The Forgotten One

1

Hello, this is the edited version of chapter one. The main difference is Ara's location is unclear; she hasn't specified she's at school or going to English, like before. The reason for this is I realised I'd rushed the ending. I'd written her to be going through so much, and then two paragraphs later, she was interacting with others. So instead, the first few chapters will be entirely from the inside of her head (so I'm sorry if you hate that).

Other than that, enjoy. X

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I don't think I have any friends. Not really.

I think believing I do is naïve, idealistic even. A way to conform to the people who have friends that love them unconditionally; who would die for them, and die without. Who prioritise them when needed.

Who reciprocate the treatment they give them.

You'll know the type I mean: the insufferable friendship that lives amongst the ink and paper. Amongst the recycling and rearranging of twenty-six letters- that never seems to make it off the page.

The ones you see posts about online, captioned with friend goals, and I wish I had a friendship like that. But have you ever seen one in real life? Have you ever experienced one?

Think about it. Think about every friendship you've ever had- think about your current ones. Would you be able to guarantee their view on you? Would you be able to guarantee they would drop what they were doing if you needed them?

Maybe you can and if so, I'm jealous.

Jealousy's a taboo thing, encapsulated with stereotypes about a girl's jealous rage over her crush's girlfriend. A silly thing, really, that's not taken seriously because jealousy is a disease, right?

If it is we're all infected. We all have silent jealousy coursing through our bloodstreams like we've just taken a hit of cocaine. And again, you can try to say that you've never been jealous, and never would. But it's bullshit. Of course you've been jealous of someone before.

Maybe it's the way they talk, or the way they look. Maybe it's their intelligence, or their relationship. Maybe it's their family dynamic that you're missing.

Or maybe, like me it's friendship. A real one, like in fiction. I'm so fucking jealous, and I'm so fucking tired. Exhausted, even of pretending like their actions don't hurt, and I wish it could be different.

Fuck, at this point, I'm wishing for a boy to save me. Where are those boys? Why can't they come and sprinkle their little saviour complexes over my life, and save me? Because like real friendships, these types of boys don't exist outside of literature. Outside of the minds of women trying to hopelessly convince other women they do exist, even if it's all within a book- held together by a spine, similar to humans.

There's probably something symbolic in that- literature and humans being held together in the same way? Who knows? Who cares?

Not me. Because like I've said, over and over, I'm tired and I'm wasting my precious energy on this thought; this conversation with my subconscious, whose useless no-replies are draining me faster than I'm able to energise. It's as though I'm plunged into darkness- stuck in the catacombs of life. Of tragedy. A dark hole, of sorts.

They say one candle is enough to illuminate a whole cave, don't they? They even apply that same principle to humans. But, it's bullshit. If we were caves, it would take a fucking chandelier to even make a dint in the darkness that encases us. But, I can guarantee that in a book, it would take the smallest flicker of life and they'd be saved. A boy would swoop in, and save them, and they'd be freed of this emptiness. But this is real life, and I don't think I even want to be saved.