There's the ground... slowly getting closer, as I fall... I'm falling... fast... Oh god, here it comes... This is it, isn't it? This is how I die? Oh, g-
I sit up quickly in my bed. Another nightmare... I keep having them, and they're always different except for the fact that I'm falling from a great height. I never know if I was pushed, if I jumped, or if I can even save myself. I just always wake up before... splat.
As if the morning weren't bad enough, it's a Monday, and I start at a new school today. I began getting ready, throwing on some simple clothes, and sitting at my desk. I thought about doing light makeup, maybe just a little concealer to hide the fact that I slept all of two hours last night, but... God, is that a pimple forming? My mom walked in and chuckled to herself, watching me stare at this blemish. I already know she's thinking "Ah, I remember those days."
"Marlowe," she said as I turned around. "I won't see you after school today. The hospital wants me to cover an extra shift, something about some dangerous internet trend going around. Anyway, I left my new extension on the kitchen counter in case you need me. Have fun at school, and if you make any friends, feel free to invite them over. No boys, no mess, no parties. Got it?" I smiled at her.
"Got it, mom." She kissed me on my forehead and left. After a moment, I heard her car pull out of the driveway and down the street. I finished getting ready and walked out to my car. I tried to start it but it just made a sad "Eee..." noise. I sighed. I guess I'm walking on my first day. It's not the first time it's given me trouble. It's an old car, my mom bought it from a family friend and I appreciate it, honestly... but didn't he have a car that at least starts most of the time? I hopped out of the car and threw my bookbag over my shoulder. I had to carry it on my left side since I was in an accident when I was younger, causing my right shoulder, arm, and wrist to be very weak. It wasn't a major accident, at least, I don't think it was. I was 10, and all I remember was being in the backseat of a car with my friend... what was her name? Alessia? I don't know. I never saw her again after that. A car hit us, and the next thing I know is: I'm in the hospital and my mom was yelling at police officers to find the driver. Nothing was broken thankfully, just don't ask me to throw a ball; I can't guarantee it'll go in the direction I want it to.
Honestly, I'm not surprised that the school did jack squat about my injury as far as letting me sit out of certain gym class activities, especially since they put me in the night school program for a fire I didn't even start. I'm almost positive I didn't start that fire. This girl made me angry in Chemistry, and as I slammed my hand on the desk, her sleeve caught fire and everyone put the blame on me. In any case, this would be much better; the students in night school were terrible and rude to the teacher. One student even punched the teacher in the face. I don't know what happened to her after that.
I finally arrived at my new "stomping ground," that's what my mom keeps calling it. Outside the front doors, a few students were standing in groups invested in whatever conversation they were having. Some looked my way curiously as I walked past to get inside. I guess that's normal since I am new. My heart is pounding, but I'm not nervous... Okay, I'm not that nervous. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, and the short walk to the Main Office seemed to last forever. Is it too late to turn around and go home? I'm nauseous. A woman is sitting at the front desk, and from her nameplate, I assume her name is Donna Storm. She looks at me.
"Oh, good morning, what can I do for you?" She asked as she ran her fingers through her light brown bob haircut. She looked younger than the other two women in the back of the office, no older than 29 or 30. I smiled at her politely, but before I could introduce myself, there was a high-pitched clank as Donna's eyes widened. Her ring slipped right off her finger and rolled across the room, under a chair.
YOU ARE READING
I See You (Version B)
FantasiWhen one thinks of the word "witch," what comes to mind? A beautiful woman descending in a bubble, your ex, or perhaps Marlowe Moreau: Average Teen™? That is if your average teen was accused of arson for a fire she didn't even start, and thrown into...