Girls with Pride

Chapter Ten

Why is it that you can never just be angry? Something always gets in the way and then you have to be at least a little bit happy in the end-  honestly, it's the most tiring thing ever, because I just wanted to be annoyed and leave it at that, but no, every cloud has to have its perfect little silver lining, doesn't it?
So as it happened I arrived at my house at about 3:27pm, ready to kill someone, never speak ever again, or just die in general, only to be greeted with a rather formal looking envelope addressed to yours truly. Immediately, I was intrigued, a rabbit previously confined to a cage released into a... bigger space. Thinking it was nothing but an opticians appointment, I shrugged off my blazer, and took off upstairs with the letter clutched in my hand.
Like an endless replay on one of those really old camcorders, the events of the day played on my mind, freezing and buffering on the parts I didn't exactly want to see. Dejected, my shoulders slumped back, and I came to the conclusion that I'd screwed things up so badly, it could never be fixed again. Ever.
Once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in a desperate bid against remaining alone. Before long I took the position of a newborn, curled up sorrowful at the foot of the wall, watching with every unrequited tear that fell, the hope that maybe everything could be okay be torn away. After what seemed like eternity and a day, the raging fire in my eyes relented, and I dragged myself unsteadily to my feet and glanced towards the mirror.
The girl that stared back was not me; she was a freak. Pasty, worn, neglected, not me. Tears had carved tracks into her cheeks and they screamed to be noticed, to be feared. The eyes- they  were the worst. They weren't hurt, or angry, or even just a little bit sad- no, they were empty. Utterly devoid of any emotion and, hell, it was scary. Where was the recklessness, the excitement, the quiet sadness that hides? Where was that girl that I knew? No, stop it, she had to be me, surely, so why wasn't I there?
In the mirror, I caught sight of the letter that still sat invitingly on my maroon Harry Potter duvet set, but in that moment, I honestly didn't care if the queen of England was sat there, I was preoccupied. Exhausted, I traipsed to the fluorescent lit bathroom and forced some water onto my face to try and fill the ruts that burned with melancholy sorrow. Later, I would wonder how the hell I kept that night from my parents who sat just downstairs.
That worries me, to be honest. I mean, how many kids can say they've had mental breakdowns, or have been sobbing with no restraint while mothers and fathers just wonder about what they were having for tea? Is it really that hard to hear your kid crying their hearts out over something they just needed to talk to someone about? Well, I'm not sure, anyway.
Wow, its been been a while since one of these, hasn't it? I offer my condolences to those effected by this interruption, and promise to continue with this depressing chapter of my life rather swiftly. Onwards we go. I've used that already actually so instead, off we pop! Nope, too informal, and weird. I'll think of something I guess. Until we meet again, dear reader.
Lying on my bed and moping about my existence, I pondered over the discord that would inevitably ensue during tomorrow and began dreading the idea of actually going to school.
'Jesus Alex, what the hell did you do?' the simple words ensnared perfectly just exactly what I'd done. I'd opened a rift between hell and heaven, and was now reaping the consequences. The horror of what I'd done, however, seemed to be ineffable; not uttered by a single soul. And yet, they were awful enough to condemn me to damnation in some people's eyes- eyes that had never actually held my own in conversation . Fair, wasn't it? That people who'd spoken to you so little, or maybe not at all, had taken the liberty to judge you over a confrontation (if you could even call it that) that involved them in no respect whatsoever, and then thought, 'lets make her feel bad about herself just because we can'. Funny.
Unsurprisingly, I was now irritated as a person with a perfectly valid reason to be irate again and beginning to pace unrelentingly across the patchy, green carpet of my bedroom floor, which only proceeded to stressing me out even more. Normally, my 'coping mechanisms' to being stressed out were either a) tear at the nape of my neck with my hands or b) hit myself lightly across my collarbones and jaw. Abstract as it was, I was now pacing around my poorly lit room, hitting myself in the face with a specific urgency that had to radiate an energy of genuine madness.
Soon enough, I was calm enough to try and distract myself by opening the letter that was still sat stentorian across the slytherin snake's face. By now, it was roughly 5:00pm and the shadows projected a lengthy silhouette upon the pale grey wall. The clock on my drawer seemed to tick faster with anticipation as I haphazardly tore at the corner of the envelope, attempting to secure a clear chance at opening the thing. Eventually, it was open, and I began to scan the printed words on the page Dear Alex boring, so I skipped about three quarters down the page we hope you can attend the awards ceremony... what?!
Back to the top we are delighted to confirm your poem 'last day of June' has been awarded first place.
I dropped the letter as though it were on fire and stood fixed with my mouth agape, sorry, I had won? Like, won won.
'Jesus Alex, what the hell did you do?' I scoffed disbelievingly, the adrenaline finally settling in.
Laughing, the exhilaration of winning something made my head spin and I fell backwards onto my now crumpled bedsheets.
'Oh my god I won! I've got £100!' Like a monkey on cocaine, I began to jump around my room, completely disregarding the anger that fuelled me less than 7 minutes prior.
'Alex what on earth are you doing?' My dad shouted up the stairs, apparently confused as to why it sounded like a literal earthquake was shaking the house. Running down the stairs, I was greeted by a man who had no idea what was going on.
'Dad I won!'
'Right? What did you win?'
'That poetry competition? The £100 one?'
Blinking slowly in morse code for 'help me', the penny dropped and Dad finally realised what was going on.
'You won £100!? Nice one Al! Wait until mum gets in, she'll be buzzing with you. Well done Al, you obviously get your talent from me,' winking ridiculously, he began to make the dinner as I carried on dancing about my success.

I can't lie, I had completely forgotten about how upset and angry I was because of that letter. I needed that time to be angry, get it all out of my system before it got bottled up and put aside for another day, but no, we needed a nice little surprise to ensure that anger was bottled, and there was a lot of it, I'll tell you that. The fact I'd forgotten about it didn't mean it wasn't there, and guess who's fault it was? That's right, the silver bloody lining.
I hate a silver lining.