Spoken

Chapter 2- Fucking English

As I got out of Owen's car I sighed and hefted my back pack over my shoulders.

"Bye Ally" Owen said. I huffed and turned to him, waved and made my way to my locker with a visible limp. After getting my shit, with my head hung low staring at my converse, I made my way to my torture-like class, AP lang. I'm not even kidding it's torture. It's like Mrs. Peters really doesn't give a flying rats ass about what happens in her class, then expects me to spill my guts out in my writing. Stuff I never plan on letting anyone know. Hell, even Owen doesn't know a quarter of what's going on in my brain. And honestly its for the best, it gets pretty dark in there. I sat down in my usual seat and I bring out my beaten sketchbook beginning to  work on a new piece. To be completely honest I had no idea what I was drawing, but as I neared the end I saw the distinct figure of a giant wolf shot through the shoulder by the long wooden arm of an arrow. The blood oozing out in magnificent waves. The dark theme of it didn't surprise me, this is how my artwork's been for months. When I added the final lines to the blood-matted fur, I feel the table lightly shake as a hand slammed against it.

"Whatcha doing there freak?" A strong cocky voice said rather loudly. I huffed as I quickly tried to close my sketchbook and hide it from view. Suddenly I felt a slight tug at the top of my hoodie. Instinctively I reached up to stop it from falling, and watched as the jackass snatched my book from the desk. I reach desperately for my prized possession and saw the wretched teenager search through my most private of feelings. He flipped to the front where you could see hundreds of ripped ends, where I tore out unwanted memories.

"No wonder your such a freak; all your shitty sketches are fucking gory and shit," Liam, my tormentor stated. I continued looking longingly at my beloved sketchbook as Liam tore and threw it to the ground. If they could see my face they would see tears in my eyes and complete and utter agony covering my face. The class, who just sat and watched the whole ordeal, mostly stayed quiet, except Liams little "gang" of minions, who shouted words of encouragement. And here we have the second reason I hate English. Then the bell rang.

Mrs. Peters waltzed into the room demanding silence, she looked at me desperately across the floor collecting each of the pages of my sketchbook.

"Ms. Santos what are you doing on my floor?" She asks callously. And there's the final reason I hate English, Mrs. Peters her self. I swear she's the devil reincarnated. I stared up at her, but of course she couldn't see my face, I shrugged and continued gathering my papers.

"Well hurry up and get to your seat or you'll get detention," she states. I sigh grab the rest of my belongings and stuff them in my crowded backpack.

Mrs. Peters proceeds to start her lesson. I stare blankly at board the entire class. I've already learned this stuff, years of having to be the best would do that to you. When the bell rang again, I stood up, grabbed my shit and left. No "goodbye see you in fifth", no "I can't wait for lunch", nothing. Just up and left; as that's what you do when you have no friends. That's what you do when everyone hates you, including your self. That's what you do when you'd rather be dead. It's what you do when you're me.

Fuckin' English.

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So hey I know this is short. I literally just wrote this all in math soooooooo yeah haha I hope any one who actually reads this likes it. I'd appreciate any constructive criticism.