Stones To Abbigale rewrite

Introduction- Should we be typical?

It's funny, they tell you what your thoughts are as if they know better. My mother told me it was because she'd been there- everyone had. I don't want to be everyone, in fact I don't think anyone wants to be anyone at all. Life doesn't matter. Why does that statement make me pretentious or stupid? Why can't I just say it?

I mean I can.

I woke up early today, for whatever reason, and opened my laptop. Tumblr was always open on all my devices. Why not? Lisa, my older sister, always said it made me look edgy but it's my space- mine.

--Do you guys ever feel like life doesn't matter? It just doesn't. Why, how, what- nothing. Just nothing. Then when you talk about this to people, they say you're "just a teen" and "you'll grow up". Does anyone understand this?--

Someone reblogged it, simply saying "I get that". I read the url- Abbinevercries.

There was a girl called Abbigale at my school. God, I hope it's her. The way she smiles- like a forlorn sort of angel, of course she would get that feeling. She would understand, even if this user wasn't her... Abbi's someone I've liked for a long time. I suppose, if there was a reason to say life did actually matter, she would be that. I mean, if I could actually talk to her.

"Are you actually getting up?" My mom shouted, causing me to realize that time had been ticking on. I grabbed a plain white t-shirt and threw it on, using similar care choosing my pants.

Breakfast was forgotten, teeth weren't brushed, the corners of my eyes were pricked with sleep- like scum at the edge of a pond. I launched myself out of the door and into the day, ready as I'll ever be.

History was first today, but I didn't reach it in time. I wasn't going to anyway, I was already late, but there was a fight in the hallway; blocking the corridor leading to that particular classroom. It was two boys I didn't know, taking one another apart to the dismay of the teachers who were trying to push through the crowds.

Mob mentality. I could write a poem about that, if I could be bothered.

Mr Hanson, my history teacher, rolled his eyes as I walked in.
"There was a fight" I casually noted "Not my fault."
He nodded distantly "Yeah, can I talk to you after class?" he asked.
I ignored him, heading to my seat. There were only fifteen minutes left, I really didn't have time to care.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I just want this to be more of an into, something to ease you into the world of James and Lakewood. Oh yes- I'm putting EFFORT into this. You underestimate how bored I am.