Young Writers Society

Journal Chronicles of An Extroardinary Typical Teenager 

Entry #1: March 9, 2017

"I hate you!" Mark screamed at his mother, who stood in the house with a coffee cup in one hand and a half-eaten bagel in the other. His mother recoiled in a mix of anger and hurt, then slammed the screen door shut and stormed back into the house. Mark fought with the immediate guilt of his harsh words but also the anger still boiling in his blood from their squabble this morning. He stumbled up the steps of the battered school bus, down the aisle, and into the only empty seat left. He pulled out his headphones and iPod to listen to his favorite playlists for the entire hour-long bus ride. As he fumbled in his backpack for the small metal frame, he thought about the fight with his mom. 

His mom and him fought almost every day now. They had gotten along so well when he was younger, but now he couldn't stand his mother. She concentrated mostly on editing her book for the moms of teenage parents called A Guide to Teenagers for Moms. The title reflected everything Mark hated about his mother- how she thought he was understandable. He was nothing but a collection of studies culminated with scientific mumbo-jumbo to craft a complex but understandable species called a "teenager". She also found her purpose in life in helping other moms, which was great, but it detracted from her parenting and raising her own children. She didn't realize that she didn't have to document every success and failure of her parenting on any corny Mommy & Me blogging page. 

But the truth of the matter was this- he wasn't a case study. He wasn't a puzzle to be solved or a statistic on those pie charts she adored. He was a living human being who had unpredictable feelings that could be triggered by anything at any time and could spontaneously erupt into fits of moodiness. He wasn't an unknown variable that she could solve for. He wasn't understandable unless she invested in HIM and not just TEENAGERS. That was what she was missing. Once she understood that, she'd be a great mom. But right now, his relationship with both his parents was pretty crappy and that was leading to his miserable life. He had no social life, no friends, and his grades were plummeting faster than his relationship with either of them. The first semester had been great. He had been a straight A student and aced two classes, only earning two A-s. But now he was only making one B, two Cs, and 4 D's. He knew his parents were frustrated with their work and the increasing pressure of providing for him and also supporting themselves. His dad had lost his job fairly recently and had been working odd jobs to try to make ends meet. He felt the pressure. It was everywhere and he knew that it strained his parents' temper, which caused him to feel angry, which lead to more violent and intense mood swings, which led to his recent diagnosis of social anxiety, which led to the total deterioration of his social life, which led to his lack of motivation, which led to his plummeting grades at school, which led to his parents' continued stress and frustration, and then the cycle repeated over and over again. Something needed to change. Mark wasn't sure how long he could keep on living like this. He needed to- WOULD- do something to change this. But what?

His thoughts were interrupted by Arthur and Eddy, the two school bullies who thought that since they were bulky eighth graders they could and should push everyone around. Arthur was leafing through Mark's backpack, eventually settling on a squished PayDay bar. "Awww thanks Mark, this'll get me through Algebra II," he sneered. 

Mark didn't respond. He was measuring the beating he would get for responding, most likely a black eye, against the PayDay bar and decided a week-old PayDay bar wasn't worth his time. He didn't move, and Arthur took that as a cue to take more stuff from Mark's backpack. 

"Hey look, some barbecue chips, an apple, and hey, a Kellogg's granola bar! That'll be good for US History, and let's get something for Biology too. Hmmm, I don't see anything- aha, a banana! Not my favorite, but it'll do."  Arthur smirked at Mark, who was fighting back a sharp retort and visibly struggling to contain himself. 

Mark still ignored them, silently daring them to take one more step toward him, take one more thing from his backpack. Arthur grinned, not satisfied with half of Mark's lunch. "I wanna listen to music too, Mark. Here, gimme that." And he lunged across the seat, fumbling for the iPod. 

Mark wasn't going to let Arthur take his iPod, so he shoved Arthur's arm away from his side. 

"Lookie here boys, Mark the 6th grader is gonna fight me! Come on Marky, bring it on! Eddy, grab my boxing gloves from my backpack, and maybe grab a bib for little Marky so the blood doesn't stain his big boy shirt," Arthur drawled.

"C'mon Arthur, gear up so you can defeat a puny little sixth grader," Mark shot back. "Do you want me to get your mouth guard?"

"You watch your own mouth or I'll shove my glove up your-"

Before Arthur could finish that sentence, Mark lunged at him, swinging like a madman. He remembered every boxing movie he had ever watched and channeled the raw energy of Mike Tyson as he slammed his fist into Arthur's jaw. Pain coursed up his arm all the way through his shoulder. He felt like he had punched concrete and his fist had just bounced off.

Arthur barely flinched, but instead grabbed Mark by the throat and slammed him against the window. Mark's head hit the rock-solid glass and his glasses slid off his face and onto the floor with a clatter. Eddy smirked, lingering in the aisle as he watched Mark getting pummeled, too afraid of the flying fists to actually engage in the fight. 

Mark slumped onto the seat, his head feeling like a bowling ball had been shoved through his ear and someone was banging on his head with a hammer to retrieve it. Arthur stood over him, finishing the job with three final punches- one to Mark's already injured arm, one to Mark's nose, and the third to Mark's stomach. Mark lay on the seat, holding his stomach and moaning, feeling warm blood trickling down his face and running into his mouth. Everything was blurry and swimming in front of his eyes. He fought off the dark presence of unconsciousness, but eventually he lost all will to even move and slipped into blissful unconsciousness, praying that he never woke up to face the world again.

Author's Note: I am planning on releasing the second chapter and keep going with this for a few chapters, so any questions you have may be answered by these later installments. But other than that, feel free to rip this up! That's how good stories are born- one spark that's fanned into a fire by helpful critique :)