Strangers and Letters // Phan

The first note

It was only when I got home that I realised I had left my journal in the library. I felt my stomach lurch as I thought through all of the possibilities, all the potential people who could find it.  I hadn't written my name down, I knew that for a fact, but was there anything that would give way to people that it was my book? Checking my watch, I realised that school would be closed by now. I'd just have to suck it up and get it in the morning. 

~~~~~In the morning~~~~~

I woke up from a nightmare, drenched in sweat. My dream was always the same, Phil and his group would chase me until I fall and wake up. Sighing, I untangle myself from the sheets and jump into the shower, trying to scrub my feelings away. Images kept replaying in my mind from the past few days. I got dressed in my uniform and left the house. When I opened the door, I was met by a pair of blue eyes and black hair. "What do you want Phil? Why are you on my porch?" 

"I came to say fuck you." I looked at him in shock. "You heard me. Why did you have to embarrass me in front of Jack? I've only just stopped them from thinking I'm gay, being seen in a bathroom with the schools biggest fag doesn't help."

"You're the one who came into the toilets- No, you're the one who followed me into the toilets so you have yourself to blame if you were embarrassed in front of your friend"I spat, pushing past him. He remained there, stood in shock as I walked down the street. Rapid footsteps chased after me, and I turned just in time to see Phil's fist meet with my stomach. 

"You do realise that people only tolerate you, right? Nobody actually gives a shit." He snickered and walked away, leaving me winded. 

I got to school 20 minutes late because I was avoiding Phil, meaning that I had to leave my notebook in the library until lunch time. Miss Tracy glared at me as I entered the room and muttered an apology, taking my seat next to the window. I still didn't see the point of art. Why should we have to sit in a room and draw or paint when we didn't feel like it. Of course, everyone's work will be crap if they don't enjoy doing it. I sighed and looked at the whiteboard, discovering that today we were doing line art. Bloody brilliant. Slowly, I started drawing continuous circles across my page. A blurring noise rang through the classroom, making me fuck up my circles. 

"Make an orderly line outside the door, everyone" Miss Tracy called out, seemingly unfazed by the fire alarm. Everybody ignored her, obviously, and ran out the door, ecstatic to miss their lesson. I followed everybody outside and was about to take the stairs when a saw something brown out of the corner of my eye. I split off from the group and headed towards the brown object. It was behind the art supply door that was left ajar, it was my journal! I opened it and someone had written in it. Oh, fuck. That means that someone has read what I wrote. What if they found out it was me? Then again, I thought to myself, if they knew I was me they'd have said something... right? 

I looked down at the swirling writing. "I hope you're okay. You're not alone <3." I couldn't help but smile at the message. It amazed me that somebody cared enough to write a message like this. A warm feeling spread through my body as I realised that what Phil had said to me this morning wasn't true. People actually do care. 

Miss Tracy's voice rang through the air, startling me. "Daniel Howell! Do you want to get set on fire." I didn't reply "That's what I thought. Come downstairs and line up with the rest of the class." The warmth from the potential fire around me spread to the depths of my cold lonely heart. For the first time in months, I felt genuinely happy.