Dreaming of Death

Chapter 2

He talked to me again today. This time he asked questions. I continuously ignored him while I read my book. Can't you see I don't want to talk to you? I'd tell you the answers to your questions the day you fixed me, and suicide wasn't an option.

Still parading through his barrage of questions, he asked dryly, "So, what's your name? It'd be pretty cool to know, since we're on talking standards and all now." He smiled a dimply grin. If only fake smiles attracted me still, like they used to. But no, I don't like people, and I don't like their smiles. Or so I believed.

But feeling sorry, I tore off a piece of notebook paper. Him knowing my name wouldn't be too bad, would it?

I wrote:

Careena.

He smiled in satisfaction, "Well nice to meet you Careena." 

I smiled back tenderly. I felt my face flushing a rosy pink; I had let my guard down, for those measly seconds and I felt vulnerable. I hastily turned my attention back to the lab table. I created an intentional waterfall of my plain, mud brown hair over my shoulder to block out any further distractions from new boy.

With glazed eyes, I stared at those uninterpretable black scribbles on the smooth yellowing paper. Who knows how many wandering eyes had captured this book? People that, like me, only wanted to live their lives through fictional characters and the imagination of others. I was dead to the world. No importance, and no surreal significance.

I caught him eying me again. Probably with only judgement in his eyes, but when I drifted my head in his direction, I saw only mindless wonder and innocent curiousity. Probably.

He caught my eyes and spoke in a peaceful tone, "What are you thinking about?"

I looked around the room, searching for a convincing lie. He could never handle what was really going on in my head.

Politely, I pointed at the chalkboard, which held all of our dreary notes that I didn't bother writing and those countdown numbers. I wasn't technically lying I guess. I did think a lot about that dusty chalkboard. 

He nodded, not impressed with my answer, "How come you never talk?" I searched him up and down for any ulterior motive.

I scribbled response on a scrap piece of paper. Simultaneously the bll rang for next period. I left the paper there and scurried before I could see his response. It read, "I can't"