I met up with Noah at the end of the road, the same as every morning, because nothing new ever happens in this town. We are all living walking stereotypes.
the brunettes dyed blonde that run to Starbucks every morning for their frappuccinos (which I assume is Norwegian for "really expensive caffeinated drink that tastes like unicorn puke". ), skateboarders in baggy pants and ratty hats that would rather sniff their way through highschool than ever attend a math class, football players that kiss cheerleaders, angry old ladies with bathrobes and green faces, drunk Middle aged grocery clerks wondering where it all wrong, a community theatre group with a flamboyant, slightly perverted director, and pretty much every other insulting small town perception you can think of. It's really quite impressive. We even have a crazy old guy with a lawn that's too green.
As Noah and I walked to school in silence, I began to think about what we could have been if he hadn't gone crazy. Best friends again. The cliché to rule them all. I was tired of hiding how much I missed us.
Noah's straw coloured head snapped upwards. His cold eyes piercing the air in front of me. For a moment I was fooled into thinking that he remembered me. That was until I realized he was looking through me. To my left across the road there were two students, two boy students, the only thing that Noah could see at this moment. They said hello and Noah started to twitch. He curled up into a little ball of a boy, mumbling about a cat, then about beef jerky.
I was lost in his ramblings. Drowning in a jumble of letters that barely formed words. They were choking me. I couldn't breath. Noah had sucked the air from my lungs to use in weaving the tapestry of imagination that was soon to be his morning. I screamed to dislodge the English language from my throat and ran at full speed towards the moss covered shoebox that was my school.
The air in the school was musty, but at least I could breath it. I stumbled into room 204 and the musty air was filled with the square route of x.
YOU ARE READING
Alien
General FictionTwo twisted tales. The first of a broken boy called Noah who left his memories in a ditch on the side of the 417. The second of Ella, the girl making a valiant effort to pull her way out of the ditch. Told in a dual perspective, this story is sure t...
