Forgive the rawness, lack of detail and messiness. Nanowrimo is hard guys. Also just to add this is a random segment. Not necessarily the start or end. I just wanted to post something.
It wasn’t always always like this. Sure there were the little things that pointed towards things. The little instances in my life that showed I wasn’t normal. But they didn’t happen that often. I don’t know why I am like this or what even started it to be honest. I just know that I am stuck in this big mess that I have no control of.
Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in a war between two opposing forces. I guess you could say I’m Sweden because I have no idea who is good and who isn’t. All I know is I’m stuck with… Well I don’t know what he is. All I know is that it’s his fault I’m even involved in any of this mess.
Today is just a normal day at school. I’m currently in eleventh grade. If you looked at me you’d see I’m pretty normal. Mousy blonde hair and pale skin. I guess I’m a little on the skinny side but nothing really makes me stand out. But people feel some atmosphere around me. And the rumours. Those little instances I mentioned earlier have greatly been exaggerated. That’s part of the reason I’ve been sent to this damned place. I hate it here.
This school is always so grim. I feel like there’s a darkness here that specifically calls out to me. It chills me. And my dorm room doesn’t help either. Samantha is one of those bleach blonde barbie types. She always has her annoying clique hanging in my room. I sometimes wish they would go away.
It’s been about a year since the last incident. I remember it like yesterday. Prom is one of the most important days for a lot of girls in high school. I never really fussed over the idea to be honest but even I got a little giddy when one of the most popular guys asked me to go with them. I’m not usually one to gloat but it wasn’t like he was ugly or anything. In fact far from it. So when Reyen asked me how could I refuse? I couldn’t.
It wasn’t until about two weeks prior to prom that I began to notice it. I felt that dark sensation I always did with an incident. It felt kind of like a ball of guilt in my gut as I was about to get busted for doing something wrong. Only I wasn’t doing anything wrong.
“No I’m not going to let this get to me this time,” I said to myself in the bathroom mirror. As I washed my face I heard this sound that made my heart almost stop. I heard cracking. I looked up as I slowly noticed the mirror web into a thousand directions. It was slow and almost painful. I knew my mother was going to kill me for this but I couldn’t stop it.
For years my parents had sent me to a shrink over my incidents. But even the shrink couldn’t explain it. I’d suppose they would have usually tried to lock me up or something if they hadn’t experienced first hand what my incidents were. They seemed to be some kind of invisible force that followed me. I had no control over it. These incidents just happened randomly. Once when I was visiting my shrink they suggested that I should do things like go out, make friends and even get a boyfriend. All of a sudden all of the books in their book case flew out of their shelf. I was never allowed to return again.
It was morning. I walked back into my bathroom and looked at that glass. Walking towards it I felt a shiver down my spine. It’s funny how broken glass always reminds me of ice. I brushed the glass with my fingertips. It had a textured feel and part of me liked it’s beauty.
“Well she’ll react better if she hears it from me,” I said to myself as if that was meant to validate my hope that she would be more lenient. I walked downstairs where she was sitting. She was currently reading the newspaper.
“Mum I need to talk to you,” I said cautiously. Not even looking up she responded.
“What is it this time?” She sounded quite bored.
“Well I had… and incident,” I said trying not to startle her. Immediately her eyes darted up towards me. She took off her glasses and folded up her news paper.
“By incident you mean?” She replied. A group of butterflies began fighting their own little wars in the pit of my stomach.