Hello. Read it. You might like it. Oh, ya might hate it. You'll never know, UNLESS YOU READ.
Summary: In the heads of random peoples. May or may not be sane.
Warning: It's HORROR, why should I have to warn you of anything? Fine, some swearing.
A Day in the Life of:
B. Carla Abadan
Age: Unknown, perhaps late-teens
Occupation: High-schooler/ Sandwich maker at local deli (fired)
Living relatives: Sister, R. May Abadan. Aunt, J. Angela Abadan (missing)
In the School:
Orange pencil. Yellowed wall. Red backpack. White paper.
Contrasting, bright and dull colors. Scratchy woman's voice:
"This should be obvious by now, kiddies. Write your names down first. Girls back there, be quiet."
Why, of course I'll do what you say, Ms. Figg, math teacher extraordinaire, and of course they won't.
Pencil. Pick it up, scritch-scratch, put it down. Giggle, clickity-click, giggle.
All around me they just
REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT
Sanity slipping, sweat forming under armpits (DAMN THIS DEODORANT) and mouth dry. Need water, need...peace? Quiet? Stronger anti-perspirant?
Just some air, some air to breathe.
Too much shared air, yes, yes.
Did this pencil turn into a snake just now. Pointy orange #2 snake with silver-pink eraser for a rattle, don't do this to me. Not while it's my FINAL EXAM (Dun-dun-DUN!)
Oh well, I'll just pick up the mechanical one and pray my brain doesn't mutate that into something alive, too.
Whose bright idea was it to make this room so. Goddamn. Small.
Yes so very small, and it's quiet and so brightly white—must throw mud and make it impure. No! Must...finish...TEST. The quiet is GOOD, remember?
No. No, I don't. Let me try to remember...
They say the silence is good for concentrating. In most cases, yes it is. But you know what else it's good for?
Contemplation of how many heartbeats I have before I run out. Like a wind-up toy, yes I am, yes we are.
You! Breathe harder! I need WHITE NOISE!
Gimme a I-N-S-A-N-I-T-Y and it spells silence. No no no, I don't need this. Gimme some giggles and clicks to go with the scritch-scratch of my pencil, please, before I ram it into my jugular. The sound of my own breathing and heart is tick-tocking like the clock eyeballing me and letting me know when my time is up, in both senses of the phrase.
Wait, eyeballs? Why are important things like eyes? The sun, yes, the moon, yes, and now this damned clock.
I guess that's life, isn't it?
Nope, nope, I don't think tests are my worry now. I broke the clock; not my worry either.
Slap, slap, feet sprinting. I must run and run. Heat! Oh the heat in my lungs! I will earn my peace by exploding and—wait, cool air, I've made it out! Yes...YESS!
This hall is cave-like. Big cavernous square hall, oh bless it.
Now to relax and—WAIT! What's this man staring at? Me? Certainly not me?
WHAT'S HIS PROBLEM? No, I'm alone in the hall with him...
THE HALL IS SHRINKING! Clap, clap I hear his feet and mine...I feel so small in the echoes, like they're swallowing me...Oh, why must I be claustrophobic?
The man wants my air. He knows I hate my personal space being invaded.
DON'T COME CLOSER, SIR! I'll fucking kill you.
I mean it, just like the first billion times I've swore it in my mind up to this moment. Don't make me mean it—but of course he will. He's looking at me.
He thinks he knows me? He's coming.
AAAAHHHHHH HIS HAND IS ON MY SHOULDER!
Take that orange snake pencil out, just sharpened and ready to face DESTINY!
There, dead. He's a little tea-pot, short and stout. His ear is a handle, look at that spout! Ha-ha, he looks so surprised. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, yes.
The twilight air is blowing cool and there's steam rising from the 'tea' pouring from his neck.
Wow, I swear I heard it sizzle. It's very cold out...Did someone just scream?
Time to go, before I catch something.
I'll just borrow this and that from Mr. Teapot, and be on my way.
Scritch-scratch indeed. I do regret leaving that in Mr. Teapot's neck. It was my last.
I broke the other one to see if I could slash my wrists with the jagged pieces. Cheap little thing, it was. Couldn't commit suicide with that.
I should've used the wooden #2 snake instead, before I went and used it on Mr. Teapot.
Oh well, important things missed.
This has nothing to do with anything, but my mom used to be quite absent-minded. My sister and I would to try to talk to her about important things. It used to be an inner joke that the only way to get her attention was to knock on her head. "Knock, knock."
But of course, neither of us really did it.
Usually after about five calls of "Hello?" and "Hey!" she'd finally say "Huh? What?'
We'd be tired by then, done wasting breath and we knew words would just go in one ear then out the other.
What I'd say: "Never mind, I'm done knocking."
What sis would say: "Never fucking mind."
Sirens, screaming as if in agony. They don't stop me, y'know why? Because those are for people who have committed crimes to be afraid of.
I just wanted some air. How is that a crime?
It isn't, certainly. Watch me just walking by, feet squishing in the freezing mud that sucks on them and will no doubt cake and harden on my boots.
Bye-bye, Mr. Police-man, wave back at me and then you can go gawk at Mr. Teapot and ponder who could do such a thing. Pose for pictures with the people following you in the blurry, wailing ambulance there.
I honestly don't care. So long as you don't breathe my air.
I hope you enjoyed or are mildly disturbed! : D
The question I'd like you to answer is "What the hell did you just read?" and if you'd like to ask me that, save your time, 'cause I tell you NOTHING.
...Okay, fine, it's bits and pieces of thoughts that went through my head everyday, with a malevolent tweak here and there.
As such, I don't proofread my thoughts. Huh huh huh...Buh-bye!
P.S.-The second to last part is just to put you off. Tee-hee.