still smelling of Herbal Essence shampoo and marijuana. However, a third scent was added. It was bitter, almost like copper. It was thick enough I could taste it just by smacking my lips.
Her wrists were slashed in awkward patterns. She approached me with arms open, like the zombies in my story. I grabbed her wrists, and could tell that they were not deep. Perhaps it was a cry for help.
I looked back to the room, and past a small group of students that had gathered, Tim stood. With a shake of his head, he went back into the class.
He didn’t have the energy to answer. He just wanted to be left alone.
No, it was the sort that trapped you, tied you down on the railroad tracks and left you to be run over by that barrelling train, or in this case be ran over by the thick emotions of two best friends.
Tim sat behind me in that creative writing class. He was thin and wiry, like an ostrich ready to peck your eye out. His brown hair was spiky in a faux punk way, and his dark clothes only further helped his image, or hindered it.
Anne sat to the front of me. Her similarly colored hair was long and wavy, like the ocean tide crashing against the seawall in Vancouver. Just seeing her made you think of the exact same thing – she had that power over men.
I looked behind me, and was met with downcast eyes. I looked forward, and was met with a wall of hair. So lived the life of a man caught between two bitter ex-lovers.
I gave up and looked at the clock. It read half past 10. Still over an hour to go in class. We were writing some inane exercise about building dialogue between our characters. Ironic I thought, as I couldn’t get two of my own even talking.
I glanced at Tim again, and he looked back at me, his eyes dark and brooding. “Leave me alone, all of you,” they seemed to say, as they went back to the lazy scrawl on his looseleaf paper. I wanted to press more, but I felt eyes staring at me. It was the teacher, Ms. Timoshan. That woman really loved creative writing, but it was hard to instil such love into grade 11 students who were preoccupied with other matters.
I nodded, and went back to my writing. The desk was beginning to cramp my style, and my legs. Suddenly, I felt another gaze, but this time, they were not mad. They were… sad.
Anne coughed softly, and then dropped a small fold of paper onto the edge of my desk, between the rings of my binder. It smelled vaguely of her – herbal essence shampoo mingled with strains of marijuana.
She got up and left the room before I could read it. Students at QE were able to leave the room without telling the teacher. I did not pay attention to the note initially, I was more preoccupied with how I would be able to have my superhero deal with the zombies that had ravaged his countryside.
But that got boring soon enough, and with tired hands, I opened the note.
“I can’t take it anymore.”
That’s when I heard the scream.
Everyone in the room was startled by it, save for I. I knew who it had to be, and with a mind that was not exactly clear, I made my way out into the hallway.
There, I saw Anne, still smelling of Herbal Essence shampoo and marijuana. However, a third scent was added. It was bitter, almost like copper. It was thick enough I could taste it just by smacking my lips.
Her wrists were slashed in awkward patterns. She approached me with arms open, like the zombies in my story. I grabbed her wrists, and could tell that they were not deep. Perhaps it was a cry for help.
I looked back to the room, and past a small group of students that had gathered, Tim stood. With a shake of his head, he went back into the class.
He didn’t have the energy to answer. He just wanted to be left alone.