Lost

Sketch

It was the weekend, the week had past in a blur of homework and teachers yelling.

But I'd started falling into this autopilot state, my brain was foggy and all my thoughts were negative, I didn't really understand the lost feeling that always haunted me.

I heard my mum talking about something downstairs, and my brothers shooting excuses, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling in hatred.

what do I call feeling this sudden self hate? What do I call the want to hold the knife and...

No.

Maybe I could make up a name...

Why would I though?

We had three quizzes coming up, leaving me to stare at the words I'm supposed to be wasting my life and memorizing instead of doing something actually useful.

Like skulking on my bed.

I still hear that small voice telling me everything's going to be ok, like that shoulder angel.

I thought of doing something useful, like sketching, or anything that'll get my mind of things, exercise?

I'll do that some other day.

My head throbbed as I felt the cold leather of the book on my stomach, I really needed to start studying but ugh.

I wonder if the teachers knew that this stress from studying seems to harm me physically?

And the creator of my books, the one's who sell them. Would they know on how my strict teachers would make us memorize every single detail and than not put except one in the exams? They probably love torturing us then, cause they add a hella lot of details to every-fricking-fact.

Why can't we have a whole lesson for reading, ACTUAL books? Imagine that... a chance to escape my life and enjoy the fictional life of a fictional character, notice how I say fictional twice? Yeah that's how self conscious I am when reading... I'm just worried the book will finish and leave me dwelling in darkness.

I slowly stood up and let my book fall to the floor, and looked in the mirror.

I shook slightly, looking at myself in horror, my eyes were read and I had purple bags under my eyes, and my hair...

I hate my messy back strands of hair, it's like I'm a girl version of Harry Potter THEY NEVER LAY FLAT

Other girls have silky hair, beautiful eyes, smooth skin, dazzling smiles...

And terrible attitudes.

This is how I wished I look, straight hair, hardly any flaws... not starving myself to lose weight... except the terrible attitude part, I'll keep that far away.

Imagine having actual friends, ones who wouldn't betray me, not use me, not play with me...

And I'd love a little sister...

I sat down on my desk and starting sketching a little sister, straight shoulder length black hair, skirt and blouse, laughing at the supposed camera.

The best thing about art is that you can see what you'll never have, open your imagination... but who knows? Maybe my years of hard core dieting/ eating as little as possible and exercise/ tagging around my mother at the mall would pay of?

Pffffffft, I know you knew I was joking. I'll never change, I'll never stop over thinking things and making them more overwhelming... my brain won't let me...

I continued to sketch, adding more details to make her more realistic, adding some shading and shadows, all in all, details.

I realized I had to study...

So what do I do? Not study that's what.

Just continue to draw... but stressfully!

My brain thought of a question that kept me curious...

do boys have a time of the month?

I immediately took my phone to search.

Freaking frick.

They don't.??

...

I was peacefully sketching when a bunch of boys come and ask me too see the sketch.

Normal? No.

I'm apart of the invisible rank and I don't want to be bullied... and the bullies in my school are terrible.

So no thank you.

I've tried to help people who are bullied, make friends with them, But they start to torment me.

I'm fine with getting bullied by words, but I can't get beat up, call me crazy- but I'm worried about what my older brothers would do when they find out.

I don't know if I could refrain them from murdering the jerks... and I don't want them to end up in jail for murder.

I love my brothers so much, I love how they care.

I just ain't in the mood for fights.

I didn't let the boys see my sketchbook and I told them to Eff off.

Bad choice.

The bell rang signaling the end of the day, and i slowly packed my stuff.

I had this bad feeling inside of me... before I walked out of the large Gate-ish door I got surrounded by the boys that wanted to see my sketchbook.

Whoop Whoop! Someone's about to get their butt kicked.

Or I'm being overdramatic, one of the two.

I can fight but I run, and believe me I'm fast.

I run past them in mere seconds, I stay running without slowing down so my legs start to throb.

I don't have time to catch my breath and my eyes tear and the cold air fills my lungs.

I feel myself tripping in a quick blur, i put my hands and legs to break the fall...

I make my way off the ground determined to stay running, I feel immense pain beside my left eye and my hands are dirty and bloody... I feel pain in my kneecaps but I still try to run, I stupidly fight the pain and run.

I stop beside a dark building and sit down my jeans are bloody, I must've scraped my kneecaps.

I lost the bullies, I smile slightly knowing I managed to outrun them - I just wish didn't come with the cost of pain.

But I was wrong.

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Does this count as long? I'll take it it counts as long.

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And I'll dedicate a chapter to you :)

Ailani Maubee