"I thought you were different," I whispered to my water stained walls, the gray paint chipping off like they didn't have the strength to hold on, but barely- their hope was stronger than their muscles. Like me. The only thing that kept me going was my hope that things could change. That's why I was reciting my conversation for Hannah Stone.
She could have easily resembled an added addition to 'The Plastics' from Mean Girls, except she had her own little high heeled posse following her like she was queen bee. "The Sirens", you couldn't miss 'em. Their lips drained the color from blood. the walls of the school became bland and colorless as the strutted by. It was a black and white movie, but the Sirens had the privilege of being in color.
I thought about my previous statement: "I thought you were different." I could say that to anyone, but it was only fair to ask it to myself. I thought I was a good person, but what is good these days. Good could be reclining in a torn leather chair, eating potato chips and drinking soda. You never knew these days, you never knew. I wanted to be a grand person, someone who you only knew the best things about. But that would never happen. That's impossible.. because we are only imperfect.
Chapter One
The end is a beginning, a new start. I know that statement has been overused that if there ever was a light behind those words, it has long been drained. But the end really does provide a new start, as fresh as green grass coated with the crystals of morning dew. You can think up all the possibilities the future has hidden. You have something to look forward to or something to daydream about, wasting endless time. But no, that's not true. Time is not endless.
One day the ticking of clocks will no longer be heard by a pair of ears. The blazing sun will not rise, nor set. Beneath the eyelids there will rest darkness, a black haze consuming the eyes. They will not see the black clouds of death though. Because of the end that provides a new beginning, they see white. Almost too white. The eyes can be filled with the sweet symphony of harps and the eyes may feast on the beauty of angels. But then again we do not know this, we cannot rely on what vast images have been imagined by the brains of the dead. For all we know they could be seeing the black haze, breathing in the black haze, living in the black haze.
We do not know. We never know.
YOU ARE READING
I tried.
Teen FictionCasey Lovintry has always been the lowest of the low, she's been bullied beyond belief, but she realizes that she has a life ahead of her, that she, herself is actually an okay person. But then she realizes that the bullies themselves don't deserve...
