The Same Coin

One Sided

I jolt awake, alarm clock blaring in my ear, it was 7:00. I was late, and for my first day of school no less. I hurriedly slipped on my red and tan uniform and grabbed an apple and the lunch I made last night. I ran out the door with my bag in one hand, lunch in the other, and apple in my mouth. I was down the road faster then I thought possible, and I just barely made it to first period. It was just a plain room in a plain hall, nothing interesting, till I saw the teacher. It was a tall, large man, with a big pot belly and scraggly beard who stood with a strange hunch in his back and walk with an awkward limp. His voice was like a blender, deep and cracked. It hurt my ears to hear him say, "hello class, let's all welcome our new student, Dustin." "Um, sir, my name is Destin." I tried to inform him on the mistake, but he just directed me to my seat with a huff. I hated this class already. And of course it was history, the one class where all I get to do all period is listen to his annoying voice tell us boring stories about old white guys who died centuries ago.

So, my first day couldn't possibly get worse, or so I thought. Half way through second period, some kid threw what was left of his chewed up eraser at the back of my head, and the teacher then scolded me for disrupting the class. But, the one thing that made it all better, my third period was art, and every one in there was so nice and beautiful artist, especially the teacher. He could paint the night sky and make it look ten, no twenty, times better then it looks in reality. I really lost my self in that class.
The rest of the day was pretty average, a few kids called me rude names here and there, a couple spit balls barely missed my head, and I finished all my work. Then came the time to go home. Despite all the stuff I dealt with today, I'd rather stay in first period all day, with kids throwing junk at me and that creature they claim to be a history teacher droning on, than go home. Home was worse then that, every little thing reminded me that I, in fact, am all alone, and always will be.
I walk down the street to my part time job, as I came closer I saw flashing red and blue lights, I broke into a run, hoping it was something minor or they came to the place next to us, but it was where I worked that they had set up a crime scene. I ran up and call to one of the officers. "What's going on, what happened?" It felt like an eternity waiting for him to answer even though it was probably just a few seconds. "There was a attack, only one person survived, it was a young child, probably the kid of the store attendant or of a customer. Why do you ask, did you know someone who work here?" I was in shock, I couldn't even move. Then, I saw something I will never forget. My only friend, being zipped up in a body bag, a look of shock was frozen on her face. I fell to the ground, not a thought crossed my mind except the image of her face and her being carried away in a black rubber body bag. I couldn't  breath, I couldn't think, I couldn't even cry, all I could do was sit there, staring at where I had first seen her face.