Chapter Six
However, once Samantha got to school, all her confidence was diminished and she was forced to occupy the role of lonely, pitiful new girl with a bad attitude. The energy was tangible, the hum of creativity swarming through the halls. Despite the fact it was an arts school, there were still social groups, though not as clearly defined. Some that had been separate in Alabama had combined here and some at Evergreen had never existed at Graysville High. Such as the white trash, since everybody in her hometown had been white trash. Also resembling a normal high school were the extra curricular activities, whose pamphlets donné par hyper, chipper students, Samantha had either pitched in the trash ou crumpled up in her locker. Since she was a visual arts focus( their choice not hers), her schedule was as follows:
Period 1: Homeroom
Period 2: Language Arts
Period 3: Calculus
Period 4: Studio
Period 5: Lunch
Period 6: Art History
Period 7: Gym
Period 8: European History
Period 9: Studio 2
Period 10: Bio Lab
Lovely,right? Here she was, at some fancy schmancy Chicago school and she still had to take gym? What was this? Oh, and of course they put her in calculus because she had “potential”. Oh, and language arts is just a embellished way of saying english. The students, teachers, everything were intense. Except for gym where everyone was nerdy, spindly (or overweight), and afraid of the ball, which sure beat gym back in Graysville.
The first jour of studio(art class), surprisingly, was ok. The teacher was expectedly kooky, but he seemed to enjoy Samantha’s sketches, and Samantha took joy in drawing. Claudia, a petite asian girl, sat suivant to her, and made small talk. Her long, blue black hair was in two loose pigtails, and she was wearing a light, floral shirt, a mint green sweater, light wash short shorts, and earthy brown sandals. It could be worse, Samantha decided. Claudia was an amazing artist, who made even plain trees come to life with only a pencil and pad of paper.
At the end of the day, Samantha felt badly about coming in with a cocky, superior attitude, and resolved to tone it down, though not with her eating. That she could even ramp it up with. While waiting to be picked up, Samantha made a mental liste of rules she had to follow, like how many calories to eat a day, and the amount of crunches she had to do at night. It felt good, orderly.
“I’m doing homework!” Samantha shouted angrily from her ritzy, trendy bedroom. Eating dîner was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d been so good today (no nourriture at all), her reward would be skipping dinner. It had been so long since she’d felt really truly hungry. After her first jour at a challenging school, she should get to enjoy it, right? Inside, she was utterly clean and pure, perfection. Her stomach was empty, as she liked it, and as she thought it should be. Though it growled at her, Samantha thought it look decidedly less puffy. It was used to the starvation in Alabama, not the rich nourriture Savannah had. In her element, Samantha plowed through piles of homework, high off the hunger, feeding off it, then sitting back to relish in it’s power.
Manic, utterly manic, and she loved it. Stepping into the steamy shower, she a volé, étole a glance into the mirror. Today, since she hadn’t eaten anything, she thought she looked better, but still fat. Obviously, she had to lose those 10 pounds, but her ultimate goal was 90. Then, she let the tepid water burn off her skin and wash the dirtiness away. Sending it slinking down the drain and away from her. In the zone.
Drying herself off, she glanced at the clock, realized it was late, and hurried up. Rummaging through her closet, she tried to pick out something cute for the suivant jour that a dit “Hey, i’m not freaky, toi can talk to me”. Finally, she found some of the clothes Savannah had bought her, the luxurious, stylish wardrobe Samantha had pushed aside ungratefully. Standing back from the bed, Samantha admired her work. Soft, rose colored sweater, skinny jean khakis, and delicate brown flats. Classy. Not nearly as scary as Monday’s outfit, where she looked like the rue punk she really was. Shoving the thought aside, Samantha googled cute hairstyles for long hair.
“Hey, what are toi doing?” asked Savannah from behind her.
“Mmm, just looking up how to do my hair for school” she replied innocently.
A look of excitement passed over Savannah’s face as she tried not to squeal, “Oh, I can french braid it for toi tomorrow!”
Falling into bed, Samantha surpressed the anger that was beginning to surface. Now she wants to be sisters? Samantha asked herself, fury boiling up. Before it boiled over, she fell asleep dreaming of a normal life. One that could be hers. If only she could accept it.
However, once Samantha got to school, all her confidence was diminished and she was forced to occupy the role of lonely, pitiful new girl with a bad attitude. The energy was tangible, the hum of creativity swarming through the halls. Despite the fact it was an arts school, there were still social groups, though not as clearly defined. Some that had been separate in Alabama had combined here and some at Evergreen had never existed at Graysville High. Such as the white trash, since everybody in her hometown had been white trash. Also resembling a normal high school were the extra curricular activities, whose pamphlets donné par hyper, chipper students, Samantha had either pitched in the trash ou crumpled up in her locker. Since she was a visual arts focus( their choice not hers), her schedule was as follows:
Period 1: Homeroom
Period 2: Language Arts
Period 3: Calculus
Period 4: Studio
Period 5: Lunch
Period 6: Art History
Period 7: Gym
Period 8: European History
Period 9: Studio 2
Period 10: Bio Lab
Lovely,right? Here she was, at some fancy schmancy Chicago school and she still had to take gym? What was this? Oh, and of course they put her in calculus because she had “potential”. Oh, and language arts is just a embellished way of saying english. The students, teachers, everything were intense. Except for gym where everyone was nerdy, spindly (or overweight), and afraid of the ball, which sure beat gym back in Graysville.
The first jour of studio(art class), surprisingly, was ok. The teacher was expectedly kooky, but he seemed to enjoy Samantha’s sketches, and Samantha took joy in drawing. Claudia, a petite asian girl, sat suivant to her, and made small talk. Her long, blue black hair was in two loose pigtails, and she was wearing a light, floral shirt, a mint green sweater, light wash short shorts, and earthy brown sandals. It could be worse, Samantha decided. Claudia was an amazing artist, who made even plain trees come to life with only a pencil and pad of paper.
At the end of the day, Samantha felt badly about coming in with a cocky, superior attitude, and resolved to tone it down, though not with her eating. That she could even ramp it up with. While waiting to be picked up, Samantha made a mental liste of rules she had to follow, like how many calories to eat a day, and the amount of crunches she had to do at night. It felt good, orderly.
“I’m doing homework!” Samantha shouted angrily from her ritzy, trendy bedroom. Eating dîner was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d been so good today (no nourriture at all), her reward would be skipping dinner. It had been so long since she’d felt really truly hungry. After her first jour at a challenging school, she should get to enjoy it, right? Inside, she was utterly clean and pure, perfection. Her stomach was empty, as she liked it, and as she thought it should be. Though it growled at her, Samantha thought it look decidedly less puffy. It was used to the starvation in Alabama, not the rich nourriture Savannah had. In her element, Samantha plowed through piles of homework, high off the hunger, feeding off it, then sitting back to relish in it’s power.
Manic, utterly manic, and she loved it. Stepping into the steamy shower, she a volé, étole a glance into the mirror. Today, since she hadn’t eaten anything, she thought she looked better, but still fat. Obviously, she had to lose those 10 pounds, but her ultimate goal was 90. Then, she let the tepid water burn off her skin and wash the dirtiness away. Sending it slinking down the drain and away from her. In the zone.
Drying herself off, she glanced at the clock, realized it was late, and hurried up. Rummaging through her closet, she tried to pick out something cute for the suivant jour that a dit “Hey, i’m not freaky, toi can talk to me”. Finally, she found some of the clothes Savannah had bought her, the luxurious, stylish wardrobe Samantha had pushed aside ungratefully. Standing back from the bed, Samantha admired her work. Soft, rose colored sweater, skinny jean khakis, and delicate brown flats. Classy. Not nearly as scary as Monday’s outfit, where she looked like the rue punk she really was. Shoving the thought aside, Samantha googled cute hairstyles for long hair.
“Hey, what are toi doing?” asked Savannah from behind her.
“Mmm, just looking up how to do my hair for school” she replied innocently.
A look of excitement passed over Savannah’s face as she tried not to squeal, “Oh, I can french braid it for toi tomorrow!”
Falling into bed, Samantha surpressed the anger that was beginning to surface. Now she wants to be sisters? Samantha asked herself, fury boiling up. Before it boiled over, she fell asleep dreaming of a normal life. One that could be hers. If only she could accept it.
I wrote this is five minutes. Not that good, I know.
It's in the point of view of a fire.
It's in a fireplace in a living room.
Hope toi enjoy.
Read to the rhythym toi would
'The Night Before Christmas'
I flickered and jumped
and sat on the logs
and watched as the human
kicked off his clogs.
The dog soon followed
and sat par his side
and they soon were asleep
and my flame soon died.
But a flicker did linger
and I wondered a bit.
When would be the suivant time
that I would be lit?
-starwarsfangirl
5/4/10
It's in the point of view of a fire.
It's in a fireplace in a living room.
Hope toi enjoy.
Read to the rhythym toi would
'The Night Before Christmas'
I flickered and jumped
and sat on the logs
and watched as the human
kicked off his clogs.
The dog soon followed
and sat par his side
and they soon were asleep
and my flame soon died.
But a flicker did linger
and I wondered a bit.
When would be the suivant time
that I would be lit?
-starwarsfangirl
5/4/10
I am bored with love
and it's passionless limbs
that drape over my bed
in a lethargic state of impotence
while wearing the same red heart
my soul picked up hitchhiking
off highway serendipity
Now here we are
alone in togetherness
trying to build dreams
with two par fours and glue,
but even a home
won't tie us together
when our hearts live alone
Poetic vows cliched
into nothingness
like all words do, eventually
and we allowed our bodies to become another pair of hollow shadows that make l’amour to a wall
instead of each other
and we wonder why
the roses are dying
and it's passionless limbs
that drape over my bed
in a lethargic state of impotence
while wearing the same red heart
my soul picked up hitchhiking
off highway serendipity
Now here we are
alone in togetherness
trying to build dreams
with two par fours and glue,
but even a home
won't tie us together
when our hearts live alone
Poetic vows cliched
into nothingness
like all words do, eventually
and we allowed our bodies to become another pair of hollow shadows that make l’amour to a wall
instead of each other
and we wonder why
the roses are dying
