Strings and Stitches

Chapter 1

Essays are a piece of cake, looking at myself in the mirror, I sigh at my desperate self, especially reflection essays. But why does it feel like I'm never going to meet the end of this essay but what sucks the most is the fact that I don't suck at writing essays but right now I'm at my lowest limit. I've already written more than the two thousand word requirement so that means that I should've finished this by long before I hit twice the minimum requirement. I glance at my vintage flip clock.

It's already 9:30 in the evening and so far, I'm losing it. I'm glad that I finished my other assignments before I started with this one or else I would have done nothing productive. Apart from that, I'm hungry but I don't want to cook and there's nothing appetizing in the fridge except for Abigail's piles of diet and organic food. I so badly want to eat something and the only thing close to fulfilling that is dad's secret stash which is stored in his study but he always locks it. Mom doesn't like that Dad has his own space but four years after I was born, he reasoned that he needed his personal 'man' space.

I sigh again just thinking about my family. No one's home except for me, Chiles my cat and Duece, my dad's dog. Dad the businessman is in New York while Mom the stagemom is in Clumster Hall next town with sister the beauty pageant contestant for another beauty pageant contest. Typical. Typical Saturday night, Grace. You should be used to this so what's up with the depressing sighs?

I roll my eyes. I hate the fact that I always talk to myself. What's a lonely girl got to do with no one around? Hold an audience with herself of course. But the self-question hits me like a killer bullet. Yes, I'm used to it... but that's not the problem here. Sometimes, I just wish that one Saturday would be different. One where we're all completely gathered at the dinner table, eating my insanely awesome dishes and just being a happy- if not normal- family. But that's not the only thing that saddens me. What really depresses me is the fact that I'm used to this loneliness and sometimes, I lose my grasp of hope.

I sigh again after noticing that I'd already reached the point of no return. I've finished my essay with five thousand, seven hundred and ninety-eight words all thanks to my inner thoughts. I don't want to pass this to Mr. Wright because it's too personal but I've got nothing on my table except for this. Before choosing to print it, I contemplate first of the pros and cons and weigh the 'what ifs'- especially the fact that this is social suicide if this it becomes public. I do it otherwise and the printing process begins. As soon as it's done, I log into my website and post a status.

Illouise: I'm sending a bomb but the detonation process won't go off because it depends whether they find it or not. Good night and sweet dreams.

Okay, so school. I've already passed my last and final essay to Mr. Wright and spectacularly, nothing detonates that is, until Megan finds me in the library. "Grace!" her eyes shine as if she's found a treasure which I am curious enough to glance behind me because I'm pretty much sure I'm not the kind of 'treasure' she's looking for.

"Megan," I greet here with a quick glance before returning my attention to the 2014 Edition of the Guinness Book of World Record. I hear her sigh before slamming her butt next to me and sighing again. What's up with her? "What's up with you?"

"The essay's killing me, Grace," she tells me while stretching her arms in front of her and pretending to clench the living breathe out of her tiny self.

Hmmm... That's unusual. Megan's a bonafide writer for The Odyssey- the school's weekly newspaper and she's also the co-editor even though that position is a year too soon for her. Well, she's got the talent and attitude for it so whether or not Gina Tiu placed a bet on her co-editor position eight months ago over some stupid 'I'm much better than you', it doesn't really matter. And that's what's troubling me.