Ap-pre-hen-sion H. S.

Fear.

We always assume fear is limited to the feeling in the pit of your stomach, the sense something is wrong, that there is a potential for danger. But, fear is not limited to that sinking feeling, rather the many different kinds of fear, which everyone experiences, from shyness, to rejection, to self hatred, to the hurt inspired by those who project their own self misery onto others. We see fear around us, constantly, and we commonly fail to notice it, like oblivious beings just in one giant fumble of life, but that never changed the way things worked. Every school had it's assigned social cliques, every student had experienced fear induced by their peers.

But some were different, some couldn't handle large social situations, or talking in front of people, or going through a busy hallway. It wasn't that I was entirely different, but my brain processed fear wrong, taking simple triggers which the body usually ignores and magnifying them. Of course, it wasn't highly noticeable, and usually people ignored it, or never thought to wonder why I clicked my pen incessantly when they would speak to me. I understood that those who lead a normal life, experience normal situations and feelings, would find it very hard to imagine how someone like I would feel, but consideration was mildly important. Although I wasn't someone who believed that openly identifying yourself as someone with social anxiety, or anything which might make an affect on your life, was something which many people should do, because to the common eye, it seemed like a shout for attention. And that attention would be given, not something I was particularly interested in.

~

Every face was so familiar, the same ones I had seen since kindergarten, the same people who had known me for years, and everything seemed so... classically incomplete, if you were to try and be descriptive. I appreciated when the girls would stay silent, letting me pass quickly without being rude. But, it seemed as if there were a specific group of girls who needed someone, something to take out any aggressiveness on, to build up their reputation by breaking the foundation of someone else's esteem. I never understood why attention was so eagerly given to the petty.

"Want to talk today, bitch? Or are you to good for that?" Cora snarled, shoving my shoulder, while I defiantly turned my head up, not speaking, but glaring, which proved to be pretty efficient. I darted down the hallway, and into the art classroom, my only freedom of expression. A large scroll of paper was taped at both ends, half of the chalkboard covered, a girl with smoke and tentacles dripping from her mouth, with glasses filled in with the reflection of woods, carefully outlined in pencil.

"Emmiline, nice to see you've finally gotten here." Mr. Edwards welcomed me, before waving me over. His desk was covered with papers, sketches and tiles of colors, his floors splattered with ink, chalk, and paint, while his shoes displayed wear, the edges of the converses ripping slightly, the shoelaces frilled at the ends. "I need you, to take these papers across the hall to the English classroom, and also, hand this slip to Mr. Styles." He told me, selecting a chunk of papers from his vast array.

"Mr. Edwards... Harry... I mean, Mr. Styles... He isn't the nicest to me, could you get another student to go to his class?" I pleaded, watching as Mr. Edwards' eyes showed no emotional change, my fingers scattering slightly across my notebook's rings, looking for my pen. "You can't fear everything, Emmiline. How else are you going to conquer your anxiety, and go on to be successful?" He asked, pulling a pen from underneath the stack of papers and placing it firmly in my right hand. I immediately began to lightly click it, nodding slightly. "Okay," I breathed, the air filling my lungs and leaving, like I hoped I would in Mr. Styles' classroom.

I pushed the wooden door open, the air conditioned hallways welcoming me will goosebumps and chattering echoing from classroom to classroom. Mr. Styles' managed to have a perfectly clean room, spotless from the flooring, to the chairs, the windowsills, and the cabinets, all of which how maintained these things, were a mystery to me. I suspected he bribed the janitor, but I refused to vocalize it and get yelled at. For his young age, I would never imagine him being a teacher, nonetheless a constantly unsatisfied, and negative man, someone who would degrade you out of boredom.

His desk was nothing like Mr. Edwards' in comparison, papers paper clipped neatly, set in stacks depending on grade level and colored sheets atop them based on subject. He turned to face me when I entered, giving a menacing look, grasping the papers I held, including my journal, which I refused to bother asking for, unless he didn't return it quickly. "Anything else?" He asked, tone drawing on, lack of distraction evident in his voice. "Y-yeah, um...," I fished for the small slip, noticing it hanging out of my journal,"the slip is, well, in my journal. You're holding it?" He looked down, noticing it and pulling it with great force from between the pages. "May I have my journal, and return to Mr. Edwards' class?" I asked, as polite as humanly possible to the man whom I swore dedicated his life to making mine a living hell.

"Return to class, and take this dingy old thing, God forbid anyone see the secrets of Emmiline the mute." He joked, leaning back in his chair and letting out a howling laugh. I ripped my journal from his hands, running out of the class, hearing him request for me to return half way down the hall, but it never mattered. It never mattered because the girl who wasn't loud enough to express her emotions never had any, and I wouldn't be capable of understand that concept in my life. Life didn't work the way people asked it to, and happiness was scarce for the unfortunate, but maybe everything would continue on, like it always has.

I would like to say thank you to anyone who has dedicated the time to genuinely reading this chapter. Although this book may be entirely terrible, I honestly wanted to put this account into action, so it will no longer be a private account.