Justified.

~¤~

Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. It’s not evidence in an argument, your false assumptions. Can’t help but open up old wounds, can you? I repeated myself over and over. You didn’t get it. You were all for opposing me, watching me fall. You just didn’t get it. You didn’t understand, did you? You just didn’t trust me enough. There must have been a justified reason for my failure, you thought. You pitied me; for what you thought was my stupidity and lies. No, you didn’t get it.

You couldn’t avoid it. You knew it was wrong, you kept doing it. Your fate was sealed the moment you started, and you couldn’t stop. It was out of control, what you did. You thought that nothing could break me. You thought I was lying. Everyone did. They were wrong. You were wrong. But that’s okay; because now, I’ll just watch you go through what I did.

And so the inevitable happened. It all crashed for you. Your word backfired and hit you, full force, and you went spiraling down. Now you seek refuge, when you wouldn’t give it to me. Ironic, really, that humorless laugh you had. And now, I know, you’ll ask everyone to understand. There must have been an unjustified reason, you’re thinking, for your failure. There is, only it’s justified. And you’re accusing ME of not understanding? That’s funny.

I can hear you screaming denial. Ah, so hypocritical.

So I’ve just got a few words to say.

Have fun in your own personal hell.

~¤~

Almost.

A/N: This was another piece written about a month ago... rather sucky... it portrays the people of the real world. With perspective too.

It’s not the world that’s cruel. It’s just the people.

I hate how you manage to make my life miserable every day, the cruelty you yourself don’t even realize. I hate it.

First there’s you.  Perhaps the worst of them all. You saunter down the hall every day, they flock around you. You enjoy the attention, sapping it all up. You’re, “Oh so perfect.” But they don’t see past your outside. I do. What they don’t know is your talking behind their backs. Plotting. Scheming. Gossiping. They think the world of you. They think it’s a privilege to befriend you, as if anyone would like to take their place. You sell their deepest secrets. You laugh; a light tinkling sound fills the air. It’s so fake. You’re so fake.

Then there’s you. You strut through the hall, nose in the air, like you own everyone. You’ve hurt people, blabbed with that big fat mouth of yours. You’ll even betray your own kin on your quest for fame. You’ll do anything to be the top. You’re not the pharaoh, we’re not your laborers. Stop thinking we are.

The rest of you. Copying her, her every move, her style, her words, everything. It’s so pathetic. Stop your idol worship. Stop following her around everywhere like a stalker.

And you, so annoying. Don’t interfere with things you understand. Don’t worship her like an idol either. Don’t you understand? She doesn’t even care for you. She doesn’t even like you.

And you.  You. So fake. I despise you, I loathe you. You led me with false pretenses. You were my friend. But the truth was, you never cared. We drifted apart. You were cold and insincere to me. I’ll never forgive you for turning your back to me at my time of need. I loved you once. A part of me still does, and I hate myself for that. But no matter; you’re gone now.

All of you… living incarnations of my misery. But after so long now… I’m willing to let it go.

Almost.

Despair.

A/N: This was a piece I wrote about a month ago... but I just didn't get to post it.

I used to be a normal girl.

I had lots of friends. We’d talk and laugh, have sleepovers and the like.

Then, I entered middle school. Along the lines of transferring from the easy and carefree elementary school, to the dark, twisting hallways of junior high, something changed.

Whether it was me, or my friends, it was definitely for the worst. Gradually, we grew apart. Or rather, they and I grew apart. They stayed together, whereas I, I was left to roam the dreary hallways alone, no friend or comfort by my side.

And that was only the first bit. I grew solitary, the lone wolf that strayed from the pack. No one talked to me. I didn’t talk to anyone. Even the teachers seem to forget I’m there. Sure, they see me every day, but I’m pretty much invisible to them. I’m the watcher. They’re the doers.

Slowly, painfully, the solitude that engulfed me began to harden, forming the glass walls of my mental confinement. And now, there’s no escape.

Always, never endingly, I’m trapped in my imprisonment. I thump on the glass walls; they never break. I sob, I pound, wishing someone would hear my chorus of hopelessness. I scream, indescribable wails of sorrow, grief, and loneliness.

Loneliness.

As I’m pounding on the confining glass with my fist, I realize something; I realize I’m alone.

The woeful word echoes in my head, draining me of my tiny spark of hope, my last chance to escape this dreadful life.

The glass is cruel, transparent, like my life. I can see everything on the outside, but no one ever hears me, or sees me. They don’t bother. They don’t care. Ironic, because the only way I’ll be saved, is if someday, someone takes the time to reach out…

And as I’m here, sobbing silent waves of despair, I’m still praying.

Praying that, whenever that someday comes, it’ll be before I completely lose the will to live.

A Better Person

A/N: This was a story… with… perspective, as Peggy said. XD

It was a lovely spring day. A deceivingly lovely spring day, I thought. The previous night’s events put a dimmer on me.

Taking the shortcut through the woods to the CT Middle School, I stood out like a pimple among the lush, colorful foliage.

I felt completely deflated. How could my friends do this to me? I tromped my way angrily through the footpath, crushing newborn blades of grass. I fumed furiously under my breath, cursing with colorful language that should be left unused. A thundercloud boomed and rumbled, suspended above my head.

When the dull, gray brick building that was CT Middle School came closer and closer into view, I kicked the door open and stomped inside, to the eighth grade hallway. There, I saw my so-called friends. They looked apologetic, but as soon as I sensed their hesitant approach, I whipped around and stalked away.

All through my morning classes, I fumed. I ignored my friends. I ignored my classmates. I ignored the teacher, earning me a lunch detention.

Lunch hour found me awkwardly seated next to many of my core teachers. I could feel the stares from other groups around the school, but I didn’t care. I continued my practice of coldly ignoring everything.

But while I was seemingly a block of cement, I was eyeing a solitary girl sitting at an empty lunch table.

Finally released from my detention, I started towards the solitary girl. When I arrived at her table, I was taken aback. This was Sophia Morelli. I’d heard of her. Allegedly, although quiet, she was one of the nicest girls in the school. She was known for solving peoples’ problems.

I sat down next to Sophia. She had startling violet-colored eyes, and silvery blond hair like corn silk. Sophia’s voice, like raindrops pattering softly on the ground, broke the silence.

“I’ve seen you before. You’re Lana Mare, aren’t you?” she queried.

“Um… yes. You’re Sophia, right?”

“Why yes.” She paused. “What’s wrong? I can sense something amiss.” Her violet eyes were deep with concern.

“Hmm. Nothing.” I mumbled.

Sophia pushed a little further. “Why aren’t you with your friends?” she asked, not unkindly.

I suddenly felt like pouring out the whole story to Sophia. It was like those eyes were willing me to. “Well…” I started lamely. “Yesterday, at our monthly sleepover, they felt the need to play a cruel and inhumane trick on… who else? Me. Knowing full well of my arachnophobia, they found it funny to put a spider into my sleeping bag.” I was trying hard to control the irritation in my voice, but Sophia must have caught it.

“I’m sure your friends didn’t mean to inflict physical or mental pain on you.”

“It wasn’t really a big or poisonous spider…” I admitted.

“See? Friends tease each other. It’s natural. I’m sure they were just trying to have a laugh. Whatever childish pranks they may play, they still love you very much, and will always be there for you at your time of need.” Although Sophia was quite small and timid-looking, she spoke with a quiet wisdom far beyond her age.

I felt my pulsing fury ebb away. I could even feel a smile stretching across my face.

I pushed for a bit more conversation. “I’ve heard that you have a tendency to be able to solve others’ problems. How do you do it?” I asked, genuinely curious.

Sophia thought for a while, and said, “I try to see the problem from several different points of view. I see it from the victim’s perspective, I see it from the offender’s perspective, and I see it from a total stranger’s perspective. I can assume their feelings and emotions, and I go on from there. I think being able to see things from different perspectives is what makes me a better person.”

Just then, I sensed grief coming in waves off Sophia. I felt a sensation of foreboding, but I pushed it away. Eager to get back to my friends and apologize to them for holding a grudge, I waved a cheery, but hurried goodbye to Sophia, and went to find my group. I didn’t know that such a small decision would affect my life so drastically.

A few days passed. My circle of friends was as tight as ever. I forgot all about Sophia.

One day, my jovial homeroom teacher, Ms. Crowe, came in with an unusually somber look. She rapped the whiteboard for our attention.

“Class,” she started. “I have some grave news to announce. A student from our school, Sophia Morelli, was found dead this morning. She was believed…” Ms. Crowe looked up solemnly. “… to have committed suicide.”

The whole class was eerily silent. Not a sound was to be heard.

As a quiet murmuring broke out, tears stung my eyes. They were hot tears of fury, grief, and regret.

I didn’t join the discussion over Sophia. Instead, I sat there like a stone, frozen in my own quiet mourning.

But in my mind, there was a storm of misery and accusation. Misery for Sophia’s death. Accusation at myself. I could have helped prevent this! I should have noticed that throughout the school year, Sophia had always sat at that empty lunch table. I should have gone to talk to her.

I should have trusted my instincts when I felt her grief. Instead, I ran away immediately after I’d gotten what I wanted. I ran away from her at her time of need. I, like other people, had used her. I hadn’t really cared about her; I only cared about myself, getting what I wanted. My own, greedy, selfish self. I hated myself for this.

Ms. Crowe’s voice, addressing the students, broke through my thoughts. “The reason for her suicide is unknown.”

Of course, I thought bitterly. No one had ever talked to Sophia about her problems. Only their own. No one would ever know what went on deep inside Sophia’s mind, beyond her carefree appearance. No one had ever bothered to see things from Sophia’s perspective.

The sense of loss over Sophia overwhelmed me. Having spoken to her myself, I could bear to know all the wisdom we were losing. I could tell that Sophia was a great person, and a great friend, even if no one considered her a one.

No one would ever know who Sophia was inside, what a great person she was. No one had ever bothered to befriend her. Now, in others’ memories, she would only ever be remembered as the quiet, solitary girl with blond, corn silk hair and violet eyes, sitting at an empty table, the mysterious girl who solved others’ problems.

I slammed my fist on the desk. No one would ever know who Sophia really was. Not me. Not anyone.

The last of the tears cascaded down my cheeks. My eyes felt like they were burning with determination. Determination.

I was determined. As long as I live, I silently vowed, I will never let another death go by that I can’t prevent. As long as I lived, Sophia’s memory would live. For the rest of my life, I would strive to be like her. I would see things from others’ perspectives. It would make me a better person, as it did her.

I was determined to carry on the memory of Sophia. From this day on, I would be a better person. Sophia’s life won’t have been in vain.

Rest in peace, Sophia Morelli.

Earth Day...

Darkhooded yawned in her advisory classroom, as Mr Power did roll call in his monotonous voice. She’d stayed up til 10:00 last night doing her humanities essay.

The day progressed, and Darkhooded walked briskly to the math classroom to drop off her materials. She socialized with her friends until 10:10, and then returned to the math classroom. Only to find that today, they would be starting… (eerie music) the dreaded MATH PROJECT! Part of the project required cutting out nets for tetrahedrons and octahedrons and whatnot. And then gluing them onto construction paper, to make it… COLORFUL. How simply wonderful. Well, this week also happened to be Earth Week, meaning the week that people go around shouting, “DON’T WASTE PAPER! SAVE THE EARTH!”.

Well, Darkhooded was shocked to find that, needing to be cut out, the nets were… ONE-SIDED. Not only that, but they needed to be pasted on a giant piece of construction paper. TWO PIECES OF PAPER. We’re killing trees to make octahedrons and little paper boxes. How so very cruel. Darkhooded argued with her math teacher about how much PAPER they were WASTING, how many TREES they were KILLING. Her math teacher asked her, “Well, what do YOU suggest we do?”. “Simple,” answered Darkhooded. “Don’t have a project.”

A failed case of argument. Well, after lunch, another teacher came up to Darkhooded and said, “You wasted FOUR pages on your POW! FOUR! Tree-Killer!” Darkhooded started to protest, “Yes, but technically, it’s two pages, since I print front to back. So really, I only-” Her teacher cut her off, not waiting for Darkhooded to finish her response. “TREE-KILLER! You could have just EMAILED the POW!” “Well,” Darkhooded responded. “In that case, why don’t we just email everything to our teachers? Think of all the paper that would save! But… I guess teachers don’t like to see 100 emails in their inboxes everyday, all containing attachments, huh?”

By this time, another teacher had come up to Darkhooded. “CHEEK!” She spat. “CHEEK, YOU INSOLENT CHILD! DON’T TALK TO YOUR TEACHERS LIKE THAT!” Darkhooded didn’t skip a beat. “Well, we’re allowed to be cheeky to our friends. Isn’t that the message most teachers try to convey to their students? That teachers are our friends?” Darkhooded spun around and left before they could send her to the principal’s, and walked off to her next class, leaving the teachers fuming.

The Truth about how Beethoven REALLY Died

One night, Ludwig van Beethoven decided to take a walk in the woods. He stepped out into the moonlit pavement, and took in the crisp night air that rushed into his face.

So on Beethoven went, walking through the woods, when SUDDENLY, he sprouted a BEARD!!

(We shall now call him ‘Beardy’.)

(ON WITH THE STORY)

So Beardy was walking along, with his newly grown beard. SUDDENLY, a pack of vicious wolves came along, who were apparently attracted to beards. They ripped and tore into ol’ Beardy, until all that was left of him were a few scraps of flesh and bones stripped clean of flesh.

Now, the vultures came along. They took all the remaining meat, being scavengers of dead animals. And they flew away.

THEN, giraffes came along, newly imported from… Africa. The chewed ol’ beardy’s bones for calcium. And they left.

Ol’ Beardy was never seen again, except by the amazing author who is writing this story right now.

His carcass, or what remains of it, is left to decay in the earth, covered by many layers of earth, rock, and decomposed microorganisms.