Sam
sister socrates
Epic Novelist
Gender: 
Age: 15
Joined: 12 Dec 2004
Posts: 4776
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Country: oslo in the summertime
476 Points
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 Posted: Sat Nov 12, 2005 7:40 pm Post subject: The Survivors of Math 217 (Meet my little idiots :P) |
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Okay, people! I need a favor...
Can you read the bits for each character and help me out? Yeah...you might not get all of it...but here's two of the characters in their own little world.
David
6:00 AM.
My alarm goes off, turning on the radio and blaring the Beatles through the speakers.
I roll onto the floor and lie there for a moment, wiping my eyes and licking the spit from the sides of my mouth. After slowly pulling myself up to a sitting position, I rub my bad knee and then beginning to crawl in the direction of my closet. I pull open the sliding door and gaze upon the foremost Organizational Wonder of the World (note: SARCASM) and pick through piles of t-shirts and jeans, trying to find something that doesn’t smell. (Quiet frankly, I don’t remember the last time I did my laundry.))
Shuffling into the bathroom, click the lock, take two steps to the left of the sink, pull shirt over head, slide boxers off, kick garments into corner. Wow. Second day of school and I can already do this routine subconsiously.
I reach over the side of the tub and pull the knob out, feeling cold water splash onto my bare legs. I turn the dial left as far as it can go and wait for the hot water to start.
I put a towel on the rack and as I’m looking down catch a glimpse of my reflection on the marble tile.
It’s probably considered perverted to look at yourself naked and like what you see, what the hell- I do look pretty good, compared to some people. Maybe if God gave me bigger balls and made my skin a couple shades darker, then I’d be perfect, at least to me. It’s getting other people to like what they see that’s the trouble,
I run my fingers under the tap to check the temperature, It’s still not very warm, but it’s expected- our hot water heater’s an old piece of crap that’s never ever worked in its existence, probably.
I pull the little knob on the end of the faucet up and step into the shower spray, pulling the curtain on its track around the tub.
Letting the lukewarm water soak my hair, I slap the end of a shampoo bottle until minty-smelling cream oozes out onto my palm. I work it onto my scalp, wash it off, and then attack my skin with a sponge and a Lever 200 bar, scrubbing till my forearms turn pink.
Desmond
God, I’m tired. I think I might go play sick and take
a nap in the nurse’s office for a bit- I’d probably
feel a little better.
I hate the health office though. It smells like
disinfectant and blood and baby formula and the nurse
herself sits at her desk and stares at you, looking
like she’s about to cry.
Last night, at about eight-thirty, David’s mom called
and told me that he needed to come home, even though
I’d explain that we’d already done our homework and
that my neighbor could probably give him a ride home
when he came home from work. I never told her about my
own mom, she’s the type who loves her own son to
pieces and would probably try to adopt me if she found
out about Dearest Mother.
I walked David home, which wasn’t as far as the
initial after-school trek, but it still got him kind
of pissed. I told him that it was good for our health;
he just grunted and started talking about something
else. When we got to his house his mom gave us each a
pop and thanked me for being so sweet as to escort
him.
I’m pretty sure that the pink shirt/eyeliner
combination didn’t go over too well with her, and
further proved that she doesn’t really like me that
much.
She either thinks that I’m gay or that I’m a goth, and
that when David comes over to my house we either make
out or sacrifice goats or something like that. If it
would stop her from repeatedly giving me the
once-over, I’d wear a business suit and tie when I
went over there.
Eventually, I left his house and went over to the
park, where I kicked rocks into the drainage creek,
feeling strangely satisfied as the stagnant water
splashed up onto the rocks and stained them like blood
as it slowly ran back into the almost non-existent
current.
When I got back, I went in the back door, took off my
shoes and climbed up the stairs. I wanted to take a
shower, and then pass out in my bed.
I slowly turned the doorknob to my room, ready to go
get a pair of pajamas from my dresser.
I nearly wet myself with shock when I saw my mom in
there, sitting on my bed.
“Where the hell were you?”
I looked at my feet.
“I went to David’s,” I lied. But only a tiny bit, so
it didn’t really count.
“Why?”
I looked over at her. She didn’t look like she was
going to yell or anything, but her mascara was smudged
and she looked tired.
“Because his mom called and said he needed to go
home,”
“So he was here, then?”
“Yeah,”
She closed her eyes and sighed, her entire body
shuddering as she exhaled.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t do that to me again, Desmond.”
I feel myself start to choke.
“You shouldn’t…do that to me either, mama,” I mumble.
“What?”
She sounded mad then, I couldn’t tell because I didn’t
want to look at her. I wish I could have taken that
back.
“You…you shouldn’t make me look…like…like a charity
case in front of my friend’s mom,” Inhale, Dezzy,
inhale. “You shouldn’t make me have to worry about
you…because…” I could feel her eyes looking over me.
“Because why?”
Because you’re the fucking parent and I shouldn’t have
to be all worried about you, and I shouldn’t have to
deal with all your problems when you come home. And I
don’t want my friend to think that I have a cool mom
and not think that you’re like a drug dealer or work
for the mafia, which I know you don’t do but since
you’re fucking NEVER HOME they wouldn’t know. And
since I kind of wanted to talk to about stuff earlier,
but now I don’t feel like it because I don’t like you
and I wish you would just leave me alone because I
don’t feel like dealing with you now, I want to go to
sleep.
“Nothing,”
“Good night, then,” she said, with her eyes still on
me as I heard the bed creak as she got up.
I moved out of her way and climbed between the covers
and hugged a pillow to my chest as my throat started
to shake a bit. I kept worrying about her, I kept
wondering about David, and his mom I kept asking
myself about everything.
I got so sick of it I let go of my pillow and turned
my stereo on so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think
and then got back into bed and fell asleep to the
pounding bass.
And now I’m here, tears running down my face in the
middle of social studies.
I’m feeling pretty fucking sorry for myself and it
honestly is horrible. |
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FAN: Do you have an avatar--you know, one of those online personality things?
CRAIG FERGUSON: Oh, God, I don't even have one of those in-life personality things. |
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