Monday
Wahoo! Monday, My least favorite day of the week. Monday means a new week, a new week of suffering, a new week in which my problems just seem to grow. I hate Mondays.
I was sitting alone, in my room. It seemed lately I was always alone. My parents were rich and loving, they would do anything for me, but they didn’t understand how I felt. They were always to busy with work to go on the vacations we used to go on, as a family. Now they just sent me alone.
“Madeline! You are going to be late!†I heard my mother yell from the kitchen. Nobody ever used my whole name unless I was in big trouble. But Gina always used it. She after all gave me that name. I hated it. It didn’t fit me. It suited someone who played tennis or volleyball.
“ I’m going, mother!†I yelled back, as I grabbed my bag. I took one last look in the mirror. The same as always, my short, dark brown hair curled at the ends, my gray eyes looked dead, and the whiteness of my skin was extreme. I looked like a cadaver. It was probably worse because of the darkness of my hair.
I walked past Gina and out the front door. She must be headed to the diner. Yes, she was in charge of the diner. She also did some writing with her free time. She had three books published and was working on the fourth. My father, was an attorney, he was never home.
I hated school; all the kids came from rich families. They were s****. and had rock star fathers or model mothers.
I was thinking about what life would be like if I was from a normal low class family, as I got into my car. It was a Porsche. My father insisted I have a fast, classy car. Everyone at school had nice cars, or almost everyone.
I walked to my first class just as the bell rang. As I pulled out my Advanced Spanish book, the teacher, Mr. Zapata, walked in.
“Hoy vamos a traducir cinco lineas,†he said, turning to the chalkboard. I opened to a fresh page and started to rewrite the lines in English.
It was lunch. I went to buy my gross cafeteria food. I walked to an empty table and sat down, I had no real friends. I was fine with that. In fact I didn’t relate well to people my age. Or people at all. Maybe I wasn’t human…I pulled out my notebook and opened to a new page. The page was one I tried to do my last math assignment on. I scribbled out the partially finished math problems. I began to write.
When I think,
Somehow it reminds me of you,
You promised me you would never,
Hurt me-
The poem didn’t have the right feel. I ripped it out and threw it into the nearest trashcan. Right as I threw it some jock kid went to throw his lunch away. The crunched up piece of paper landed right on his tray. I gasped and turned away trying to act like I didn’t do anything. Most likely they would suspect me. I was the only one at this school who wrote during their spare time that was if he didn’t open it. Please don’t open it. Please don’t. No such luck.
The kid looked at the piece of paper. He must have seen some handwriting because he opened it. I wanted to scream, to yell stop. I didn’t want anyone to read it. He looked around until his eyes landed on me. Great now I’m screwed. It’ll end up it the school newspaper tomorrow morning. Everyone will read my badly written, unfinished poetry.
Ya its long I wanted some comeback.
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