I was acting fine like nothing could bother me, but the truth was, I didn't know what to feel, let alone how I should act.
On the days i thought of myself as machinelike those were the times i felt programmed to subtandardized thoughts which regimented me to think on clockwork things that conditioned me to stereotypical routine. It was during those rough days the pain felt like it would never end; it hurt to breathe, i couldn't fake a sweet smile even if I had wanted to, not to mention getting up in the morning was always a fight.
And then after a spiral of events that's when I knew that no one was equipped to helpme. The medicine fell short of a cure. The emptyness that was always there never ceased to remind me that I was as alone as I felt. That nothing; not the drugs I was forced to take for three months when I was institutionalized, not the shamanic prayers that my grandma invoked while I stayed with her on the off days when I just couldn't handle my mother and needed a break, none of it helped.
During my childhood and eventhroughout high school I couldn't help but feel like a marionette doll with no sense of ryhthm; everyone who'd ever tried to control my lifemy mother and stepfather who took me to mass to 'save me', like the countless doctors i've seen who couldn't medically fix me no matter how many specialists tried could atest that I wasn't bad just flawed.
Coming to the rational conclusion that it wasnt my fault if nobody said the library would be closed today I start walking back to my dormitory in hopes to burry my head and find solace from the wind. Besides, if I got in trouble by the headmistress for leaving early I could just as easily make her understand my side of the story.
I bundle my hands in the jacket pocket and pray that I made it fast enough before my feet and hands turned completely numb. On my way out of the quad I see a girl about my height wearing a grey bubble jacket passing by me.
I stop and tun my head. "Uh excuse me? Do you know is anybody in?" I ask pointing to the building behind me.
Gloves on, she rubs her hands to keep her blood circulated. Without looking at me or even stopping the girl shakes her head. "It's closed." she says.
I don't stop her when she walks on by me across the grey bricked wall in a hurry.
Since for whatever reason the library was closed I decided to make good use of the empty campus and head directly back to my dorm building without having to deal with a bustling crowd that would have interfered with me being on time any place. I usually had to sprint around talking bodies just to get through campus on a regular day.
Following the serpentine cobblestone path I keep my purple hoodie down and walk fast hoping that if I was quiet enough I could arrange a quick visit with Chanel and maybe go sightseeing if we had the time. With both of us busy we hadn't done much undertaking and now was as good a time as any to start.
I knew my best friend well enough to know when she was caught up in some wookie stuff and I couldn't shake the feeling that it might have had something to do with Starkhouse. For all of its grandious perfections Starkhouse was strange and cold and imposing.
The only time I ever felt cozy and content was in the library.
Maybe I was crazy and there was nothing to the coincidences that just so happened to pop up or the familiarity of closeness and affection that I felt toward certain classmates that I had befriended effortlessly.
Maybe it was all in my head and I'd imagined it because I was lonely and they didn't feel even remotely the same towards me.
Feeling a change in the air I look up and didn't know if I should go any further when I saw a ring of students having what seemed to be a heated conversation filled with hushed voices followed by pushing.
Instead of standing there I supressed the urge to groan and forced my feet to budge forward.
Interfering was not apart of the plan, neither was stopping halfway out of poor judgement skills and watching them from a distance.
Maybe I was maxed high on anxiety and had overfilled my capacity to be emotionally distraught for the day but I could have sworn I saw spiky hair pop out from behind someone.
I supposed I was just one of those few people who, after an extremely intense period, lost all intelligence and strode into situations head-on without thinking things over like any person with good sense would do.
Like coming from out of a spell I walk closer to the group only I wasn't me anymore, nor was I in my body, there was a girl there I didn't recognize who was runining to go and help.
I watched from afar as the long-haired girl panted and grunted as she ran across the quad to some place she had no business being, let alone without a proper jacket to protect her from the bitter cold.
This was stupid and non-sensical, and I wanted to tell that to the strange girl. I was being a jackass by butting in some place that didn't need me or my mediator skills.
Even though I wasn't the girl walking even closer to the scene I could feel her legs in motion propelling up and down, the young girls face distorted with devastation and worry, her grey eyes filled with water from the sting of the freezing wind.
Moving my attention outward I could clearly hear the shouting and bodies being thrown.
Synergistacally I could feel the girls heart beat pick up in agonyzing response at the sight and sound of trouble and that she was needed even if they would call her a jackass later for bulldozing in and interupting their fight.
Even if it meant the blonde haired angel on the ground would hate her for it later and call her stupid for being such a worried widow and that he would storm away saying he knew what he was doing.
Though the dark-haired girl was perpetually aware of all the ways it would play itself out she couldn't conceive a good enough reason not to help.
As her emotions got the best of her, her mind reduplicated similarly hysterical and frantic ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod echo of objections. The dark-haired girl picked up speed, her arms now my arms swinging back and forth as I went faster.
-and that's when I noticed they were huddled together, the three of them, unaware I was standing close by. I didn't want to interrupt just yet so i stood there waiting, watching for the right time to but in.
YOU ARE READING
Wingspan(Paranormal, Young Adult) MAJOR EDITING**
ParanormalAislin Striker is a sixteen-year-old who just wants to be a normal teenager, but that's hard to achieve considering she keeps seeing ghosts. Since birth there had always been something abnormal about Aislin, and this went beyond her dysfunctional fa...