Why do humans take violence as a way to release anger? Why do people unleash their anger out on other beings? Where is the humanity in that? We say how disturbed dog fighting is when we're mutts ourselves.
The only sound I hear is my own heartbeat as my legs fly over themselves. I don't see anything in my peripheral vision, my sight focused on the turns I have to take. I can't breathe as this is the last lap out of three, but I don't even notice the lack of air in my lungs. The sun has no shame today, beating on my face with the sure sign of terrible sunburn. I can't stop running even past the finish line; my legs want to keep going until I run to a town I am no longer known in. But I almost run into my coach, who jogs out to me in her Ravens t shirt and work out shorts, her fat veins looking like black snakes slithering throughout her bloodstream. It doesn't help that she is white as snow, just not Snow white sorts of pale. "Brae, who you running from?" she laughs, out of breath herself, sweat stains forming on the front of her grey shirt. Who wears a grey shirt in the heat wave of Ball Ground, Georgia? I want to cringe as her clammy hand pats my exposed shoulder, but I can't help but relax to the comforting gesture. "You did amazing today. Too bad this was a gym race, or you would have gotten gold for your speed." She smiles, and her teeth are dotted with coffee stains and a bit of tuna salad stuck in her bottom row. I shrug, and she hands me a plastic bottle of cold water. "We saved this just for you," She says like the class had saved me a plane ticket out instead of a mini fifteen cent bottle." I tip the water to her and can't get the cap off fast enough. I want to chug it, but I drink slowly, making sure I pace my breathing. I don't want to throw up in front of the twenty something class of mixed grades that were forced to exercise in boiling temperatures. "Brea!" A girl with a pink spaghetti strapped tank top bounces toward me, her huge breasts bouncing along with her. Half of the class follow her every step as she leaps into my sweat soaked arms. She smells like vanilla and a hint of the cigarette she smoked in the car on the ride to school. "I knew you could beat all those amateurs," She whispers into my ear and kisses my cheek. She steps back and picks up the water bottle she knocked out of my hand, brushes off the top with her dainty fingers, and holds it out to me. I take it from her, and nod to the bleachers. "You have an audience." She keeps her eyes on me, and I smile at her, glad they wouldn't take her attention from me in these few minutes before the bell. She breaks out into the smile that would blind the sun. "So how are you feeling? You look a little flushed." She puts her cool hand on my forearm and I brush it off. "Well, Lyra, it couldn't happen to be that I just ran a race now would it?" She rolls her hazel eyes at my sarcasm and starts to walk the track, her high tops carefully weaving throughout the drawn on lines. "Are we going to hang out tonight? I can pick you up after work if you want." "Nah, I have Dave." She shakes her head at the mention of my beat up 1998 convertible we named Dave after her creepy uncle that hits on her in front of his wife at family dinners. "We should see that new movie with Brad Pitt. He's gotten so hot as he ages." "Sorry, I can't." She stops and twirls toward me, confusion written in her cheeks. "But you just said you could hang out tonight." I want to be with Lyra ever second I can get, but I have no money for this movie, with the expensive snacks and the photo booth she always begs to go in every time we go. I know asking her to pay makes me look like a cheap stake friend, and she's had a lot of those. I shrug, trying to hide my discomfort. "I forgot I have a thing tonight." She can tell I'm lying, but she knows better than to push.
The locker room is crowed with girls rushing to shower and get to their next class. I try to squeeze past two girls in short towels standing between me and my gym locker. One girl, long blonde hair down her back and red nails holding up her grey towel, notices me trying to pass them without disturbing their conversation. She grabs her friends' arm and tugs her into her body so there is a gap that I can fit through. As I pass I mumble a thank you, and I look up to see her smiling at me, white teeth gleaming against her tan skin. I can't seem to remember her name. "You did great today. You should join the track team this spring. We could use someone like you." She says, her voice strong over the chatter echoing off the brick walls. I nod and spin the dial on my locker. I grab my jeans and thin t shirt and strip down. I wiggle on my jeans and am about to put my shirt on when I feel eyes on me. I glance behind me and see the girl next to me, holding her blouse in her hands, watching me. "My locker is right next to yours. I hope you don't mind if I'm so close to you." I turn back to the wall and quickly put on my shirt. I tug it into place and shove my sweaty clothes into my small locker. I gather my damp hair into a loose pony tail and turn to leave. The girl is still behind me, watching me with warm brown eyes. "You should really consider my offer," She smiles at me, "If you ever need to contact me, like if you want to join, just text me or whatever. Do you have my number?" I didn't even have her name. She holds out her hand and I stare at it, smooth grooves and lines. "Oh,you probably don't have your phone on you. Here, I'll just write my number down and you could call me." She grabs my arm and before I could pull away, she grabs a sharpie with her free hand and scribbles a series of numbers on my wrist. "There.Now you won't forget it." She lets go and turns back to locker. She drops her towel and I avert my eyes as she pulls on her clothes. I can't go anywhere until she finishes because that's the only way out. She slams her locker closed, and starts to walk out the room with her books in her hands. I start to grab my binders from the depths of my locker when she calls out, "Rebecca. But you could call me Becca, if you prefer." I glance at my wrist and see her small digits written on my arm, a heart at the end. I close my locker door and turn the corner, almost running into a huge set of boobs. "Watch it! Jesus, you almost plowed me down, you freakin' cow." I don't look at the girl's face; I just stare at my beat up converse. "You could at least apologize, or are you mute as well?" She leans in close, and I can smell her hairspray and coconut body cream. "You ever assault me again, and I will make sure my dad presses so many charges you won't be able to even breathe the same air as me." Her dad was a police officer. Now I know who I ran into. Bridget, the main queen of the school, owning her hallways with a Prada bag and heels so expensive they were worth more than me working every day for the rest of my life. She usually leaves me alone unless she's trying to show off to her beef head boyfriend, the captain of the soccer team, all toned legs and shaggy hair. She shoves past me, her shoes clicking down the rows of lockers, settling on the last one, and her announcement is clear with a chorus of shrieks. I sigh and push open the door with my shoulder, walking into the Spring Field high school hallways. The bell rings as my sneakers stumble over each other, a warning that I'll be late again to English. I run into the room just as the last bell goes off. It's not a 1980's movie, no one looks up as I weave in and out of the rows of desks, reaching my spot in the back corner. "Alright class, today is Wednesday. You know what that means!" A collective groan throughout the class rings up as she says, "Poetry day," her voice almost lost over theirs. She hushes them and pulls out a massive book that she has introduced to us many times. "Everyone, come on up. You know the drill." One by one, everyone walks up, closes their eyes, and picks a page. Whichever poem is on there, the student has to mimic the author with the same topic. As my turn approached, my palms started to sweat. I always hated this part of every class. "Brea." The girl in front of me motioned me up. I rose from my chair and shuffled my way up to the teacher. "Hello, dear. Are you ready? You always seem to pick interesting topics." She smiles at me. I step up to the book full of voices and close my eyes. I hear her flip the book, and the pages go flying. I wait until the breeze starts to slow down and I place my finger on a page. "The Rain... Well, this poem is just darling! I don't think you've done anything like this, have you dear?" I open my eyes and skim the poem my finger had chosen. The Rain? Sounded like a dull romance poem like everyone else. I walk back to my seat and slump behind the girl. I shove in my headphones and turn up the volume to Arctic Monkeys. I watch the teacher's hands shoot up and around and her lips moving so fast I can't even lip read. She starts to pass out little slips of paper and as she gets to my desk she smiles,her red lipstick bleeding all around her mouth. She starts to talk to me, and I take out my headphone, "What?" She doesn't even seem bothered that I missed out on her grand speech. "I said you will really enjoy writing about this poem. You know, you're one of my best writers. If you weren't so focused on running, you could start writing more. Do you write outside of this classroom?" I shake my head and her shoulders slump. "I think you should. You could really work off of how good you are." As she walks off, I read the paper she gave me. It's an invite to a poetry reading at a local coffeehouse. I crumble it up and shove it into my bag. Poetry readings always seemed like a waste of time to me. Why would I go to one just because my teacher offered it? "Ms. Thomas? Why are you handing these out? Most of the people in this room won't go. You're just wasting paper on lazy students." A small girl in the front pipes up, glasses, a huge paperback sticking out of her backpack, probably Shakespeare, the whole teacher's pet bit. "Well, Laurel, this is mandatory. You also won't be just attending. You all will participate on the tenth of October. This is a test grade. You will read the poems that you write based on the poem you picked today." She smiles bright like she is doing us a huge favor. A boy in the back,dressed all in black, calls out, "This sucks! We shouldn't be forced to be in a stupid reading if we don't want to." "You're right, Jonah. But the winner of this reading gets five hundred dollars and a feature in the paper." The class murmurs at the mention of money. "If you don't do this, it will cost you a test grade." A gasp comes from the other side of the room. A group of pink Barbies start straight out sobbing, half of them forcing out the tears. "Oh shush,girls! This will be so fun you won't even think of this as a grade." Ms. Thomas walks around her desk with her long flowered dress swinging at her ankles. "I expect you all to be there. Now take out your books and let's talk about chapter ten. Anyone want to start?" I take out my worn copy of Lord of the Flies. "What do you all think of the boys at this point?" She comes to the front of the desk and leans on it with her hands holding her up so she doesn't fall. "Ralph has finally realized that this island is changing them." Laurel speaks, pushing up her glasses with a satisfied smirk on her lips. "Yes, that's the obvious answer. But I want to know something that I couldn't read off of these pages."Her eyes sweep over the raised hands of the same students who want to answer,and she meets my gaze. She gives me a nod, and I glance down at my book, my fingers gripping the binding. "Jack, what about you? I know you really like this book. What do you think is really happening right now?" The soccer player with the spiked up hair who supposing throws the best house parties sits up,and clears his throat. "Well, they are turning chaotic. They lived in war before; this is just them adapting the only way they know." "Very good! Okay,why do you think Jack is the one most affected?" No one moves. "Really? No one?Laurel, not even you know this?" The teacher clucks her tongue and I raise my hand. I realize how stupid everyone is not knowing this answer, but then I know how stupid I am to answer. I quickly drop my hand, but Ms. Thomas sees the movement. "Brea? Do you have something?" She looks at me with hopeful eyes. "I uh... um no, no I don't." I stutter and slouch lower. "Yes you do. Come on,enlighten me." Some select few, with Laurel, turn and watch me as I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and try to speak, but my mouth is dry. I cough and more students turn to look. "Well, um... Jack is most affected because..." I sigh and take a second to gather my thoughts. "Jack is most affected because he is the most blood thirsty. He was always the good choir boy. As his old self, he would never hurt, especially not kill. But in the first few chapters, he covered his face with the paint, hence throwing his old self away. He was the first to be tempted, and he was the first to fall." Everyone is now looking at me, and Ms. Thomas is nodding, her eyes smiling. "Brea, that was spot on. Good job." Laurel glares at me as Ms. Thomas turns to the blackboard. "Okay, students. Why was the island so tempting? Think of the time period..." I put in my headphones and watch the clock slowly tick by each number, affairs.
YOU ARE READING
Heart Burns
Teen Fiction"Your perspective on life comes from the cage you were held captive in."
