|A Day In the Life of an Outcast
Author: MisSurreal De'ville PM
Alas, my dear journal, you are the only one that feels my pain. Come, I shall fill you with the very emotions I rid myself of. Come to me, for Momo wishes to dance. Be free, my dear journal. Let us write at last...Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 3 - Words: 1,151 - Reviews: 2 - Updated: 01-26-09 - Published: 01-25-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2626515
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Date: October 13th 2009
Time: 11:03 a.m.
Period: 2nd Period
As stated above, I'm surprised, shocked to say the least. My teacher was actually on time today. It stunned me the moment I entered class and-There she was, at her desk, on time. She smiled at us as we poured into the classroom. I don't know what it is, but something about her smile is scaring me. The way she's practically radiating happiness, it's seriously creeping me out. Seriously. If she keeps smiling like that, I think I'm gonna have a mental break-down.
I stare at her questioningly and still she smiles. We all take our seats and expect the worst. Alas, a brave soul stood up and asked if she remembered to take her medication. Of course, she informed us that she was, in fact, well medicated. Thus, another daring soul asked if she had won the lottery or something. This was followed closely by the question plaguing everyone's mind. 'Why does she have that scary look on her face? ' To which she answered in a very un-old-lady like way. She told us she was getting married.
Ah, hence the squealing and happiness. What a painful way to loose your ears. I pity you, my dear senses. May your recovery be a speedy one. Since my teacher was oh-so happy, she gave us a random entry and started babbling on about how she was finally settling down. I think I was the only one who did their journal today. The girls had rushed over to the front and started gushing about how cute her ring was. This left the guys to watch them, each one hoping for a skirt to fly up. How typical of my classmates. I never really was the gush-over-a-ring type, thus my shying away from the scene. With a final roll of my eyes, I began my entry.
'What Do You Mean the Next Stop is Hell?
My day's been bad.
My life's so sad.
Empty it is.
A bottomless abyss.
A crack in the earth.
As angst pours forth.
I don't feel a thing.
Though I'm not at all well.
But that doesn't matter.
The next stop's Hell.