Prophecy (NaNoWriMo 2014)

Chapter One & Two

PART ONE: THE DREAMS 

"I live by the hour and fear for every second of my life" 

Chapter One

I was different from every other adolescent sitting in the room in this point of time. Atoms are things I do not trust and never will trust because they make everything and I don't trust anything. Atoms are a funny thing. They make me, they make the chair I am sitting on, the table I am leaning on, the book and textbooks that are on my textbook, and they made my math teacher. I wish he would explode, not like literally explode and see his internal organs fly everywhere but wish his atoms would poof into nothing. I wish all those small particles would just release and then magically disappear. I turn on my music player and play classical tunes through my earphones, which I hide through my shirt and slip the cord around the back of my ear then cover my long hair with it so no one could see it. I play Ode to Joy by Ludwig van Beethoven and I am comforted by the sound of the music. No one appreciates this music; they all prefer electronic, repetitive music that has no meaning. The song is quite fast and I am lost within the sound of the loud choir and the background music of trumpets. It's a classical tune that everyone should enjoy. This song is still used in many television programs today but no one is aware of who made it, what it is called and no one appreciates it. The kid sitting next to me looks over to me and raises an eyebrow.

"What are you listening to?" He asks and this frustrates me. What a snitch, he thinks he is saving the day by reporting me but he doesn't realize he looks like a cold idiot.

"I wasn't listening to you so mind your own business, thanks. A-na-ta-wa ba-ka de-su" I reply.

"What did you just say?" He asked with a puzzled look on his face. Many people were unaware that I was teaching myself Japanese, so I called him stupid in Japanese because if I replied in English he would loose his mind. I think there is something wrong with him; I personally don't believe it is normal for one at sixteen years of age to still obtain these childish behaviours.

"I called you cool in Japanese, now please do leave me alone" I reply with a hiss to make sure he doesn't say another word to me. Thankfully he does not say anything else to me so I start writing Japanese symbols all over my math book. I make words including; I'm sorry, you are stupid, how old are you and my age. It was cool learning a different language; I found it fun an exhilarating because when I emailed my pen pal in Nagasaki I found it awesome that she would understand what I was saying. I continued writing words in Japanese until Mrs. Locks came behind me and yanked the earphone out of my ear. I was completely unaware to where she had been and what had been taking place in the class.

"Principals office, now!" She grunted as I packed my bag and walked out of the classroom. I wasn't planning to go to the principal's office; I was planning to leave this hellhole. I went to one of my favourite places; the docks and took out one of my spare not books in which I write things in and report how I feel, so then I could re read it and cringe. I like documenting feelings down because it was the only form of therapy I would ever receive. I did not want to talk to some old stranger about my feelings and for them to nod their head and write notes down, it was stupid and the price was unbearable so I carried a book around and that did the job just fine. I was searching though my bag for my pencil case until I realized I must of left it in my math class. I was in search of a form of writing paraphernalia but sadly could not find any form of it thus meaning I would not be writing anything in my book today. I liked writing, a lot. It was a form of release and I could write about anyone and no one would know whom I am talking about. Writing is an art form that I believe is loosing popularity fast, which makes me sad because books are powerful. In the book I Am Malala my favorite quote states 'a pen is more powerful than a weapon.' I believe that is true and I would not deny it for a second. As I am packing away my notebook someone comes to sit next to me and I startle a little at first shocked who this person may be. It was a boy with freckles and black wavy hair. I have no idea who he is because I have never seen his face before.