Subconscious

Chapter 1: High School

Please read the prologue first; it is situated after Chapter 1 but it should have been before.

Subconsciously doing things; that's the case with me, and that's how I fell into all this bullshit. Terrorist's challenges, death, Muslims, and I somehow became the center of it all - only I'm still alive. To be honest, I don't know why I bother with this useless diary, not like it'll help at all. But my therapist said it could help me express myself better and write what I couldn't say with words. And recover. But I think my therapist is wrong, yet again. I think I'll commence with where everything started: high school.

Just to make it clear, I'm not ace at expressing myself but it's not like someone will read this anyhow.

Randomly, the Tuesday after I turned 15, a false rumour was spread about me in our form.Simply enough, I could describe myself with a few words at that moment: blushing, embarrassed, surprised, but mostly gobsmacked. Literally, I was lost for words, what the hell was going on? Then Hussein comes in, and the moment he opens the door, we hear the same chanting so I wasn't surprised to see his ears red, but his cheeks blotched up red like cherries when he saw me. As the short-tempered girl I was - and still am- I sent invisible hate vibes in his direction. Yet, there was still something strange about what was going on as I would usually shrug nonchalantly when a false rumour was spread about me. But this was different somehow. Everyone knew what I was like so they wouldn't dare make a rumour about me; that's how I knew there must have been some truth behind that atrocious rumour (and in my opinion, it was the most atrocious rumour in the history of Somerset High).

In all cases me and him will never match, I mean he's annoying and a prick; he's one of those dumbass kids and I have absolutely hated him since day 1 of high school. Like literally.

So eventually, as predicted by everyone, at lunch that day I was cornered in the toilet by his sister Noor Al-Marooni who despised me. She started going on and on about how I had no hope with her sexy smartass brother and how I'm such a prostitutional bitch. So I bit back, "Well first of all, you can shut up now you've made your point. Secondly, thanks for calling me a bitch because that means feminist to me and that's what I totally am. Thirdly, prostitutional is the word to describe hoes like you with their low cut tops, tons of unattractive makeup and wiggling bums whenever a boy walks past. Fourth, uhrmm it's not even like your brother is a sexy smartass so whoever spread the rumour obviously has no mind like your idiotic brother, so again, it's much wiser for you to shut your trap hun, 'coz all that comes out is random fake shit."

She kept her mouth shut. Obviously.

I left with all these thoughts circling my mind and whirling in all directions, none of them making any sense. Some were so unbelievable I hoped they didn't infiltrate my thought bubble so I don't land in trouble for something I didn't even knew I thought.