She entered the school. She paused. Better put on my face, she thought. Then she walked to her class, trying to imitate the way ‘cool’ girls walked. That didn’t go very well. She entered her classroom. She knew he wouldn’t be coming for at least another ten minutes or so. “Hi!” she greeted the girl she sat with. “Oh…hi.” was the cold reply. Her heart sank and, for a moment, she thought she was going to cry. I will not cry……not here anyway, she decided. She put her bag down and sat on her chair. Then she took out a book and pretended to read. She was actually thinking…thinking about her self and her life. She was a plump, awkward looking girl. She had brown hair that stuck out in all directions, no matter what she did to keep it sleek. She was buck-toothed, pimple-faced and tanned. And yet, her eyes were those of a dreamer; a sage with wisdom greater than any other. Too bad they were hidden behind thick, black-framed glasses. She was certainly no beauty and not particularly good at studies, either. And yet, she thought thoughts befitting the greatest of scholars, but nobody those thoughts of hers.    Freak…that’s what I am, she thought. Suddenly, she glimpsed him in the corridor. She secretly watched him out of the corner of her eye as he came inside and went over to his desk. She really liked him. Alarmed at the thought of being caught peeking at him, she quickly started reading. The bell rang. Roll call was done with quickly, and the lesson began. It was the same as it had been for all the fourteen miserable years of her life. The hateful stares, the stony looks, cold voices. It was all routine now. Like breathing. And yet, it was not routine. It still hurt so bad. It was as if someone kept stabbing her heart again and again. She had lived every minute of her life knowing she was not wanted. And it hurt so much. Why does the heart hurt? , she wondered. She went out for recess.

She went to her corner and sat there, hidden away from the world. Wish I could stay hidden forever, she thought. After recess, she went back to class and waited for the teacher to come. After four grueling lessons, it was finally time to go home. She watched him leave while she packed up her bag. He didn’t notice her. And why should he? , she asked herself, I’m not something special. Her bag packed, she went out.

She was finally home. She tried to sneak up to her room unnoticed, but wasn’t quick enough. Her parents heard her. After two whole hours of emotional torture, they let her go. Their harsh words still echoed through her head. She quickly walked into her room and shut the door. She wept silently, thoroughly soaking her pillow.

The next morning, she wasn’t feeling so well. She didn’t go to school that day. Her parents didn’t notice. The next day, she felt even sicker. Her parents still didn’t notice.

Two weeks had gone by. She was now lying in a hospital bed. She looked around. Figure’s, she thought. Every other patient had visitors. Her parents had been too busy. At least that’s what they’d said to her. She knew otherwise. She’d seen their airline tickets and packed suitcases. She looked around and saw the doctors hurrying around in the ward, around her. She couldn’t understand what they were saying; all those technical words didn’t mean a thing to her. But she knew what was going to happen to her. She wasn’t afraid, or even sad. That was why she felt guilty. She had learnt during Religious Education class that God didn’t like people who killed themselves. Wanting to die was like that, wasn’t it? She thought. Then another thought struck her. Does God love freaks and losers? Does God love those whom no one else loves? She started feeling nervous. Well, that couldn’t be helped now. And, wondering about all the things that could have been, she went to sleep, the long, everlasting sleep we are all destined to, never to awaken again.

Rest In Peace

Advertisements

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s