A Collection of Stories

Voices Up Close

I hated high school, I mean I hated middle school and elementary school too, but I held a special kind of disdain for high school.

The kind that tattoos a scowl on your face and keeps an unfriendly growl stuck in your throat- like a warning 'get back, I'll bite' signal. I don't mean to be rude, but it's every man for himself inside the confinements of hell and I didn't have time for polite pleasantries. As for making friends, I flew as a lone wolf.

I listened to the continuous squeak of the whiteboard marker as Mr. Ceilach wrote our notes on the board.

His blue marker was just out of the packet, and a maddening artificial blueberry scent traveled the room.

I was too focused on the irritating fragrance to even look at the records on the board.

Not only that, but the stubble on his face. That was equally as diverting and obnoxious.

I remember it was spotty, jagged, sections of red hairs.

The color matched the hue of his eyes.

Mine too.

Maybe we were both participating in the same type of forbidden substance abuse. It didn't matter, jail had better food than we did. It was chicken Tuesday, and unlike my lab partner Janet I did not appreciate the slimy gray looking shreds of 'fajita' poultry- covered in processed-too-many-times equally as gray cheese.

I guess I always focused on the small things. Like how Amanda's worn out gray hoodie strings were uneven and how that really ticked me off.

And I guess maybe if I didn't focus on everything that would pluck my temper, maybe I would have looked at our gray chicken and cheese a little differently.

Maybe I would have noticed that when Gregory Heffins stood up from his annoyingly loud chair, and pulled something black out of his bleached, saggy, second hand khakis- I should have been paying better attention to his whole demeanor. I always question whether or not my scornful eyes had the capacity to catch his ultra-pissed facial expression, possibly the sweat running down his face.

Or maybe the way his hands shook as he lifted the gun in his hand and shot Chris Pinner in the stomach.

The fact that our star quarterback was bleeding out on the cafeteria floor didn't register- at least to me- until I could smell the gunpowder.

And then Molly Packman found the red ground, next to Hank William, who was laying across a Gus Deckler. Molly always had an abnormally large nose, which is the exact thought that ran through my head when I looked straight into her lifeless eyes and saw her dead.

I will never forgive myself for that.

Nor will I forgive myself for still wanting to fix Amanda's hoodie strings as Gregory looked at her, and slammed the butt of his gun into her average sized nose.

She was protecting a paralyzed freshman, whose wheelchair wheels had gotten jammed by the shoelace of another lifeless alumni.

There was three calm seconds of pulsing silence, I watched as Gregory stood on a lunch table and screamed.

Frustration evident in his drumming veins, he was just a kid.

The monster crouched down, stomping on the table, covering his ears with dirty hands.

"Get out of my head!"

A wolfish snarl twisted his face, gurgling out his mouth.

Teeth barren and saliva dripping from his mouth- he was a savage.

Gregory's throat echoed another un-coherent cry, then a round face rose out of his hands.

Barley making a movement, he let uneven gray eyes roam the carnation.

"Shut up," and then one last bullet.

Straight into my head.

***************

There will be a part two to this.

And no, this is not the extremely-long-and-super-exciting chapter I have been working on.

But I will release the title so that when i do put it up, y'all will get excited and show it to all your friends. (wink, wink).

Revenge of the Vixens

Pretty awesome right? Happy Sunday, sorry I am late,

Blue <3

RED, WIFE (or are you my husband?), ITS YOUR TURN NOW.

(I'm so sorry guys, I went and re-read this today and realized it was crap. So I edited it, I hope it sounds better now.)