Life is the Land of Misfit Toys

part 1

warning: self harm briefly, may be triggering. Be aware and read at own risk.

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It was 10:45 exactly.

The clock was ticking slowly as I waited for 11 o'clock to arrive. It was just killing me that I would have to wait until then for a free class.

I usually spent free class reading in the library or studying for a test that is two weeks away. On a rare occasion I will go outside and actually let the sun touch my skin and use one of the multiple pairs of sunglasses I have. But more likely than not I will go to the library and read.

I will read everything that includes some sort of tragedy in it. Why you may ask? Well, nothing occurs for real unless you feel some sort of pain behind it. No story can actually be a full story until someone gets stabbed, whether it is emotionally or physically.  It may just be an adrenaline rush or the idea of someone else feeling pain but it was a lot more enjoyable to read. That sounds very sinister so let me re-word that: When you are able to realize you are not alone it makes life more easier to grab a hold to. You may never be able to filly grab on but at least you can grasp it.

But back to why I am waiting for 11 this very day in this very year of highschool. I have joined a club.

Not a usual club.

This club is meamt for all the kids like me. The ones who never seem to pay attention but still get A's. The ones who can come up with ideas your mind can barely even fathom. The ones who hate themselves with an undying passion but something original about them just stood out so much that someone stood up and told them this is where they needed to be.

It was some thing like that Rudolph movie. The island with the toys.

I just remember that one word that they called us, it just kept ringing in my head. The sound of it as it echoed through my skull. The way they said it so nonchalantly as if it was normal, like it was perfect that that's what we are

Misfits.

That was the word the nurse used to describe me. A misfit.

She told me I was one in a billion. I was told this after I was sent to a small white room in a big building where bars covered the windows and the glass was unbreakable. It was a hospital, or asylum,  or crazy house whatever you shall call it. But I was there.

I wasn't crazy per say, but, I was found alone in my room surrounded by a shattered mirror, drawing on my skin with the biggest shard I could get.

So they sent me there for a while and did more tests than I could count and more medications than healthy. They did all this just to tell me in the end that I was a misfit. Like I didn't already know.

But you see I still have the gla-

And it's finally 11.

I stood up slowly, grabbing the few books I had and my homework before leaving the room.

I felt like everything was in slow motion, like it seemed to slow down so my heart could catch up with me. I could feel it banging in my chest

thump thump

I looked at the signs in the hall, maneuvering my way around everyone, barely making eye contact.

thump thump

I counted the doors as I went. 234....

236.... 238...... 230.

thump thump