When The Lights Go Out

2. Hell is this place.

"Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets."

- Arthur Miller.

I have walked down the school hall so many times, that if I ever had to recreate it in mind, I would miss out some details. Because when you become used to something you start only noticing the peculiarities.

I have been through so much on these halls. People say people go to hell when they die, teenagers go through hell, when they roam in their school. Some people are lucky enough to have friends that help them out, I don't.

If somebody asked me my greatest regret I life, it wouldn't be some place I hadn't travelled to, or a book I hadn't read, it would be that I had not made a friend that would stick with me. (That wasn't my blood.)

In Ancient Greece, people considered friendship to be as important as romantic love. So, while I want looking for the love of my life, it would be great to find a friend. Who knows, maybe I will.

My first class is Higher Maths. I love maths. There is something assuring about the fact that one can calculate everything if given the right information. Somebody out there can calculate exactly how many times I will breath if given the right information.

In class I sit in the geometrical middle. You would think, for someone who hates socialising, I would hate it. I don't.

I hate talking to people, but I love knowing things. Especially about people. Their mechanisms. I love noticing things.

Like how Florence Sheppard, who sits in front of me everyday, has put effort in her outfit today. She clearly wants to make an impression. Not on some potential lover. No, she wants to make an impression, so that people come and talk to her. She wants to socialise. She wants to make acquaintances. Probably to climb up the social ladder.

Nick Scott, who sits in the first row, is as normal as ever. Well, his normal. His homework, neatly done and on top of his desk. He is reading - A Throne Of Glass by Sarah J Maas.

"Good Morning Class." Mrs. Patrick, addressees the class, interrupting my assessing of the class.

"Morning Mrs. Patrick" some of the class choruses back. I don't. I just hate doing it. I am not a morning person either really.

I take out my pencil from my pouch and start noting down the questions that Mrs. Patrick is writing on the board. Its the first day of school, after half term, so the questions aren't that hard. They do get harder as we progress though. I've already finished our textbook for the year. I am not like this in other classes, just this one.

The classroom is quiet as we all solve the questions. It's nice. I love that we are all serious about the subject. But then again, it's the first day.

I love the way the class is set.

Everyone has their individual desks, and therefore no one is forced to talk to anyone, they don't want to.

Half an hour into the class and I am done.

Usually I would go up to Mrs. Patrick and ask her for more questions, but its the first day back and I don't want to work. Besides my earlier thoughts were interrupted anyway.

I relax into my seat, and place my pencil on top of my notebook. We are allowed to listen to music in maths class, only when we are solving questions and not when we are supposed to be learning from the teacher.

My hands hover over my Spotify, as I put on the only playlist I have listened to for over a year. My mind starts relaxing into the music as I look around the class. Few other people are done with the questions.

Our class isn't huge. We are twenty people. Not a lot of people take Higher Maths. Which is great for me, not a lot of people.

Another reason why I love Maths Class is because there is this unspoken bond between everyone in this class. No body in this class, causes loud noises, and unnecessary goofing around. Maybe it will change. Change can happen at any time.

But no one in this class would ever make fun of me. No one in this case had. People who take Higher Maths willingly are usually outcasts. So no bullying, no name calling.

Not like any one notices me in my other classes, although sometimes I do receive some pitying glances from people. As if me not socialising with the greater population is caused by some greater trauma. It isn't. It just is.

Sometimes things happen and we cannot control it.

Most of the times, when people can't explain why something has happened, their minds automatically think it's something bad. But it's not and it never will be.

I have realised, in my seventeen years of life, that nothing is ever good or bad. The bully you see around the school, and you bitch about, has a problem. They don't know to deal with it, so they inflict it on others.

The smart kid, who you think will reach the top university and achieve all their dreams, probably panics about all the pressure they are under.

The girls who are called sluts because of their short clothes, just worked really hard on their body, and have all the rights to show it off.

Nobody has ever been, what they seem like.

Except Donald Trump, he seems like a dick, and he is one.

Death isn't who most people think he is. He is beautiful and friendly and patient.

Its been two years, he has been sitting beside me and walking beside me, and he hasn't rushed me.

I am still planning how to die.

I don't think I have ever taken a day break from thinking about it.

And that's the bell. 

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