I haven't written a story in a very long time, so when the urge came, I didn't ignore it. I thought I'd share though, since y'all will be bored otherwise.
And I wish to state for the record, that I was insanely cheerful during the writing of this story, though it is really depressing, and I am a well balanced person, with lovely parents and many, many good friends. The idea for this story came during high school, many, many moons ago, and only now got written in any form. And I was a happy person then too. So no calling psycologists for couseling sessions. ^^
And it's really depressing folks, so read at your own risk. Comments would be extremely welcome. ^^
The Train by Erin Frost
The train continued on its path, heading steadily toward no specific destination. There was never a destination. Only meanderings. Answering calls from the ones who could call. To take them, that was the only reason the train existed.
...
Sharon tucked her hair behind her ear again, and trotted down the hallway. If I hurry, I’ll just make it in time for the bell. She turned a quick left, then a right, then bee-lined for a door tucked in the corner of the hall. Right as she opened it, the bell signaling lunch rang. She caught a final glimpse of students pouring out of classrooms before she shut the door to the storage room.
This was her hiding place. Her refuge. Other people hung out with friends during breaks, and so did she. The only difference being her friends resided in textbooks and novels, rather than in the physical world. She was tolerated by the nicest of her classmates, despised by the rest, for the sheer fact that she was smarter, and just a tad different. Rumpled clothes that only sort of fit, short, bony stature, and a hunched stature didn’t help her image any, but she didn’t care. She liked her books, and her studies, and as far as she was concerned, the rest of the world could fuck themselves.
Unfortunately, they didn’t. The world liked to torment Sharon. Teachers called on her when they noticed her, and the bullies and assholes variety of student found her a prime target. Her parents only saw her when she did something (or everything) wrong, so they could throw painful little comments in her direction. So, she stopped being a convenient target for anyone to find, hiding in closets during breaks, and leaving school just a little early, so they couldn’t find her, and taking to the local coffee shop till they closed. It worked, most of the time, and rest she could handle.
Sharon sighed as she opened her math textbook. People were strange, painful to think about. Numbers made sense, they always did, and they were a comfort to her. Why aren’t people like in my books? Are they all so blind?
She read her book, and the numbers clicked in her brain, making perfect equations, with a simple beauty she admired. She became so lost in her math that the sounds of footfalls out in the hall didn’t register, and it was only when the door opened that she realized anything was different than yesterday. And by then it was too late.
...
He left her bleeding from several different wounds, from when she had tried to struggle. A broken arm, bone ripping through the skin, to show his strength, a cracked skull marked when he’d smashed it against the ground, when she’d struggled too hard. Her jeans around her ankles, and her underwear ripped. She could do nothing but moan quietly, and pray, mental screams for the pain to end, for anything to take her away from this wreck of a body. To make the torment stop. For all of it, to just…
...
The nurse tucked the sheets in around the poor girl’s body. She hadn’t moved at all since they’d brought her in from the school, except to open her eyes. But all she did was stare out, at nothing.
No one knew how long she’d been lying in that janitor’s closet, and no one had come forward to admit to seeing anything yet. The nurse sighed and started to leave, but stopped at a strange sound.
A train whistle.
The nurse shook her head. There were no train tracks for miles. She’d been on duty too long. She shut the door behind her.
And I wish to state for the record, that I was insanely cheerful during the writing of this story, though it is really depressing, and I am a well balanced person, with lovely parents and many, many good friends. The idea for this story came during high school, many, many moons ago, and only now got written in any form. And I was a happy person then too. So no calling psycologists for couseling sessions. ^^
And it's really depressing folks, so read at your own risk. Comments would be extremely welcome. ^^
The Train by Erin Frost
The train continued on its path, heading steadily toward no specific destination. There was never a destination. Only meanderings. Answering calls from the ones who could call. To take them, that was the only reason the train existed.
...
Sharon tucked her hair behind her ear again, and trotted down the hallway. If I hurry, I’ll just make it in time for the bell. She turned a quick left, then a right, then bee-lined for a door tucked in the corner of the hall. Right as she opened it, the bell signaling lunch rang. She caught a final glimpse of students pouring out of classrooms before she shut the door to the storage room.
This was her hiding place. Her refuge. Other people hung out with friends during breaks, and so did she. The only difference being her friends resided in textbooks and novels, rather than in the physical world. She was tolerated by the nicest of her classmates, despised by the rest, for the sheer fact that she was smarter, and just a tad different. Rumpled clothes that only sort of fit, short, bony stature, and a hunched stature didn’t help her image any, but she didn’t care. She liked her books, and her studies, and as far as she was concerned, the rest of the world could fuck themselves.
Unfortunately, they didn’t. The world liked to torment Sharon. Teachers called on her when they noticed her, and the bullies and assholes variety of student found her a prime target. Her parents only saw her when she did something (or everything) wrong, so they could throw painful little comments in her direction. So, she stopped being a convenient target for anyone to find, hiding in closets during breaks, and leaving school just a little early, so they couldn’t find her, and taking to the local coffee shop till they closed. It worked, most of the time, and rest she could handle.
Sharon sighed as she opened her math textbook. People were strange, painful to think about. Numbers made sense, they always did, and they were a comfort to her. Why aren’t people like in my books? Are they all so blind?
She read her book, and the numbers clicked in her brain, making perfect equations, with a simple beauty she admired. She became so lost in her math that the sounds of footfalls out in the hall didn’t register, and it was only when the door opened that she realized anything was different than yesterday. And by then it was too late.
...
He left her bleeding from several different wounds, from when she had tried to struggle. A broken arm, bone ripping through the skin, to show his strength, a cracked skull marked when he’d smashed it against the ground, when she’d struggled too hard. Her jeans around her ankles, and her underwear ripped. She could do nothing but moan quietly, and pray, mental screams for the pain to end, for anything to take her away from this wreck of a body. To make the torment stop. For all of it, to just…
...
The nurse tucked the sheets in around the poor girl’s body. She hadn’t moved at all since they’d brought her in from the school, except to open her eyes. But all she did was stare out, at nothing.
No one knew how long she’d been lying in that janitor’s closet, and no one had come forward to admit to seeing anything yet. The nurse sighed and started to leave, but stopped at a strange sound.
A train whistle.
The nurse shook her head. There were no train tracks for miles. She’d been on duty too long. She shut the door behind her.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home