|Who Am I?
Author: Archia PM
Whilst in detention a girl contemplates the answer to the question, 'Who am I?"Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 470 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 06-23-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2926317
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Who am I?
The question lies solitary on the page, black ink shining with an old tinge. A constant tapping erupts from the pen, bringing forth no enlightenment. I sigh; I don't know who I am. I am a girl, I am sixteen, but that's not who I am, that's just what I am. I glance up at the clock. Fifteen minutes till detentions over, and I have to have something written.
Am I me? The words fall over themselves, smudging on the page. The crisp sheet once filled with three subtle words, now spoiled.
I am not me. But then, who am I? I have to be someone. I looked around the room, at the silent figures hunched over their desks. A chewing could be heard from Erik, always having gum in his mouth. I found gum loathsome, food is there to be eaten, not suspended out to last as long as possible. As I watched, he took the gum from his mouth, wrapping it in his single sheet of paper.
I am not Erik.
In the far corner of the room, Maddy was applying her make-up. Layers and layers of it, glittered eyes and glossed lips. I found that the effort of make-up did nothing to hide my uneven complexion. Her sheet lay empty, no words imprinted to last. Powered flakes covered its one white side.
I am not Maddy.
A step away sat Hayley, head drooping over the desk. A quiet noise came from her, signalling her mind to already be whisked away into the journeys of sleep. I found my mind to afraid to be able to sleep when it was not allowed. A slight drop of drool slipped from her mouth, falling to expand on her crumpled page.
I am not Hayley.
Feet on the desk, Nathan lounged back, arms folded across his chest. He stared off into the near distance, shoes resting evenly on the table. The idea that someone's feet had been placed on my table stopped me from every wanting to do it to another. As he shuffled his feet, a slight encrust of dirt fell onto his blank sheet.
I am not Nathan.
Only one person remained in the room, sitting ever so quietly at their desk. That person, who had so examined the others sitting at their desks, found that each had left their mark, each had answered their question. Though it was with gum, powder, drool and dirt, it was all still who they were. And so what was it that the person had, that made them who they were? And as she looked at her page, covered with what she was not, she realised what she had. It was something that everyone had, that she just choose to use.
I am me.