just some thoughts ||

» ch. 1«

We question ourselves; we consider our souls to be nothing but demons unleashed and our mere skin and bones is nothing but a façade. Disguise. And when we put it like that, we realize the sad truth... that it is not us, it is not our souls, that are the demons. But it is them. The people who are 'superior' to the poor, the ugly, the intelligent, the freaks of nature.. at which point, one particular freak of nature asked oneself the question of who, who could have been so troubled, so drowned in their own puddle of misery, to create such freaks of nature? Well, nature is not the answer, oh no. For everyone is beautiful, yes, the girl with the gold framed, geek glasses, yes, the girl with the braces, yes the girl who's obese and sits in a puddle of her own flab, yes even the nerd guy who knows almost every answer to a gcse exam paper... we are all beautiful, are we not? Now, of course, there is/are only one person, or group of people, who would comprehend the truly beautiful people as the freaks, the inferior, unfortunate outcomes of nature. Flaws are considered as audacious and ugly. Define ugly. Ugly, the sort of word that moves with the times, just like trends. Fat people, in Africa during the 1920s were considered beautiful; the bigger you were, the more beautiful and attractive you would be to potential husbands. Long necked people in Jamaica were considered beautiful; the longer necked you were, the more beautiful and attractive you were. And now, well, what can I say? What has this society come to? Perfect eyebrows? Perfect skin? Perfect lips? A perfect bum? Perfect breasts? Perfect hair? Perfect, perfect, perfect... Why are flaws not beautiful anymore? Why?!

"Ciara Viola-Elson..." a deep, stern voice suddenly called, interrupting my little thought bubble.

Startled, I jumped and my pen rolled off the desk, to the floor, earning a snigger from the class. Pushing my glasses up on the bridge of my nose, I blushed and got up to retrieve my pen. Of course, my class were so rude that even the guy whom the pen was near (called Matt, short for Matthew), didn't even bother to pick it up even when I got there. I kneeled down underneath his desk to get the pen, and he nudged my head with his bony knee.

"Ouch!" I cried out, as I banged my head underneath the table. I heard a squelch noise, and almost retched with disgust. As unfunny as it was, the class burst out laughing and laughing and laughing. I breathed out as my fingers neared the pen, ready to grab it and run. One more second... Then the guy, who went by the name of Gabriel Evergs, stomped his foot down on my hand and I screamed with pain. I backed up with disgust and tried so hard to not let the unwelcome tears fall.

"What the-" Mr Riles, my dumbass of a teacher, exclaimed with confusion. His pot belly bulged out of his 2-sizes-too-small checkered shirt; a soft gleam of sweat was visible on his bald head. His glasses hung off his red, scrunched-up face.

Before I could reply, the a shrill, piercing noise was heard. The bell. Saved by the bell...

I watched Sir do the math in his head as he tried to figure out what was going on, and then I saw his perplexed expression feign into something that was a bit of anger and a bit of pissed off (annoyance would be the correct term).  Around him though, the students instantly put their equipment, if that's what you could call it since it consisted of a rubbish, fading pen and most likely a pencil and a ruler that was used only to stab and prod people with, away and slung their bags over their backs. They were almost ready to leave but sir said, "stay seated. What just happened? Well, I'm sure the back row  were not involved so you may leave," and he dismissed the back row because they're just the quiet ones who have some sort of so-called flaw that separates them from functioning a normal school life that would consist of friendship, relationships, drama and boring teachers dishing out detentions every week. You're probably thinking why I am not one of the back row people- that is because even though I am exactly the same as the people on the back row, I am stubborn, persuasive and confident. Not confident as in, oh, I'm gorgeous. All the boys think I'm just a walking version of sex, blah blah.. no, not that. Confident as in I am not afraid to speak out, I couldn't care less about what other people, the 'popular' kids think, I'm what I am and well, only God can judge.