or when your emotional instability is mistaken for 'that time of the month.'
we ran around the gym monotonously. simple enough. 45 seconds of running, 75 second walking interval before running again.
the day was sucking already. the effects of morning tea had worn off, and my mind was back to its racing, despite the pain in my legs. with the calming tea out of my system, i was ready to wring the neck of anyone who messed with me.
it just so happened to be the dynamic duo known as 'that mexican kid and the black kid with hair almost as big as his ego,' crossed me first. the latter ran up from behind me, ruffled my hair, and left his comrade to do the same thing.
without a second thought, or even a first, i shouted "fuck you!" at their backs.
the second time they did it, i elbowed the former kid in the gut. "don't fucking touch me."
he muttered to his friend, "ohhh, i think it might be her lady time of the—"
"i'm not on my fucking period. as a matter of fact, it ended last fucking week!"
they kept goading, and i kept succumbing to their taunts with fire.
funny thing about fire, it doesn't get rid of problems unless it is used in excess. then, it does not only eliminate the problem, but it destroys the vessel.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
