Just Because. (Jalex)

Chapter 3

English was undoubtedly my best subject, I loved to write. However, I would never tell anyone that. I loved my reputation, no one bothered to mess with me and I took pride in scaring the fuck out of people. But writing was my passion.

As Mr. Sanders stood in front of the classroom he explained our next assignment. I admit, I was excited for the assignment. The creativity flowed through me and basically oozed out of my pours.

The project was based on our writing and it had to be symbolic in a way. It was basically a journal we would write in for the next 9 weeks. I felt comfortable and content with the project, at first.

"Think of something that means the most to you," Mr. Sanders explained, "then write about it. I want to be able to feel like I am in your position when you present your best writing to the class."

Fuck.

I groaned silently to myself. Maybe I'd just skip out on the damn assignment. There was no way in hell I was going to make myself seem like a pansy in front of everyone. I'd rather eat a bowl of fucking nails.

"Your assignment starts now, search for inspiration."

What can I write about? What means the most to me? Hell, I don't even know. I'm empty, I don't enjoy anything besides music and terrorising people in this hell hole.

I looked over to see that new kid writing already, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Every so often he would look up and start talking to this girl named Lynn with brown hair. I didn't know what they were talking about, but he was laughing.

I felt a sudden urge of jealousy towards the new kid, Jack. He managed to make friends, he already has friends. I have no one. I shook the thoughts out of my head and convinced myself that having no friends was for the better, friends were for pussies.

"God fucking.." I trailed off in agitation. I couldn't think of a single thing to write about.

"Maybe I should ask him what's wrong?" I heard Jack whisper to Lynn, they were talking about me.

"You're better off not associating with Gaskarth over there, he's a dick to everyone and shatters hearts along the way." She whispered back to him. Jack stayed silent but I watched as he shook his head.

I tried to swallow the anger that rose within me but failed. How dare she talk about me like that, she doesn't even know me. She was ignorant, and a bitch.

"Please, there's no one in this school worth shattering hearts over, you're all fucking ignorant assholes." I sneered at Lynn. Her eyes widened as she realized I had heard what she said.

Jack didn't acknowledge me, he just continued to write. It was abnormal for someone to not pay attention to me, or not cower away from me when I gave people a taste of their own medicine. Now when I walk down the hall or something, no one laid attention to me and that was normal. No one associated with me, and I liked that. But I basically lived off the reactions I got when I "created scenes."

I remained staring at my blank paper.

What means the most to you?

I looked around the classroom in hopes to get some huge idea or some inspiration at least, but of course that was a fail. I was in school, this is where all the dreams that lay inside everyone's shatter little hearts die, this is where you're questioned regarding your intelligence, this is the ultimate hell.

I settled for staring out the window, where the birds flew by and the sun was shining. I could practically smell the grass being cut, the cool breeze of September air that would soon transform into October.

I then looked down at my blank journal and began to write to my hearts content, as inspiration finally washed over me:

In a world outside where everything appeals to the eye, making everything seem like all that glitters is in fact gold, you'll find the realist and the optimist. And in a world like this, I'm asked "what means the most to you?" A question that begs for the bold and ugly truth, something an optimist could never honestly answer. Optimists tend to sugar coat everything, but I'm brutal and the complete opposite of an optimist.

So, what means the most to Alex Gaskarth? I'm not entirely sure, as I shove headphones in my ears to block out all of natures-and manmade- noises. I'm blinded by the fact that I haven't and will never amount to much, I will never have something that brings me pure joy or makes me feel complete, I'm far too empty to be filled.

And that was it, that's all I could muster up to write. It wasn't even good, but it was good enough. I doubted I would pick this piece of writing to present to the class, as it made me seem too depressive, yet too much of a fucking pansy. Maybe I could in fact blow off this assignment. I couldn't think of a damn thing to write that didn't ruin my reputation.

But Jack knew what to write. I sat here watching him as he quickly scrawled down words that I desperately tried to read. I squinted and slowly moved closer but I couldn't decipher what he was writing. Then, he noticed me and moved his journal as far away from me as possible.

He didn't glare at me, yell at me for snooping, or make any comment. Its like he didn't even react to my actions or acknowledge me at all. For some reason, I loved being ignored by everyone else, but for some fucked up reason that I had not yet discovered, when Jack acted like he didn't even know my existence, it made me sick.

I felt nauseous, and my heart hurt like I was mid-heart attack. I tried to brush it all off like it wasn't Jack that made me feel like this, it was the fact that he didn't get hurt or intimidated by me. Hell, I even blamed said feelings on my lack of sleep and lack of bruality today. I hadn't pushed one asshole into a locker yet today and that made me agitated because I was not turning into a fucking softie.