Hypophrenia ☪ hemmings au {slow updates}

Hypophrenia // hemmings au

/ PROLOGUE /

I sat on the cold metal of a secluded bench as a slow breeze swept through strands of my ashy blonde hair, a few pieces gently blowing over my eyes that were trained on the boisterous students flooding into the lunch room. High school students were so noisy, their shouts and profanities carrying out for a distance; too many for the teacher to count.

Sighing, I stood, stuffing my frosty hands in the pockets of my worn gray hoodie. I looked up for a moment, taking in the less than glorious sight of the darkened sky. Sad looking clouds loomed over head. It was like the world was sad, but then again, it's always like this. At least here, it's always dark and gloomy and depressing. Much like something out of a film, although it's much to real. It would probably rain again today, like it does every day. I like to believe that the angels cry here - if there are in fact angels. They cry constantly over the school, for the occurrence that's happened here, and they continue their sorrowful weeping because of it.

I kicked at the ground as I began to take slow, unproductive steps. Not toward the lunch room, as much as I would have loved that. Unfortunately I don't have the privilege of being able to consume edibles. Not an eating disorder; that would be much better. Sadly, the world wouldn't be so kind.

It's a routine I've set for myself. A year of the same thing gets unbearably boring to say the least, but there wasn't much more I could do for myself. I would sulk around the classrooms until lunch, occasionally overhearing some teenage gossip girls talking about so and so and what shoes she wore to school that day. Then I'd sit and watch them all scatter in different directions, but all headed the same place. It was that same bench, too.

That bench was lonely, like me. Maybe that's why I chose that rust covered, old bench over all the newer - but still rusty - benches flowered unevenly throughout campus. Though it was old and almost all the paint had nearly chipped off, leaving a cold metal skeleton, it provided a nice view of my classmates stampeding to the cafeteria.

I take wider steps, in more of a hurry than usual today. I saw Ashton in the distance, sitting on that old swing set at the very back of the football field. It was misplaced, really, but it was a good place to think. It's a mystery to me why a high school would have a swing set, but I suppose I'm grateful they do.

It was usually just me and Ash on the swings, keeping each other decent company. Occasionally, Becca would show up and join us, but that was more of a rare occurrence. I had nothing against her, but she was more of a wild one. I preferred more reserved and quiet company keepers, and Ashton played that role well.

As I drew in closer to the back of the field, I heard the soft creak of the chains holding the swings up as Ashton inched back and forth slowly, not looking to pick up speed. He held a blank stare to the withered and dry grass at his feet, surely thinking about something. Like me, there wasn't much other he could do.

I walk past him, not a word spoken between the two of us. The only noises amongst the lingering silence was the creak of chains, walking feet, and softly whistling winds.

Once the swing set is behind me and the creaking dulls, I see the small withered slabs of stone. Many of them, all the same sizes and scattered unevenly, small print on them. We all got one. The kids of the massacre got them, I mean. Including Ashton, Becca, and I. Though Ashton wasn't a victim of the masscre, he received one anyways. I kneel at mine and pull a hand from my pocket, running the pad of my index finger over the cold hunk of stone. Slowly, and for the millionth time, I hold on to every word engraved on this small piece of rock.

' Paige Nickson

1996 - 2013 '

-

I worked hard on this prologue and it's seven thirty in the morning

Wow

I just

Wow

I dunno how to feel about this

Guh