Yesterday Died

By: Seraphic

Briar: Yesterday Died - Tomorrow won't be born


There's something lost

somewhere inside

another darkened room where dreams all go to die

once more a tear drops slowly to my feet

again I recognize the triumph in defeat

so tell me what can I do when it all falls apart?

Fuck. I hate school. And I hate new schools even more. This mediocre prison look like your every other high school - multi floored, white washed building. My head starts to hurt as I watch the flocks of students entering the building. Scantily clad females, muscle bound jocks.

Oh shit, I hate my parents. Only they would enrol me in such a hell hole.

I look down at my attire - baggy blue jeans with a large plastic multi coloured chain, a large three quarter length orange 'Clockwork Orange' shirt, and rainbow plastic bead bracelets all up both my arms. My hair is raging red.

Shit, I'm feeling a little conspicuous here.

I hoist my rainbow star shaped backpack over my shoulders, and trudge up the stairs leading to the main entrance.

Yes, yes, I draw stares from all around. It makes me feel like a walking freak show. I keep my head down and ignore them.

The office is to the right of the gym, I enter the small room and head to the first desk.

The name tag on the desk says 'Mrs. Phillips'. She is sitting behind the desk, talking on the phone. She holds up her finger when she see me, in the generic sign for 'one minute'.

After about five, she hangs up the phone and turns to me, "Yes?"

"I'm new here. My name is Briar Chase." I answer quietly.

She shuffles through a big pile of papers on her desk comes up with a form, which she hands to me. "Yes, it's right here…oh! You need to go talk to Mrs. Robertson, the principal."

I nod, and she points out a open door on the far right. The phone rings and she picks it up again, dismissing me with a small smile.

I walk over to the door and see that Mrs. Robertson telling off a tall boy dressed all in black. He looks vaguely Asian, with pale skin and black hair.

The woman is looking like she's desperately trying to refrain from strangling the goth boy, "Lian, it's the first day of school. Couldn't you have managed to stay out of the office until at least tomorrow. Just until the paper work slows down?!"

The boy looks at her sweetly, and seems to be trying not to laugh, "Well Mrs. Robertson, It's not my fault that jock decided to call me a fag. I was just walking along innocently and he hurled that comment my way."

She narrows her eyes, "And your fist just happened to fly out and punch him?"

The boy beams, "Exactly! I knew you'd understand."

The woman, Mrs. Robertson, shakes her head in disbelief, "Detention, Lian, you know where and when."

The boy sighs tragically, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, Room 118 at 3:20, See you there."

Mrs. Robertson stifles a smile, "You better quit the baditude (A/N: Bad-attitude? See? It all makes sense now!) this year Lian. Or you'll be spending more time with me in DT, then with your flock of friends."

The boy clicks his heels and salutes her, "Yes Ma'am." under his breath he mutters something that sounds awfully like, "Zeig Heil."

Mrs. Robertson shakes her head and asks, "Do you want me to make another school councillor appointment for you again about your Nazi tendencies?"

The boy chokes, "Don't send me to that horrible place! I'm not a Nazi, those men were fuuuuuuu-ah- really naughty."

She holds her head in her hands, "Just…go Lian. I'll see you after school."

He grins, "It's a date."

He turns and sees me at the doorway. He walks over and looks carefully into my face. I flush and stare down at my feet.

"What were you looking at Raver-boy?" He asks, voice heavy with amusement.

I mumble something incoherent, along the lines of, "Nothing."

"You were checking me out, weren't you!?" He cries dramatically, loud enough for the whole office to hear, "I feel so violated! I know I'm hard to resist, but keep your lustful glances to yourself!"

I look up at him in something near to horror, and find him grinning evilly at me, his eyes are near to black. I notice he has a chin piercing, (damn, can never remember the specific name for them), a ring around his eyebrow, and several piercings in his ears.

"Got anything to say to that, Candy Kid?" He obviously is having fun thinking of 'witty' names to call me.

Mrs. Robertson thankfully intervenes, "Lian," She says warningly, "You want to extend that half hour detention to an hour session?"

He glances at her in shock, "You wouldn't!"

She smiles, "Oh but I would."

He turns back to me and winks, "Don't say much, do you?"

I smile thinly, surprising myself with how out of character what I say is: "Oh go lament over your pitiful life and write angsty poetry in a dark corner somewhere."

He freezes and stares and me for a few seconds, obviously offended by the stereotype, "Touché, my new found enemy, touché. I'll be getting you for that. Watch your back."

With that he storms past me, bumping my shoulder as he goes.

"Nice backpack." He mutters.

I ignore him and step into the principal's office.

Mrs. Robertson smiles apologetically at me, "Don't mind Lian. He's a bit scary at first, but he's a really nice guy secretly. He just likes to keep people wary."

I shrug and hand the form to her, which appears to be a schedual of my classes.

She looks at me carefully, "A year ahead in your English and Socials courses?"

I nod, and shift uneasily.

"I heard about what happened in your old school, Briar." She says, "If you are worried about something or need some one to talk to, you can come to me."

I feel like nothing is secret anymore, and here I was wanting to start over again.

I don't say anything, and Mrs. Robertson looks at me in concern.

"You'll make friends, Briar." She says, "You might not think it at first glance, but there are people you'll be able to interact with in this school."

I highly doubt it, but what the hell, I'm always told to be more optimistic.

"Do you want me to get some one to show you around?" She asks.

I shake my head.

Mrs. Robertson sighs, and hand me my schedual, "You'll be fine Briar. Classes have already started, you better get on your way."

I mumble a thanks, and walk out of the office.

Torn straight through

tell me how to feel my broken dreams

a life in disarray

I shut my eyes my silence is my cell.

I walk down the empty halls looking at my schedual. It reads:

Math 11 (room 150)

English 12 (room 210)


Art 11/12 (room 303)

Comparative Civilizations 12 (223)

Fuck, I just know I'm going to get lost.

I glance around myself and decided that Room 150 is straight ahead.

Logically, this would be true, but obviously the architect of this school was on crack. Apparently, the numbers in this hallway mysteriously cut off at Room 148.

I turn around and try think like a crack head. Lets see…hallways arranged in a square. From aerial view, I am in the top left hand corner of the square. Crack head. Crack head. From a crack head's logic, Room 150 would be in the hall way exactly opposite to this. Yes, makes perfect sense.

I quietly congratulate myself when I find myself in front of my Math room. The door is closed, so I rap lightly on the surface. Apparently, I am not heard over the loud voices inside. I bang harder. A pale teacher opens the door and peers out at me.

"New student?" He asks wearily

I look at him nervously, the poor guy seems exhausted.

"Yes." I say quietly.

He opens the door wider, and motions me in, "Go find an empty seat. I've been trying to get this lesson off, but the damn kids just won't listen."

I step cautiously into the room, and find myself faced with row after row of average gossiping teenagers. Oh the pain.

In the back corner, by the large windows, I notice a boy with bright blue hair and fairy wings on, and a girl with dreadlocks. Around them, is a radius of empty chairs. It seems that the boy and girl both have the bubonic plague, and thus must be placed under quarantine.

I bite my lip, and hesitate over sitting with them, or alone at the front of the class.

They notice me, and the girl desperately beckons me over.

I walk over slowly, and slide into a seat in front of them.

"Hi," The girl practically shouts, "It's nice to see someone new with originality in this place!"

I glance between her and the fairy wing boy.

"I'm Katrien." The girl says.

"I'm Ferris." The boy says quietly. I notice that he doesn't look very awake.

"I'm Briar." I say, and look to the front of the class where the teacher is trying to get his students' attention.

"Don't mind that," Katrien says lightly, "It'll take a few more minutes for them to shut up."

I smile weakly.

"You don't talk much, do you?" The boy- Ferris- says matter of factly.

God, isn't that just the brilliant observation of the day.

Cold sweats and nightmares

keep me awake

the time keeps running down on how much I can take

ripped myself to pieces on the fragments of a dream

grim retrospective of a life torn at the seams

when the emptiness becomes too much

the voices lie I can't trust my touch

the pain of living

the fear of death

you choose