A New Perspective

Chapter 1- Chandler

CHANDLER

As I was walking to school, I came across a boy. He looked about four or five years old, with flushed, chubby cheeks. When he saw me, his eyes widened. He backed away slowly, then broke into a run.

It's sad that I was not surprised.

I think it was the clothes that scared him most. As always, I was dressed in completely black. My jeans were ripped at the knees, and I had a few bits of dirt on my shirt. It all looked shocking against my pale skin.

I continued to walk. Walking to my high school took about thirty minutes, and often was extremely hot, but I rarely took the bus. I learned the hard way that riding on a rusty moving vehicle full of idiots and a half-deaf bus driver does not end well.

East Boca High, which I attended as a junior, looked like a jail. It is gray and dismal and held up by visible steel poles. Even still, it isn't a dump. This Boca jail is full of snobby rich kids with snobbier rich parents who sponsored the school. Am I a rich kid? I live with my uncle and aunt. My uncle is a professor at the University of Florida and my aunt is a doctor at nearby hospital. We're all really more high-middle class.

As I walked across the grass to the main building to the courtyard, I was filled with a sense of dread. I went to school just because it was the only way to become a successful author. That, and it was better than my house.

I checked my watch. 6:45 am. I still had ten minutes until school actually started. There are few things I hate more than the stretch of time before the bell. Around me I hear the constant chatter and laughter of students. Some are holding hands and some exchange gifts. It all felt surreal, like I watching everything in a dream. I am not, and never would be, a part of this society.

I looked around. My usual spot, a corner by the benches, was taken by some teenagers who were huddled in a tight circle. They were probably dealing drugs.

Maybe I could go to the benches and hang out with my friends. Ha! That was a joke. I have no friends.

That left one last option: the library.

It would still be open, and no one would be in there, except for the librarian. I can't stay in the courtyard much longer. Being around all these people, it makes me itch.

As I walked to the library, I tried to avoid walking too close to people. After a while, I got tired of the stares, the flinches, and the silence that always followed my footsteps.

East Boca High's library was enormous, but rarely used. If people came here, they only came because they had to, not because they wanted to. It was painted a sickly yellow, and there was a few scattered windows. The bookshelves nearly touched the ceiling. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust.

Ms. Applegate, the librarian, looked up from her book when I walked in. You would think she would be old, old as this library, but she wasn't. She looked middle-aged, with short black hair and rimless glasses. "Hello Chandler," she said, her eyes stealing another glance at her book. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine, Ms. Applegate. Thank you." I replied. Not that it mattered if I said anything, because she was already reading again. I smiled. Ms. Applegate never changed.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Five more minutes of peace before I had to go to my classes. I sighed and walked around. All these aisles, every corner I knew better than anywhere else on campus. My hand slid across the shelves until I came across a book, worn and familiar.

The Best Loved Poems of the American People

This is one of my favorite collections. I often referred to it in my book, The Veil. I opened the book up to a page that was doggy-eared from the last time that I read it, pg.625.

Man's Inhumanity To Man

Many sharp and numerous ills

Inwoven with our frame;

More pointed still, we make ourselves

Regret, remorse and shame;

And Man, whose heaven-erected face

The smiles of love adorn,

Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn.

-Robert Burns

I love this poem because it spoke to me on so many levels.

As I was about to turn the page, I heard the bell ring. Why they had to start the day with that infernal noise I will never know.

Perhaps it is simply man's inhumanity.

I took my time leaving the library. I learned a while ago not to care whether or not I was late to class. The teachers have never said anything about it. In fact, they try not to speak to me at all. I don't mind.

I reached Mr. Richards class about five minutes after the bell. I opened the door (Mr. Richards was one of the few who always left the door unlocked) just as he called my name from the attendance sheet.

"Chandler Rylant." Mr. Richards said, is voice slightly shaky. Somehow, it got quietter when he said my name, though no one was talking.

"Here." I said, walking to me seat. My desk was in the very back of the room where no one, not even the stoners or other delinquents, sat.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Richards continued. "James Seneca."

"Here."

"Joshua Venger."

"There."

They all laughed at that, as if that joke wasn't a thousand years old.

After he called the last name, he put away the attendance sheet and began the lesson. "This week, we are learning about the Revolutionary War." He paused for a second to let the students groan.

"Not again!" some boy in front of me yelled.

Mr. Richards ignored this, and went on in a slightly louder voice. "You have learned about the war in your previous years. But now, we will to go into even greater depth. For that purpose, I have prepared a video for you all!"

With a press of a button and an annoyingly grand gesture, an image of a sock puppet appeared on the screen behind him. The room filled with whispers, groans, and snickers. In a high accent that I think was supposed to be British, the sock puppet began to speak. "The year was 1775..."

I glanced at the clock. Forty-three more minutes of hell.

Hey! Okay, this is the first real story I've written in a loooooong time. Some of you (though probably none) might remember I had another story, a Percy Jackson fanfic. In it's eleven-or-something chapters and 3000 reads it only got 17 votes. I totally understand that. I mean, I flich every time iI think about it. But I really want this story to be different. I'll update as much as I can, so please vote and comment! Props to @winterxwinter for the awesome cover! Next chapter: Dahliah.