Timeless

Chapter One

Copyright © BooksForever34, 2013

Photo Credit/Disclaimer: Photo is not mine, I've made the modificaitons of adding my name and title, but the photo belongs to the artist: <a>Spencer Finnley</a> via <a>photopin</a> <a>cc</a>

http://www.flickr.com/photos/spencerfinnley/4104486517/

 All Rights Reserved 

Trailer made by the amazing: @petalsteps 

 __________________________________________________________

Chapter One

              School, S-C-H-O-O-L, is a one-syllable combination of five different letters with one that repeats, a silent h, a noun, probably the 213,345 entry in the Oxford English Dictionary, (but don’t take my word for it) pronounced as “sko͞ol” with that freakish line over the two o’s, and spelled backwards as loohcs. All of that information put together can be rearranged using various sources of databases to ultimately form an entirely new word that has been banned on almost every television channel with the exception of HBO: FUCK. Now add the feeling people experience when they’re on crack or are the lucky meat in a sandwiched threesome: HIGH and MIDDLE. With simple addition and division and some aspirin with beer, we can string FUCK and MIDDLE and HIGH together as one to make HIGH FUCK and MIDDLE FUCK. These probably sound like locations in a made-up continent, but really, these two different forms of fucking are just how teenage minds perceive their imprisonment at the place where suicides, bullying, hateful adults, and bitchy attitudes are introduced. I think when teenagers hear the words high school or middle school a lot of disjointed and jumbled thoughts run through their heads. Dating, schoolwork, failing, freedom, sexual things, dating. They respond with one of two reactions. The first reaction is one of fear, uncertainty, and confusion. The second reaction is one of excitement, superiority, and confidence. Let me put this as clearly as I can so to spare you the emotional, annoying, and long musing that I have a terrible tendency to do: I am starting middle school tomorrow.

            It’s scary to think about, when you actually start thinking about it, especially when you look around and see how much everyone has changed simply from fifth grade to sixth grade, and that wasn’t even changing schools or the amount of privileges! It was just a shift of grades, yet the nerdy and shy reserved girl that loved to read in the forgotten corner of the classroom has suddenly transformed into this makeup-obsessed, snotty popular girl. Like I said, that was just from fifth grade to sixth grade. Just imagine what it’ll be like for some people shifting from elementary school to middle school. And then to high school.

            I’m rambling, aren’t I? That’s really a bad habit I’ve become accustomed to. Rambling. Even the word just bothers me and can send me into a never-ending cycle of chitter-chatter and gibberish nonsense. But most of it’s all in my head. All of it. I’ll never speak a word of my thoughts. For one thing, I’m sure I would just bore people to death. I mean, I’m sure you’re already bored, and you’re just a piece of torn notebook paper. You don’t even have feelings, yet I can tell with accurate precision that you are bored. That’s how monotonous and dreary my thoughts are. But they’re my thoughts, and I’m not really sure it’s biologically or psychologically possible to ignore such things. Things like...thoughts. So whether you are a piece of notebook paper or a very expensive, sturdy, pretty poster board, I will tell you my thoughts no matter what, truthfully because I have no one else to tell them to. And if I just left all my thoughts in my head, I swear I’ll go mad. Sort of like how my sister explained having to go to the bathroom.

            We were in an elevator, and the door was stuck, which meant we were stuck, and my sister had to go to the bathroom really badly. Having absolutely no prior knowledge to the female anatomy, I found it quite amusing and even a little ridiculous as I watched my sister squirm and dance around stupidly, clutching her crotch as if it was gonna fall off or something.

            “I have to go to the bathroom so bad!” She whined. I said nothing, just stifled a laugh. “Oooh my gosh! I have to pee! It’s burning the walls!” She continued. This went on for about ten minutes. With each passing minute, she became more and more vivid and theatrical. “Ugh! I’m gonna be driven mad! What the hell is taking the elevator so long?”

            “We’ve been in here a little less than ten minutes.” I mumbled unhelpfully.

            “And have you ever tried holding urine that long? It destroys you slowly! Oh God...My vagina feels like it’s being soaked in acid! What the hell do boys feel when they have to pee? This. Is. Torture! This feels like how girls describe pregnancy...the urine is, like, being held in and so it’s making its way up to my abdomen and cramping up. What if I can’t have kids because of this? What if the acidic levels in the urine are strong enough to permanently mutilate my uterus and therefore prevent me from having children? Imagine me having to explain that to my husband in ten years. I swear, I will sue the elevator companies. God, I hope I’m not on my period yet! If I am, then it’s early, the hell is up with that shit...I have to pee!” She started lightly banging her head against the wall and slinked to the floor, ultimately ending up in the fetal position. She emitted a moan or groan or whimper every few minutes, but the descriptions seemed to have lessened thankfully.

            Finally, when the elevator did open, my sister jumped up as if someone set her on fire, and bolted towards the nearest bathroom screaming, “Freedom! Freeeedom!”

            I think that’s what would happen to my thoughts if I did keep them inside my head. Or...at least something similar to that interesting display. Maybe my thoughts wouldn’t be able to have kids, and it’d just be a never-ending cycle of the same thoughts because they couldn’t spawn properly. Just for the record, boys don’t really hurt as much as that when they have to pee. I think. I obviously would have no idea how a girl feels, but guys just get this tingling itching feeling and after a while, it just begins to hurt. But I’ve never really had to hold my bladder for that long either. Maybe a maximum of a couple of hours. But that’s because my family is really into hygiene and sanitation. We have six bathrooms in the house, and there’s only four of us, so bladder control has never been an issue.

            I live with my dad, my mom and my older sister. My sister, Starburst, she’s a real princess. Spoiled. Our parents give her everything, but she’s a humble princess, if that makes sense. Like Cinderella. She is a humble, caring, selfless girl at heart, but she was given everything. Given the world, and she accepted it. She didn’t ask for it, or even cry to get it like Cinderella actually did, but she got it and she just embraced it carefully. I like that about my sister. She can be a bully sometimes, but for the most part, she was a good sister. A very good, different sister.

            Alright, so I don’t completely destroy your life, I am going to end my thoughts here. I think it’s quite pathetic and pitiful that an old piece of notebook paper (one that’s not even mine; I found this on the ground) is the only friend I’ve got right now. It’s really, really depressing actually. I mean, my only friend isn’t even a person, you can’t even give any input on my life or thoughts and you can’t offer any advice. That’s even worse. I don’t want to claim you as a diary, because I’ll just be labeled as gay, but it’s starting to look that way. Which is just sad. But I hope that over the next ten months, you will be there for me as I attempt to battle the asinine and puzzling world of middle school.