Wiped Out.

Chapter 1

The chatter between my classmates died down the minute I set foot in the door of my first period class. As usual, I made sure I kept a blank facial expression, and avoided everyone's questioning looks.

At my own request, my teacher placed me in a seat at the back of the class that happened to also be in the last row, which made my entrance easier and less exhausting.

Truthfully, I enjoy my view from the back. It gives me an odd sense of superiority in the fact that I can watch everyone without having to crane my neck, and no one would be able to meet my eyes other than Mr.Clyde.

I sat down, and began to take out my books as Mr.Clyde began the art lesson for today.

"Today, we're finishing our paintings.. so get started on them right now." Mr. Clyde started, his eyes grazing everyone in the room.

Since my seat was already at the back, I didn't have to go in front of the class to retrieve my painting. Instead, I rose up from my seat and dragged the chair around to face my canvas, revealing a sullen silhouette of a boy with dark hair resembling my own, and a striped beanie. The boy's face was bombarded with white scratches, giving off an ominous feeling.

The two words written above the boy is an accurate representation of how I often felt.

Wiped out.

Those two words held so much depth, especially after my incident in 9th grade. It was almost as if my fears compelled me, leaving me writhing and unable to breathe.

As I began to pick up my paint brush, I felt my fingers trembling at the constant reminder of the memory that will always plague my mind.

"It'll be alright." A soothing voice suddenly said.

I looked up, only to find a girl with long dark tight curls, and caramel skin. Her doe eyes peered down at me with concern. She didn't look familiar, so I assume she's new.

"I don't know about that." I mumbled back, turning away from her as her eyes remained on me.

I could feel her gaze even as I began adding more scratches to the boy's face; she refused to look away from me.

"As you may know, I'm Violet." The girl said expectantly.

Violet? That name didn't ring a bell. Then again, my school days consisted with me trying to avoid everyone, so it would make sense if I didn't know most of the seniors' names. "So you know who I am, and you still talk to me?" I asked, without meeting her eyes.

"Why not?"

"Everyone's either afraid of me or disgusted by me." I retorted, keeping my eyes on the painting.

"I'm hurt you put me in a box with the rest of them." Violet remarked.

This made me turn towards her. "So you don't have a motive? Did someone not dare you or something?"

Violet looked away for a second, eyeing their fellow classmates. "You mean them?" She asked when she turned back around. "I would never follow through with that. I've only been here for a month, and I already know who I shouldn't associate with. This school's filled with the same kind of people who love to roast people for being different."

"The thing with me is I'm not really interested in interacting with any of them." She added.

"And why is that?" I questioned Violet.

"Everyone's the same, no one is willing to embrace themselves like they should. All they ever do is make fun of those who don't put up with their 'standards.'" She answered, her eyes staring off into space.

I took in her words, realizing how true they were. It's a shame that a girl who's been here for a month knows more about my peers than anyone else.