Grace

Explode

Grace's P.O.V.

Explode.

Don't you want to disappear sometimes? Like if you left, the world would be a better place? Like if you you could just be one of the stars? Glow brightly for a little while, but then when your ready to go away, just explode?

That's how I feel everyday. I never really cared much for my own existence. My therapist claims that these pills will work, but I don't see the change. Depression doesn't just disappear because you shove chemical mixtures down my throat.

That's one of the many, many reasons I stick to myself. I prefer to be alone. Otherwise, when people do notice me, they get too attached to my shell to notice who I am on the inside. They all think that I am lying when I say that this abnormal white hair is natural. Do you have any idea how many times I have tried to dye this? When they do realize it's natural, they obsess.

It's easier to be alone.

I sit at a table with no one, eating the cardboard molded nachos. Better than nothing I supposed.

I take note as Jessica and her posse walk up to my table. Another day, another bitch.

"Well if it isn't Mrs. I can't keep my food on my tray," she says, shoving a piece of brownie in my face.

I stand, attempting walking away. Annoying brat.

Jessica is your typical mean girl. Mean with no real reason and unreasonably pretty with her bottle bleach blonde hair and big brown eyes. Her personality is what changes her. That beauty is no match for the ugly that claws it's way through.

Jessica's friends throw bottles at me as I walk away,"That's right you slut! Walk away!"

The tears threaten to spill as I sit against the lockers in an abandoned hall way. There are papers and books everywhere that have been dropped during the pass period.

I open my phone staring at my home screen.

I haven't had the courage to change it.

It's of me and my boy- I mean ex boyfriend. He took his only opportunity out of the bad luck life, Jessica. She gave him the door of opportunity by letting him join the popular clic. Not exactly my cup a tea. Not that I was given that option, considering she took him from me.

I finally decide he isn't worth waiting for. My thumb no longer hovers over the change button. I sigh, searching for a decent photo. Nothing can really heal it, but it can always be a start.

Being a sophomore in high school, you seem to think the torture would be passed down to the freshman, but no, I was an exception. At 12 I thought it couldn't get any worse and at 15 I not dread my own existence.

I sigh, sliding into the nook between the sets of lockers and foyer. I pull out a small sketch pad from my book bag and look down at the picture I've been drawing the past two weeks. I forgot, I had finally finished the drawing process yesterday. So I've been using my white pencil to color in the fur of the wolf. The fur reminds me of my own hair.

I have always had an odd obsession with wolves. They are majestic creatures, built for enduring strenuous factors. In some ways, I relate to them and their desire to be a part of something. Humans are social creatures as well, and despite our intelligence, no less deadly. Unlike most lone wolves, I am forced to mingle with others. I wish I had the option to run off into the sunset, only letting the wind catch me.

I run a hand through my hair, the tangles ripping from me forcing the fingers through. I sigh, no matter how soft it is, the thickness always gets the better of me. Trying to brush this shit is like forcing a square block into a circular hole.