Post by Teagan on Oct 1, 2005 4:35:48 GMT
I had to (unwillingly) write a narrative essay for school. It's pretty boring, and mostly about me being all angsty when I was about six because I got sick a lot. The only reason I'm posting it here (I know it's not fanfiction) is because my teacher said it scared her.
Now, I'm much more carefree, relaxed, and happy, so don't think of me as a mass murderer or anything, 'kay?
Pain, trials, hate, terror, sorrow, angst, fear, desire, life, loss, death, deceased, good-bye, forevermore. Does life matter? I don’t care. It’s so stupid and pointless, I bluntly stated into my cluttered thoughts. It’s so boring and useless. Why do we live, anyway? Everyone is going to die sometime. Stupid people… I hate the losers who try to live for a long time. It’s a waste.
A small amount of irritation showed on my pale face as a tiny quantity or pain evoked itself in the squishy ripples of my brain. It pulsed, and I quickly became annoyed with the miniature cephalgia. My chapped lower lipped quietly pursed itself, and my dimly lit green eyes narrowed their openings. The whiter parts of my eyes were already pinkish from allergies, and made me be in a foul mood most of the time—especially in the morning when I had to take medicine. I hated medicine. Medicine was cruel. Medicine was evil. Good things didn’t taste that awful.
Soon, I stopped pursing my tender lips, and reopened my mouth allowing much needed fresh air to flow into my lungs and oxygenate my blood. My red, swollen nose no longer had any room for any air to pass, and blood gapped up any possible routes. My eyelids were lined with a bittersweet tint, and itched in every little space. Quite simply, I felt terrible.
I moved my stressed, weakened form over to our couch and I settled my aching body onto the worn piece of furniture. Then, I sighed in an attempt to calm down, but the small movement of air scratched and beat at my pained throat. Another dab of pain prickled from the inside of my skull, and lapsed at the remains of my peace and ataraxy. A gentle and sincere wave of heat flooded through my arteries, veins, and capillaries, intensifying the temperature of my fatigued shape. Soon, another sliver of pain intruded into my skull, and the little comfort I had left disintegrated into the texture less air around me.
What a nuisance, I thought as unwilling words painfully etched themselves into my uncomfortable thoughts once more. After a moment, I slowly closed my eyelids, and slept inconsistently and unpleasantly throughout the night.
The next morning, my mother eventually called the school to say that I was sick with fever. She also called the next day, the day after that, and so on. I still wasn’t feeling too well, and continued to lie in bed or on our battered couch. Allergies were the worst thing in the entire world. I hated them so.
Eventually, my fogged thoughts and wobbly vision gave me little desire to make my body mobile, but my feet felt lazy, tired, numb, and dumb. I thought that I’d probably feel better if I actually tried doing some normal things, such as walking. I quietly wrapped my delicate fingers around the warm cloth that held before patiently lifting it away revealing my skin that remained warm to the touch, but I stubbornly moved my small body, anyhow. Then, I shifted my legs over the seat cushions, and moved myself upright before silently setting my feet on the ground and I attempted to lengthen my legs. As I sloppily stood, dizziness and nostalgia swept over my body.
Soon after, I found myself in a lazy position on our couch once more, but my legs were outward this time. There was no possible way for me to stand in that condition. I would have to remain there for much longer that I really wanted. A dreaded sigh escaped my lips, and I gently set down my aching head.
If this was life, it sucked. What’s the point of living? Who actually cares? There’s no need for life. No one would miss me, and no one actually does care, anyway. I hate them. I’m so freakin’ stupid. Shut up! I’m a jerk! No one likes me! And no one gives a care! No one ever will! I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself! I just want to die… As if on cue, the voices in my discombobulated thoughts suddenly ended their reign of terror on my thoughts.
I airily opened my irritated eyes, and pondered; I pondered about existence and the reason to be, I pondered about why I was different and thought un-similarly to everyone else, I pondered about why I had to go through this pain and do so often, I pondered why I couldn’t just stop bugging everyone else and get over my whininess… I was being more of a nuisance than they usually were. My tangled masses of bangs were glue to my forehead via sweat, and lay in little curls on my pale flesh. A simple, but difficult question plagued my unpleasant intimate thoughts: why?
Would people actually not notice my disappearance, or not really care at all? They would notice. My friends at school might have even noticed. Now, for caring… my mother cared. She cared about me all my life; I was one of her most precious things in the world. She would notice. Mother would be sad. It’s not good for Mommy to be sad, I thought acutely. Daddy would also be sad. They would miss me… Were my thoughts about being a loser and a worthless person really true, if someone might actually miss me?
For a long tangible moment, I thought. Unlike usual, I thought of everything fun we did: riding a roller coaster and scaring me half to death, swimming in the pool, feeding the geese, running for our lives from the evil pessimistic geese… The temperamental geese were enough excitement and danger for me, but should I stay or move on? Life on Earth was actually kind of fun, I realized after a steady flow of minutes passed. I supposed there wasn’t much reason to make it end so quickly, and discovered one very important aspect of myself: I was... loved.
I closed my stressed eye lids over my pink sockets, and laid my head down upon the pillow on our couch once more. The hot tears on my face dried as I slept in peaceful slumber. My body calmly started to cool, and I would be ready to return to school in a few more days. A few more days, I would be packed with homework: a very large amount of unrelenting homework.
Once again, let me remind that this is a story-thing from about eight years ago.
Now, I'm much more carefree, relaxed, and happy, so don't think of me as a mass murderer or anything, 'kay?
Wake Up
Pain, trials, hate, terror, sorrow, angst, fear, desire, life, loss, death, deceased, good-bye, forevermore. Does life matter? I don’t care. It’s so stupid and pointless, I bluntly stated into my cluttered thoughts. It’s so boring and useless. Why do we live, anyway? Everyone is going to die sometime. Stupid people… I hate the losers who try to live for a long time. It’s a waste.
A small amount of irritation showed on my pale face as a tiny quantity or pain evoked itself in the squishy ripples of my brain. It pulsed, and I quickly became annoyed with the miniature cephalgia. My chapped lower lipped quietly pursed itself, and my dimly lit green eyes narrowed their openings. The whiter parts of my eyes were already pinkish from allergies, and made me be in a foul mood most of the time—especially in the morning when I had to take medicine. I hated medicine. Medicine was cruel. Medicine was evil. Good things didn’t taste that awful.
Soon, I stopped pursing my tender lips, and reopened my mouth allowing much needed fresh air to flow into my lungs and oxygenate my blood. My red, swollen nose no longer had any room for any air to pass, and blood gapped up any possible routes. My eyelids were lined with a bittersweet tint, and itched in every little space. Quite simply, I felt terrible.
I moved my stressed, weakened form over to our couch and I settled my aching body onto the worn piece of furniture. Then, I sighed in an attempt to calm down, but the small movement of air scratched and beat at my pained throat. Another dab of pain prickled from the inside of my skull, and lapsed at the remains of my peace and ataraxy. A gentle and sincere wave of heat flooded through my arteries, veins, and capillaries, intensifying the temperature of my fatigued shape. Soon, another sliver of pain intruded into my skull, and the little comfort I had left disintegrated into the texture less air around me.
What a nuisance, I thought as unwilling words painfully etched themselves into my uncomfortable thoughts once more. After a moment, I slowly closed my eyelids, and slept inconsistently and unpleasantly throughout the night.
The next morning, my mother eventually called the school to say that I was sick with fever. She also called the next day, the day after that, and so on. I still wasn’t feeling too well, and continued to lie in bed or on our battered couch. Allergies were the worst thing in the entire world. I hated them so.
Eventually, my fogged thoughts and wobbly vision gave me little desire to make my body mobile, but my feet felt lazy, tired, numb, and dumb. I thought that I’d probably feel better if I actually tried doing some normal things, such as walking. I quietly wrapped my delicate fingers around the warm cloth that held before patiently lifting it away revealing my skin that remained warm to the touch, but I stubbornly moved my small body, anyhow. Then, I shifted my legs over the seat cushions, and moved myself upright before silently setting my feet on the ground and I attempted to lengthen my legs. As I sloppily stood, dizziness and nostalgia swept over my body.
Soon after, I found myself in a lazy position on our couch once more, but my legs were outward this time. There was no possible way for me to stand in that condition. I would have to remain there for much longer that I really wanted. A dreaded sigh escaped my lips, and I gently set down my aching head.
If this was life, it sucked. What’s the point of living? Who actually cares? There’s no need for life. No one would miss me, and no one actually does care, anyway. I hate them. I’m so freakin’ stupid. Shut up! I’m a jerk! No one likes me! And no one gives a care! No one ever will! I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself! I hate myself! I just want to die… As if on cue, the voices in my discombobulated thoughts suddenly ended their reign of terror on my thoughts.
I airily opened my irritated eyes, and pondered; I pondered about existence and the reason to be, I pondered about why I was different and thought un-similarly to everyone else, I pondered about why I had to go through this pain and do so often, I pondered why I couldn’t just stop bugging everyone else and get over my whininess… I was being more of a nuisance than they usually were. My tangled masses of bangs were glue to my forehead via sweat, and lay in little curls on my pale flesh. A simple, but difficult question plagued my unpleasant intimate thoughts: why?
Would people actually not notice my disappearance, or not really care at all? They would notice. My friends at school might have even noticed. Now, for caring… my mother cared. She cared about me all my life; I was one of her most precious things in the world. She would notice. Mother would be sad. It’s not good for Mommy to be sad, I thought acutely. Daddy would also be sad. They would miss me… Were my thoughts about being a loser and a worthless person really true, if someone might actually miss me?
For a long tangible moment, I thought. Unlike usual, I thought of everything fun we did: riding a roller coaster and scaring me half to death, swimming in the pool, feeding the geese, running for our lives from the evil pessimistic geese… The temperamental geese were enough excitement and danger for me, but should I stay or move on? Life on Earth was actually kind of fun, I realized after a steady flow of minutes passed. I supposed there wasn’t much reason to make it end so quickly, and discovered one very important aspect of myself: I was... loved.
I closed my stressed eye lids over my pink sockets, and laid my head down upon the pillow on our couch once more. The hot tears on my face dried as I slept in peaceful slumber. My body calmly started to cool, and I would be ready to return to school in a few more days. A few more days, I would be packed with homework: a very large amount of unrelenting homework.
Once again, let me remind that this is a story-thing from about eight years ago.