Stained

chapter 5: the act itself is a tragedy

Chapter 5: the act itself is a tragedy

I wasn't sure what I was writing about. I wasn't sure if it even made sense, all I knew was I was creating something so beautiful and destructive, so dark, ugly and wonderfully sad, that I would be on the floor in hysterics when I read it myself.

Writing.

The word, the act itself is a tragedy. Why do we have to live in a world where we have to write to help with our pain instead of talking to someone? You know why? Because people don't care about other people. We are all absorbed in our own selfish lives that we are practically incapable of caring about another. In my opinion at least.

There are billions of people in the world, not as many as the stars in the sky or the wonders in the world-but there are tons. The sad truth is that the average one that you see during a day is the one that looks so happy and cheery that it almost sickens you to the core until you realise that their worries are probably more so than your own.

It's absolutely dreadful.

There are days where I feel as though I am useless, that I am not worth anything short of an infested old rag, but then there are days where I think to myself that maybe I level out the universe. Without sadness how could happiness even begin to bloom? If we were happy throughout our entire existence we wouldn't be whole. Sometimes I remember that if it wasn't for me being the tragedy I am, someone else wouldn't realise how lucky they are for what they have.

Like I said, I like to believe I balance out the universe-that somehow just by being me, I'm helping someone else be happy.

So that's what I do. I continue to breathe and move and fool the oblivious beings around me into thinking I'm alive, that I'm more than just a soul traveling alongside a body with no purpose.

It works.

But then I drop my pen at the sound of a vase smashing on the floor.
I'm not scared. I try to convince myself.

I leap down the staircase with all the energy in my system-so not much- and I find a surprise waiting for me in the living room.

Not all surprises are good.

I will never ever forget that. And I swore to myself that from that moment on, I hated the mare thought and aspect of surprise. Why? Because right there stood my mother throwing our most expensive antiques against the wall.

I watched them smash against the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

And that sound rung in my ears for the next few days.

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"Alissa! Are you even listening?" An array of sudden panic rushed through me as I surged back to reality stopping my mind from replaying last night's events.

There were eyes everywhere and I realised that I must've been in a completely different world as when I looked up, my mother was no longer standing there , it was my biology teacher who was flaring her nostrils at me because I'd pissed her off once again.

Even with all the eyes noticeably staring at me, I ignored them all but I couldn't help but notice a certain pair boring into mine with the slightest bit of a smirk edged in them.

The bell rings signalling the end of the lesson and I spring out of my chair and bolt out the door. My eyes scan each person as they walk and speak and stare. I hold my books to my chest and walk through the halls as my music blasts in my ears blocking out my surroundings.

I get lost in my own thoughts and bump into something-someone. I try to move past but trip and knock over cheerleader landing on her too. My books had flown all over the place and I'd hit my head.