The Days of Our Lives

Chapter Two

John POV

The space for free period is jam packed. My lips tighten anxiously as I scan the room for a place to sit. All the tables are filled with chatty, popular people, none of whom I would particularly enjoy sitting with. Clenching my teeth, I stare straight at the floor and walk towards the back corner of the room, staying as close to the wall as possible. My long brown hair falls into my eyes, and I hug my books tight to my chest. Almost there, I think to myself. Then suddenly-

"Shit!"

I bump into someone else full force. Well, I'm not actually sure who bumped into who. They were the one running after all, but I was the one looking down. Whatever. My books fly out of my arms and the other person stumbles backwards onto the ground. Damnitdamnitdamnit.

"What the fuck??" The guy growls, looking up at me from the ground. His piercing blue eyes glare right into my dull brown ones. Brushing his long blonde hair out of his face, he pushes himself off the ground. He doesn't appear to be hurt, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to die. My face turns hot.

"Watch where the hell you're walking," he grunts, standing up. He's about my height, but I would guess that he's older than me.

"I-I'm so sorry," I stammer. "Are you alright?" The guy rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath, and continues past me.

Breaking into a cold sweat, I look around the room. Luckily, no one is staring at me. I quickly pick up my fallen books and dust them off. Walking a few more steps, I turn myself around to sit in the corner of the room. I'm still calming my nerves , so sitting here will relax me. Here's where I can be a silent observer, just a shadow of the rest of the crowd, not in anyone's way. I also like having the comfort of knowing that no one is looking at what I'm doing.

I pull out my math homework that was assigned the class before, but I can't concentrate. My nerves are still sky-high, so I surface a different notebook instead. It's a little black book that is ratted at the edges, just an ordinary looking book to anyone seeing from the outside.

But on the inside, is my heart. This is the notebook where I write down my emotions and thoughts, but through poetry and verse. Almost like songs, but there is no tune to them. There wouldn't be a point in adding a tune anyway. I can't sing.

I have a feeling that I need to write something down, that I need to express myself in some way. However, I'm lost both for what to write about and how to write it. It's strange, really, but my emotions feel trapped. Not even I know how to get to them.

It's not like that's a new thing though. I don't like to talk to anyone about my feelings. In a way, this notebook is my only confidant. It doesn't argue with me or undervalue my thoughts as a person could.

I look around the room some more. Everyone is hanging out and talking with their groups of friends, but I have no one. Lonely, I know. I don't particularly mind being alone, however. It gives me time to think and allows me to avoid conflict. I've accepted that I'm a misfit. I don't belong.

But I'm ok with that.