Blind [Ed Sheeran]

Chapter 1:

"That's one page down," I pull down my glasses to the point of my nose and squint my eyes. "Only nine more to go..."

   Let's face it, writing an essay on what I see as the biggest threat to humanity isn't really my cup of tea. Shit, I don't think any living being would enjoy this form of torture. So far college has been the hardest, longest journey of my life. I've only been here for a few months and I don't exactly think I belong. I never wanted to waste time here in the first place. I knew before I graduated high school, I wasn't planning on attending another fou
r years stuck in a classroom. It's tough when I'm the only person here who isn't really motivated. It's especially tough because my very own mother is a professor, who is here to check on me, and my grades, more than I would like. Everyone just seems bland and I stick out like a sore thumb. I know, I'm 19 and I know, I'm supposed to be enjoying my time here...Isn't that what all the books and movies portray? Life in college is supposed to be fun, but I can't help but hate this place.  

And quitting isn't what I do. I was never that person to give up on something I had started, but I was beginning to think this is the exception. I can't complain about the price of college, because I'm not paying for it, so that's not something I can use as a way to justify me wanting to check out of this place. I can't stand the idea of giving four years of my life away for something I didn't want to do. I didn't enjoy writing essay after essay, or getting up to attend a class who's instructor couldn't properly enunciate his words. I wanted to spend time on my music. 

I've always been sort of captivated by music, how it could be so beautiful and haunting at the same time. Ever since I was four music has been my escape, although I didn't figure that out until my teenage years.

I remember being around six, I had broken Mom's curling iron pretending that I was getting ready for my first concert as a big star. I didn't quite know how the thing worked,because I was never interested in getting my hair singed, and I completely broke the clamp off(In all fairness, the thing was cheap). I got yelled at for a few things that day: 

One, because I was in my moms room when I was supposed to be in my own, and two, because I had used her things without any permission before hand(She was--is--a very territorial woman). 

During all the scolding, I remember not shedding a single tear, but man did I want to just curl up in a ball and cry until my body could no longer produce tears. I left the room, mom still mindlessly yelling at me to come back. I can still hear the sound of my door slamming and locking as I plopped down on the floor and let out a heavy and long awaited breath. It went silent in the house for a moment, such a rare thing to occur in my home. I was reluctant to make a sound, not wanting to disturb the peace but soon heavy sobs and uneven breathing escaped my trembling lips. After a long while my lungs started to work properly again and my breathing was back to normal, I got up only to move my weak body to my bed. I laid there, arms crossed over my chest. I remember staring at the off-white, bumpy ceiling and humming a tune. My lips parted and I began to sing. A sweet sound filled the room and I was completely taken by my own voice. I never knew I could produce sounds like that. Every time I got hollered at after, I sang to myself until I felt better.

I rip off my glasses and toss them onto a cluttered mess. I hope there's still a desk under it all, it's been brutally smothered to death with important papers from useless classes. I get up. Actually, I stumble up. I've been sitting for so long my legs are slumbering and my bottom is a little numb. I rub my backside in an attempt to revive the sleeping nerves.

Once I regain feeling in my limbs, I walk over to the bathroom and flick on the lights.

I look up at my my reflection in the mirror, noticing the large, dark bruises under my eyes and brush my pale pink hair out of my eyes.