I was so good at school. I enjoyed it. Loved it.
Did my homework, but never studied. Never needed it- I always got higher than a B+.
I try to not mind the bullies. I tried to ignore the deaths. The cuts.
I didn't need people.
Was that something I was suppose to worry about?
No. It wasn't. The teachers told me to stop being a 'tattle tail' and stop telling lies. So the 'no bullying' policy? They lied. Teachers never did care for me. Not back then anyhow.
Maybe that's one of the reasons why I learned to hide my sheep and forget about them.
It was nice to stick my head into my work. Because then my family would be proud of me.
Those sheep were forgotten too, however.
And then he would not accept my help.
And then I was told to leave him alone.
That was the first sheep that left my mind.
But then that sheep would come back.
It is a recurring sheep that might as well be a part of my life-
The sheep that could have first picked up the knife.
YOU ARE READING
Counting Sheep
Teen FictionOne sheep, two sheep, This is not helping at all. Three sheep, four- Someone kill me, I must snoop this low. Five sheep, six sheep, I feel tired, but the waters still flow. Seven sheep, eight she- It looks like the sheep hit a wall. I guess eight sh...
