just a story for school….

hey..this was just something i had to write for school…just felt like posting this bcauz itz something i would write anywayz…don’t mind me..my writing isn’t as good as all the writers out here.

Chloe stood up and cleared her throat. You can tell she was nervous. Her hands were shaking like a volcano, waiting to erupt. She looked around the classroom. She knew she was going to regret this. She looked down to her paper, words dancing, they never seemed to get in order. Get in order, she would cry out. I need to do this. She tried to be calm, like the serenity of a flowing river. She cleared her throat again, starting with the first sentence.

“I know a girl. She’s in the ninth grade. She sits in the back of the room. You can’t really see her or hear her. But if you look at her, all you will see is a disconsolate person. You can see invisible tears that cry everyday. Call her something negative and it’ll go through her ears, killing every cell in her body, into her very soul. She’ll look like she can take it, but she can’t, she’s sensitive. It’ll shatter her soul, thinking what she heard was true.

She’ll pass a cheerleader, fill of exuberance, talking to football jocks, and feel envious of the cheerleader. She was dissatisfied with herself. The perfect person she dreamed to be was nowhere near her. She longed for someone to hang around with. A friend would be nice, she’d always think. She was devoid. Empty of life, of hope. She was a futility, no one would want her. But she would think that someone out there is just like her, surviving through tougher times. Then she’d put down that knife. She’ll prove that she can take it. So she’ll go through each day, her soul shattered into little pieces. Never will it heal into one whole soul.

But it’ll heal. Piece by piece, it’ll piece itself back together. She had a passion for writing. All her thoughts would spill out, onto a piece of paper, who treasured her existence. When will this stop, she’ll ask her only friend. It lies on the desk, letting the unanswered question hang in the air. When she wrote, the pieces were being healed. All her thoughts were thrown into the back of her mind. She can only write and write. Sometimes, a tear will hit the paper. But it’ll dry up and she would keep writing.

The paper would understand her feelings. Whether if it was a tear full of sorrow or a smile of joy that met her, the paper will always understand. During tough times the paper would feel wretched, feeling sorry for her. But what did it know? They weren’t the ones living through it. Sometimes, it would call out for her, hoping she would come. It worried a lot. Sometimes they had many uncertainties about her existence. Sometimes she’ll desert her friend for days. But she’ll always come running back to it. She always something had to write about.

No one ever asked her about these things. People think, those adolescents, they can take care of themselves. Or they’ll go, teens these days are nuisances, they don’t care for anyone but themselves. Is it really the teens, or is it them? But then again no one really cared. They didn’t know that girl existed. But I’ll tell you something, I’m that girl in the back of the room.”

She took a deep breath and breathed out. As she walked back to her desk, the one in the back, a tear was gathering behind her eyes. She never expressed herself that much, especially all at once. She sat down and her classmate turned around. She expected the words she heard everyday. But the words, I’m sorry, were heard instead. They were heard throughout her body. She’s sorry, each cell whispered to another. Her soul was healing, slowly, but healing. The gates holding back the tears broke. This time the paper will have something cheerful to read about.