Young Writers Society

Iris

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” my alarm clock shrieks from the other side of the room. My mother tries to tell me that putting the clock on the opposite side of the room will somehow magically give me the fuel to get up and carpe the hell out of the diem. In reality, the noise makes me want to cry in the morning and dive into the masses of blankets even further.

“Goooooood morning, beautiful Iris.” my mother hums as she enters my bedroom, bringing in the blinding light from the halls beyond with her. She danced around my bed, tugging at the sheets entrapping me. After ten minutes of not responding to anything she has done, she melts into pleading me to get out of bed.

I don’t know what is worse: going to sleep or waking up. When I wake up I feel a lump inside my stomach and my body fills with lead. There is no desire to get up and do things. I just want to fade into my black sheets and become non-existent. I look forward to going to sleep throughout the day. I fall asleep during classes and zone off in conversations and think of the sweet bliss of dreaming. Then the minute my body collapses into bed, my eyes will not stop. My mind starts racing in a hundred different ways and I can feel all of these gears twisting and clicking in my brain. My heart begins to feel like a heavy pendulum smashing everything in my body with its swift motions back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. My face explodes with a fierce red and tears rush to try and cool it down. Suddenly, though hours of feeling like an empty vessel I am alive. And it never really feels nice.

I reach out to pull my large red blanket off of my bed when I notice I am shaking badly.

“Mom, if you want to see it-” she runs back into the room and grabs my wrist, examining my fingers closely.

“I don’t see it.” she states.

“Are you blind?”

“Cut the sass, smart ass. Rate it.” she retorts.

“I’d say a 5.” I calmly respond.

She nods and motions for me to get out of bed and into the shower. Passing my mirror, I take a look at myself. My blue eyes are barely open and are heavy with sleep, but I see my hair in twists and knots and it resembles a nest of some sorts. Through my shirt, I notice that my muscles are finally starting to show in my arms and they are stretching the fabric. I lift my pant leg up as well and flex to get a moment of satisfaction with my body. Maybe all of the working out I’ve been doing is finally paying off.

***

“Bonnie for the love of God turn the music down.” I scream over the rap music that was causing the car to shake violently beneath me. She doesn’t hear me, so I take matters into my own hands and crank the knob down to reveal Bonnie’s singing underneath.

“What’d you do that for?” Bonnie says in shock.

“I don’t want to get out of the car with your music howling.”

Right as I open the door, she cranks the knob even louder than it was before and flashes me a toothy grin as I frantically grab my things. Her curly light brown hair frames her oval white face and green eyes as she flashes me a middle finger and drives off. Bonnie was the rebellious one in the family. She did the opposite of everything my parents raised her to do. One time, she got drunk at some party and came back retelling every aspect of her apocalyptic dream to the family before she was grounded. As crazy as she was, Bonnie was a character that made my life far more exciting.

I approach the junior high building, the dirt of the street itching beneath my boots. My earbuds are in and my head is bowed as I mentally prepare myself for the hours and events that are soon coming.

“Ayyyyee, Iris Hill.” my friend Aaron yells across the parking lot. I wave in his direction and then split the other way. My nick name “Iris Hill” comes from this small hill right behind my house. On certain nights, I will go and sit on top of it alone to try and see the city from a better view. I brought him once a few years ago and ever since then, Aaron thought that Hill was a better last name for me than Wood. I guess it just stuck.

I enter the building and am immediately accosted by the stench. The smell of junior high kids is a wonderful mix of various cheap perfumes and colognes, body odor from the kids who never shower or wash their shirts, and moldy lunches left in lockers. There are swarms of kids heading all different directions and I immediately feel my heart. It is a deep thunder inside me as it tries to break out of my ribs and skin. My hands are trembling, so I shove them into my pockets and take note of how sweaty they are. I force my way through the clouds of chatter and the acne ridden faces that engulf me. My stomach churns unpleasantly and I double over as soon as I get to my locker.

Recognizing that I am gathering attention, I straighten myself up and fiddle with my combination. My shaky hands struggle to find the right numbers, but after a couple attempts I finally force my way in.

As I am looking at my books and deciding which ones to take, my backpack is swung into the lockers to my left. I stumble to regain my balance and look over to see a short dark haired girl glaring up at me. Her face, as well as the rest of her, was tiny. She had a sharp jawline with a pointed nose that her olive skin stretched over.

“I said excuse me. Get a move on it.” she snaps at me, flicking her heat damaged hair.

“I’ll get a move on strangling you with your greasy locks, how about that?” I mutter under my breath. I laugh at the resemblance of that girl to a hobbit and go on my way to my first period class.