The Untitled Azura Project

Can't I Just Stay Home?

A school bell rings harshly, the shaky girl at the back of the class jumping in her seat at the sudden noise. A flood of teenagers leaves the cramped room into equally cramped hallways, sharing meaningless gossip among their cliques. Clutching her books tightly, Azura stands, following the crowd of students from a safe distance. Mr. Boyd's class was next; she'd only have to write a poem and turn it in, then she could leave this temporary prison.

The classroom looked the same as every other. Same white walls, same uncomfortable chairs, same cold desks littered with pencil marks and eraser shavings. Azura took her usual spot at the back of the class. Due to her choice of seating, most teachers assumed she associated with the class clowns and nappers, but really she just didn't like feeling everyone's eyes at the back of her head when she sat at the front. All the pretty, peppy, popular girls sat in the front anyways, and she definitely didn't belong with them; she wasn't pretty or peppy, and she definitely wasn't popular.

The vexing murmur of teenage gossip came to an abrupt stop as class began. There was a moment of silence before Mr. Boyd's kind voice took over, greeting the class. The teacher wrote a few things on the board before he began reading one of Edgar Allan Poe's most revealing pieces, titled Alone. Azura crossed her arms atop the desk, resting her cheek on her forearm and allowing her tired eyes to slip shut as she listened. Ironically, the poem made her feel a little less alone.

Maybe she wasn't alone, not really. She found friends in the library. Poe, Twain, and Steinback; they were always there for her. They could be her friends. She considers them such. They understand her pain. She's not really alone now, right?