This was an assignment for my eleventh grade creative writing class. I guess I kind of liked it so here it is. It is based off of the song "Rolling Girl" by wowaka.
The sidewalks were still damp from that morning's rain, even as dusk began to settle in. People were bustling everywhere, in hurry to get home from a long day at work or school, or perhaps they were running small errands that couldn't be taken care of during their busy day.
Within this hustle and bustle was a young girl. She walked quickly with no rhythm, her faded red skirt swishing along with her, pale brown pigtails flowing behind her. Though she wore a backpack, she still carried books in her arms.
Who is this girl, you may ask? This girl is no one in particular. This girl could be anyone. This girl is anyone. If anything, one could call her 'lonely'.
Even with her head tilted to the ground, the girl managed to avoid running into people going her opposite direction, with precision that showed she'd done this many times. Every so often she would briefly glance up, turquoise eyes observing her surroundings carefully.
The girl walked a very long ways, her pace never faltering and her eyes never doing as much as glancing. The people around her became fewer and fewer until there was no one at all. She continued on until arriving at a small house in a small neighborhood.
With one arm cradling her books, the girl used her other hand to shove a key in the lock of the door. The lock clicked open and the girl pushed her way inside.
As expected, the girl thought, dropping her books on a nearby table. No one is here. She allowed her backpack to fall next to the table, giving a loud 'thump'. She sighed and took at seat at one of the four simple chairs surrounding the table. The girl buried her face in her hands and stayed that way for quite a long while.
Eventually, her body began to shake. This routine had become so familiar to her. So, so familiar. Still, it hurt. Everyday, it hurt.
Her hands clenched into fists when her breathing became more like choking. She wasn't entirely sure when she'd begun to cry. It felt like she'd been crying all her life.
Everyday it felt like another mistake. Every failure, every error, every stumble; everyone could see how pathetic she was. And yet, no one was ever there. She was alone.
Oh yes, she'd had dreams. She'd been dreaming for quite some time. But those dreams were so far away now she couldn't seem to remember what they were.
She forced herself to keep trying. Every morning she'd pick herself up again and drag herself to the school. She really did work hard; she just… didn't seem to do well.
So what was left for the lonely girl? There had to be something, right? She wouldn't always be choking and shaking at the dining room table, would she?
The girl bit her lip hard and held her breath. This, for some reason, seemed to work best at calming her down. Sure enough, within two minutes her breathing was regular, even though the tears didn't stop. She could never seem to swallow those.
"One more time," she murmured, picking at one of the straight-line scabs on her wrist. She knew it was a terribly stupid habit. But somehow, she couldn't seem to break it. "One more time I'll try." Her lips twitched into something sort of like a smile and her eyes sparkled for maybe a second. "One more time. Just… just one more time."