Different.

Fear of the Future.

Chapter 2.

I snatch a couple more pages that were left under the bed. The artbook had aged how a person generally would. It was 11 years old. Nearly the front cover, and back cover were ripped apart. Though, I had used it for many things. Painting, coloring, and sketching. I skim through each page, viewing childhood drawings, to that of my newest ones. They had progressed in complexity, yet-most illustrations I'd completed were of trees.

I've always had an immense liking in trees. Their evident beauty, and altered color of leaves had directly intrigued me. Their Charisma always reminded me of a Golden coin so rare, displaying how eminently pure they be. Yet, as a child-I dreamed of trees, referring them to that of beings who couldn't speak. Though, they were alive. I spoke to them, and typically-hugged them.

I flip each page, and lay the bold-black cover over the top-when a screechy rasp sounds in the distance. The storm had created debris to develop on top of our house-and now it was beginning to channel down the gutters. Tree branches were now roughly scraping against the outer side of the window, as the breezes gradually increased with speed. Loud rustles sound throughout the ceiling-almost shaking the whole house. Withal, it had already became night, outside. The sky-settled bold, pitch black. Street lights in our area had permitted from functioning, due to the strong forces of wind and rain. I could hear the rain drops from the large branches, persistently hitting the gutter that stands above me.

My parents are still at work, and I'm home alone with my eyes fixated to my laptop screen. I had been watching videos online for a couple of hours, waiting for my boredom to surpass. The internet was terrible, and Wifi notifications kept popping up, as I refreshed the pages-and completely nothing happened.

My dog Bear accompanies me. He lies down on my tan-colored bedroom carpet, and when I poke him-being annoying, he'll snarl, or ignore me. He suddenly dives onto my bed in a hastily urge. Wanting his belly patted, I stretch my fingers throughout his white, fluffy fur. "Do you want a cookie, little guy?" I chuckle. His eyes so wide, he's about to vault on top of me, and tackle me.

I head outside of my room, and go fetch him a doggy treat-when a bolt of lightning strikes abruptly. Bear is petrified, and he runs straight ahead, into my closet door. Which supposedly, is his only "comfort zone". My body felt frozen, from the unanticipated fright. I hurriedly run to turn off my bedroom light, back to my bed, and jump under my covers. My heart beating hesitantly, as I maintain a cold sweat.

So startled, my voice begins shaking. "Another storm-just exactly what I needed!" I sigh. "A stormy night-then, what could there be tomorrow..?"

I crawl into a ball, underneath my covers. "School." Tomorrow starts the beginning of all my fears. The first day of high school. The students, the teachers, and well of course-the people that are there to pick on you. I rest my head on the pillow that lays beneath it. A hard surfaced 300 page book I had been reading, lays hidden below. Every night before i go to bed, I read it to keep my sanity. Dad isn't surprised that I keep a shell-hard rectangular shaped object under my head. He often exclaims to me "One day, your head will be as flat as the book cover!"-laughing seriously at the grimaces I'd hold.

I can almost hear the book whispering it's legends to me, every night. Just like a perfectly made-up story I was read to by mom as a child. "Books are like glue and material, mom usually implied. They stick together with whoever reads them, and still-they never get old."

Thoughts jumbled up in my mind, begin to get me frustrated about the big day ahead. I turn to my side. My cheek forcefully pushed against the comfy pillow, with a tad of the book's stubby edge. "Everything-will be alright.." I mumble. Fiddling with my fingers, I continuously think oppose of what I had said. What if staying positive isn't the answer? What if I make a total fool out of myself..? I can't always follow my conscience, it's terribly erratic - compared to all of my assumptions.

I hug my pillow tightly. Embracing it with the strength of my emotions-I'd never felt so tense with the build-up anxieties inside of me, that I just want to rip it open.

I turn and toss under my bed sheets, as I listen to the sound of wind travelling through the window's partially broken pane. It whistles faintly, like a voice reaching out from the labyrinth of printed letters, as my book waits to be read the next day.

Not for long-I fall straight asleep.