Monster

Chapter Two - I LOVE School (not)

Beep. Beep. Beep, beep, beep. BEEP! My annoying red alarm clock makes the most awful noises, and it takes a couple beeps to wake me up. I rolled over in my bed and smacked the snooze button. Then I took the batteries out and threw them under my bed. My feet touched the cold, black colored wood under my feet as I stood up. I hate mornings. Especially Mondays. I did a survey of my room, with its neon orange colored walls (my Mum and Dad said red was too Goth) and the dark wood floors. My room didn’t really reflect me, except the floors. Dark. Just like me.

I skipped (skipping makes me happy) over to my closet and picked out some black skinny jeans and a grey V-neck Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt. My hair usually had a couple of curls near the bottom, and I just bumped my hair in the front. After that, I did foundation, eye liner, mascara and smoky eye shadow. I didn’t even look in the mirror; I was too disgusted. Not by the way I looked, but by the Monster. It. The Thing inside Me. I had several nicknames for the Monster that comes out three times a week. 

After that, I went down stairs to eat breakfast. My Mum was cooking pancakes and eggs, which I hastily devoured. I tried not to make eye contact with her. After all, she was the one that had me. You know, gave birth. She made the monster. But sometimes I wonder. Did she…give birth to me? I’m sixteen. If she knew I was a killing thing, I think she would have mentioned it by know. Maybe it was my dad. The person who gave Monster genes to me. I shivered, thinking of my Dad having the same weekly needs as me. And then there was the worst possibility: that I was adopted. No, you aren’t adopted. I then took a jacket off the rack; it was snowing out, and it was about to become a blizzard. I did the usual morning things, brushed my teeth, you know, jammed out to Nickelback. After being caught with a toothbrush microphone singing Rockstar, (by Nickleback, not the other one by yucky Miley Cyrus) I decided to see if the bus was here. It was, and the bright yellow stood out in the blinding white. I hopped on, and immediately ten voices that I don’t know said,

“Sit over here, Drew!” and

“There’s a seat right here!”

I sighed and went towards the back, where the only empty seat resided. I plunked my red flame back-pack down and pushed my earphones in (this time is Owl City).

The gravel crunched as our big yellow bus labeled

Red Fox Private High for the Gifted

rolled into the school. For all you dumb people who haven’t figured it out yet, I go to a school for the gifted. Not special powers type gifted, (but I might just be able to qualify for that too) the smart type gifted. Yes. Smart people. Or, as the truth, stupid rich kids whose parents paid the school to let them in so they could say *activate squeaky voice* “Oh, yes, my child is gifted.”

I got off of the bus and tried (but failed) to evade the crowd of popular people saying

“Why didn’t you sit by meee?”

I just replied,

 “Sorry, didn’t see you.” And avoided eye contact.

Suddenly I felt my body tingling. Kill, kill, kill. My world turned red -stop. I need to stop. No, you are not going to kill anyone. Just stop. I tried to think of …cupcakes. Just stop, Drew. Stop. I collapsed on the ground, my world spinning. My mouth abruptly started tasting like blood, and I couldn’t move. I tried, but I was getting tunnel vision and then -- blackness. Sorry, Drew, your mind has been switched off. Oh, my sarcastic mind.