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SAYA ──────────── ' north wing '
— NON-SENSICAL METAPHORS, black smudge marks from poorly made dollar store erasers, and a search history filled with boring words followed by 'synonyms' created the embarrassing story that lay around Saya Han. Small blisters littered the skin between her thumb and her forefinger, the painful sores reminiscent of the pen that had been held between them for the past four hours. Saya neglected the aching of her skin, though, as she flipped the thin beige page of her notebook.
If only school wasn't so demanding. The girl's skateboard taunted her from its spot across the room, and her PC looked as if it was collecting dust from the lack of use it had been receiving as of late. But she had promised her sister that she'd focus more on school this year, and she was determined to do just that.
When she finally did acknowledge that the blister forming on her hand would not appreciate the pressure of her pen being pressed against it for another agonizingly long period of time, Saya wordlessly thanked her genetic code for giving her ambidexterity and switched the item to her left hand.
Loose and crumpled papers alike covered the area below Saya, hiding the area rug that sat at the end of her bed. The white fabric had become submerged in the discarded notes long ago, to the point where if Saya were to attempt to step out of her bedroom, papercuts would infect her ankles and the tips of her toes as if she were walking across a sea of glass and needles.
The papers held words that Saya chose not to say, to not emit into the air of the real world, the real world being anything outside her house, that is. Not only did repudiated artworks fill the floor beneath her, but English notes filled with spelling mistakes and copious amounts of white-out were mixed in between the anonymous love letters and personal secrets crafted into premature drawings.
As Saya scribbled down words regarding some Jane Austen book that she was too tired to remember the name of, as well as jotted down any semi-coherent idea that she could maneuver into a piece of art, her friend (who had been silent for the first four hours of their homework session) huffed out an angered sigh.
"I can't do this anymore, you can all graduate without me, I'm done."
Saya glanced up from her spot on her bed, one eyebrow perking up as she watched the older boy in front of her sprawl out on the floor as if he'd been shot, "It's fine, Alex. Just work on something easier for now."
"That's the problem!" He groaned, propping himself back upright, "Everything is difficult! And don't even get me started on the art assignment- I'll just scribble all over the page and call it abstract."
