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Imagine a sauna, but instead of steam, all you have is dry ice. A nice hot shower is located near the door, the only door that could lead outside, but is unfortunately locked and will only open at a certain time. There is almost no oxygen inside the sauna room. You take short breaths, enough to keep you conscious. The air is cold and is freezing your throat. The dry ice keeps the fog thick and you can see nothing. You then decide to turn the shower on, in hopes to keep yourself from having hypothermia.
The water is nice and hot. You feel it drip down your body. It felt right, like the temperature outside the cold sauna.
You then make the mistake of breathing in. You feel the cold air entering your lungs, lingering until every part of it is winter cold. You futilely cough it out.
You hopelessly collapse on the ground. Looking around the room for help didn't help at all. All you see are shadows, shadows of people who you know will do nothing, no matter how much they see you in pain. What's worse, you get ridiculed. Ridiculed for the
“What is that?” A cold whisper breathed down my neck --- literally. From my peripheral view, I could see her leaning on her right arm. Her iron-straightened hair curved outward at the tips was pushed toward her left shoulder. Her reading glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose. And the most peculiar thing was, her eyes were shining with actual curiosity, like she actually cared what I was doing.
I don't know how she does it. I froze in place, my notebook on my lap, open for her to read. She was a smart woman. She would instantly know what it's about. But... personally, this story is no way as terrifying as our current situation: stuck together alone. Ugh, what could make this any worse?
A sudden “hm” from her was all I needed to shut the thing immediately.
“Nothing, mother. The Notes asked for a story.” I explained, shoving my notebook deep ----waay deep ---- inside my backpack. Hey, don't get me wrong. That was clearly not a lie. I sort of get “borrowed” by the Notes, the annual sort of year book of Rivendell High, only it features literary works by its members. By “borrowed” I mean I don't get to join a club-- thank you current condition and mother for that-- so they “borrow” me whenever they can.
An obviously uninterested and bored woman released another “hm” and went back to a more interesting thing: the road. Thank the Lord for that.
I knew it; Mother never really took any real interest in me. Not that I cared. I mean, who wants a mother to look after you? To keep you company? To actually be proud of what you do?!
If there's a hypocrite alarm, it would probably be going off by now. Ugh. I mean, sure, I'd love to have her company once in a while, and not just whenever she makes me do stuff I don't want to do. The problem with her is that she has this coldness just oozing from her. A terrible atmosphere suffocates me every time we're together. Her dark brown eyes, which are horribly different from my purple ones, pierce through anybody looking at her and freeze them where they stand. A menacing stare from her would either manipulate the person getting stared at to agree that she's right and he/she is wrong or would tell the person to “get out, or you will get eaten”. Okay, so maybe I was kidding about that last part, but that's exactly how it feels to get stared at by that wrinkle-face.
And don't get me started with that make-up of hers. I've never seen her without make-up. Eyebrows arched and darkened with a pencil. Eye shadow, as thick as an encyclopedia. Lips, full, curved, and lipstick-ed. They're as red as a rose. One or two layers will never be enough for those lips. I've even seen her re-apply several times a day. I mean, who needs to apply that much lipstick?!
“Amy,” She said, oh-so-suddenly, that I nearly shrieked.
I took a deep breath. “Mother.”
“School.”
“Wha...?” I've been sucked in my head for a huge amount of time that I didn't even realize that the car had stopped and was waiting for me to get out. “Oh, right.” She sighed disapprovingly, probably thinking what a disappointing daughter I turned out to be. Well so-orry, who said I wanted to be her daughter anyway?
“Goodbye.” She didn't even dare to see me off. She merely stared out the window.
“Do me a favor and don't come back for me.” I mumbled, hoping in my heart that she did not hear that. I hopped off the car. As I closed the door, I was very sure she mumbled something like: “I would if I could.”
~0.0~
School is school; boring, unpleasant and always ends as if the whole lecture was a blur.
Down at my desk, my story sat finished and proof read. All it needed was an approved stamp by the editor of the Notes and my story would be printed. On to my next try-to-keep-awake project: doodling!
I was drawing my masterpiece of the current state of my classroom, which I entitled “The True Meaning of Boredom: Algebra Style” when a poke from behind almost made me ruin my drawing of Felicia, a classmate of mine who has been asleep for awhile and has cleverly gotten away with it.
“Are you eating with us?” Kai whispered from behind.
“No. Clinic, remember?” I whispered back, half tempted poke him back with an uncapped G-tech.
He put on his pout face and begged with his eyes. An utter fail, since he had very small eyes.
“Aw...Are you sure you can't make an exception? For me?”
“Yeah, sure for you,” I sarcastically replied, “only if you will be willing enough to discuss that with mother.” For a second there, I thought I heard him whimpered or something.
“Uh...”
“Yeah, I thought so.” I went back to my doodling, only to find out that class had ended. Hmm, maybe I should add “talking to Kai” to my list of “things to do when boring teacher tries to lecture”.
Lunch came and I did the same routine: leave classroom, get the worst head ache imaginable, make way to clinic, and then boom. Pass out as if I just couldn't keep awake for the whole freaking day.
