Ink Stains

Chapter 1

There are some days where I can't help but feeling inexplicably low. It's as if the world is about to stop and purge me from the surface for seeping so deeply into my own turmoil. My efforts, they are meaningless in comparison to those of others. My beauty and talents are nothing in these moments. Within these times, I come to realize how insignificant my life truly is. 

Then there are the days where I can't help but feeling lesser than most people. If I'm not good enough as them, then I am not good enough to make my mark in this world. I suppose that is what this is-my tiny little stain on an already painted Earth. 

In my hopeless pool of misery, I somehow found hope in the crisp, autumn month of November. 

Although autumn oftentimes represented decay and death, I found it to be refreshing and absolutely beautiful. Normally, I was somewhat happy on these days, but I had been disappointed too much in a single week. I mean, I was used to it by then. It was mainly a daily occurrence. 

I sighed to myself as I waited for the dreary school bus upon a lonely street corner. Just a few years ago, there were children of all types waiting on the edge of that corner as they chatted anxiously amongst themselves about upcoming projects. When time progressed, they all went in separate directions and into different social groups. Most of them already had cars, but those who didn't remained on the yellow school bus we had ridden so many times together. Those who remained rarely held conversations with each other. It was as if those precious moments we spent together as kids vanished without a trace. They were gone in the midst of backpacks and football jerseys. 

That's when it hit me- a story line, a beginning, a start of something incredible. Wary of my bus arrival, I tore a pen out from my backpack with rapid speed and scribbled a collection of words onto my marked wrists. 

The worst part about life is forgetting. We remember the things we'd love to forget and lose the memories that are supposed to remain alive inside of our hearts. This is the flaw of human nature. 

I smiled broadly, watching the ink bleed into my skin. It was one of the best thematic ideas I had in a while. 

Despite the several tests I hadn't studied for were occurring on that day, I was beyond content with my latest creation.

-- 

The funny thing about school is that you rarely learn anything useful. Seriously, I'd love it if I was taught how to deal with controlling myself from slapping every jerk who feels like it is appropriate to stop in the middle of the crowded hallways and chest-bump a friend rather than how to find a vertex of a quadratic. 

Even my American History class was incredibly redundant, much to my dismay. History is a captivating subject when it is taught correctly, but that was an experience I never got my claws on. My peers and I had been taught about the Constitution five or six times throughout our schooling. We the people need this to stop. 

"Put your hands up where I can see them," Mr. Johnson, my aging History teacher, joked. His fingers even curled into fake guns. At least he tried to make the material less painfully dry. "You have a pop quiz to take!" 

"Miss Wright," Mr. Johnson gave me a pointed look. "Please tell me this isn't cheating." 

"I swear I didn't write the amendments here," I muttered, barely taking my attention away from smearing the ink. 

Mr. Johnson strode next to me. "Let me see so I can make sure." 

Oh dear god. "You don't want to do that," I warned him. "Trust me." 

"Fine," he rolled his eyes. "Just move yourself to the seat next to my desk so I can make sure you don't look at them." 

I obliged, ignoring the snickers of my classmates.