The Portrait of Markov

The Prologue

I looked up at the light blue sky as I walked into the brick building in front of me. High school. Time goes by too fast. It feels like just yesterday since I was playing with my childhood friend, whom I have not seen in ages. Sometimes I miss her. She can be a complete jerk sometimes, so I cut ties with her quickly.

I look down at the floor as I walk inside the building. The tile floors and the scent of body oder and perfume stung my nose. I heard the chatter amongst my classmates, who seem to be giving me second glances. I ignored them and went over to my locker to put my backpack away. I turned my 3 digit combination slowly and precisely. 9-38-2.

Click. My locker was open. I took in a heavy sigh and hung my backpack on the hooks in the locker. I bent over and grabbed the binders I will need for my first 3 classes and went to homeroom. I sat down in my usual seat and opened up one of my horror novels. I enjoyed horror for a while now, which people stern me for. Saying that it's "messing" with my head.

I shrug off their comments and I let the horrific images flow through my head. I smiled at the thought of letting my head travel somewhere else. Other than school and their bullying. I glance side to side. The noise from around me is hurting my ears. People keep on picking on one another or bumping into my desk purposefully. It's getting tiring.

While I was deep in thought, somebody tapped me lightly on the shoulder. I simply ignored it, knowing it was probably one of those ignorant classmates, who enjoy seeing people vulnerable.

"Look behind you," A voice in the back of my skull rang. I took a heavy sigh as I turned around. Nobody was there. I closed my eyes shut as I turned back to my book. I made the brutal decision to close my horror novel and I placed it on top of my binders that were on my desk. I zoned out while the announcements were playing on the intercom.

I could care less about college opportunities or clubs that were happening right now. I wasn't interested. I'm never interested in anything social related. Why couldn't my parents just homeschool me? Maybe it was because of their jobs, but I am unsure. Nor do I care. Though, one thing on the announcements caught my interest: Going to the library after school hours.

I loved the library in this school so it's neat that they allow students to do that now...usually they turn me down whenever I ask them politely to stay after school. There's always a reason why I want to...I don't like my home life and the life of books is the only thing that keeps me content every now and then.

I tapped my fingers along the material of the desk. The tapping sound rang in my ears. Tap tap tap. It was soothing to hear the light tapping. It made me realize that I was still a living and breathing human. The bell rang shortly after to end homeroom. I gripped the sides of my binders and propped them against my chest as I walked to first period.

I went through the door and sat in my supposed seat. I placed my binders on the desk and fiddled with my hair, which was always something I did when I was nervous. Or if I didn't want to harm myself.

"Okay everybody," One of my teachers yelled out. His voice was booming loud, and it hurt my ears. "Today we'll be taking a test so please clear your desk besides a pencil."

I sigh as I place my binders down on the ground next to me. I opened up my pencil case and grabbed a pink mechanical pencil and closed the zipper tightly as I placed it on top of my binders that were on the floor. I tapped the pencil on the surface of the desk while this teacher was passing out the test.

There were a couple whispers every now and then, but the teacher tried to shut them up. He placed a test paper on my desk and I looked down at it. There were a bunch of math symbols and algebraic expressions that made me want to die. I picked up my pencil carefully, my hands were shaking. I was scared of getting the wrong answer. I'm a perfectionist and crave neatness. I stared down at the paper, then I got up the courage to start writing.

My hand writing was neat and tidy, with pretty cursive and small numbers that could be hard to read, but it's a type of writing that I'm used to, and I love how beautiful cursive looks on paper. It helps me stay content.

After the test was over, I looked over my piece of paper one more time before I turned it into the teacher. He looked at me with suspicion but shrugged it off as he took the paper from my hands. I walk back to my desk and sit down. I stare at the desk, completely in my own little bubble once again, oblivious to the world around me as I zoned out.

I was tapping my pencil against the desk, wanting to hear some sort of noise besides eerily quiet.

"Stop tapping your pencil," The teacher sterned. My face went red of embarrassment as I carefully placed my pencil on the desk. My heart was beating out of my chest, thudding against my rib cage as I ducked my head. I frowned. I guess I shouldn't try to draw attention to myself...instead I just twirled hair around my finger, looking closely at the strands that were around my finger.

Tears were welling up in the crevices of my eyes, but I blinked them back before they fell down. I'm a mess. When will I learn that I shouldn't be so much of an idiot?