literature

Distilled Tears Chapter One

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Literature Text

"Follow me please," said the guidance counselor, Mrs. Vega.  We exited out of her office her office and headed down the hall towards my first period class.  The walls were bare with the exception of the eight signs I counted, saying meaningless shit like "Hey, hey, ho, ho, studying's the way to go!" and "A Positive Attitude Makes For A Positive Life".  That last one almost made me laugh.  But today nothing will paint a smile on these lips, maybe not even Aiden.  Two lefts and a right later, we arrived at a wooden door with a sign that read "Room 167: Ms. Gretyl 9th Grade Language Arts".  Two words: people suck.
"Excited?"
"Not particularly," I lied in a monotonous voice.  More like 'scared shitless'.  She opened the door for me and we stepped inside.  Twenty-five pairs of eyes or so turned to stare curisously, then scornfully.  What's reading and writing to anyone but a select few?  A waste.  Aiden wasn't in here; we had compared schedules just the weekend before.
"Oh, this must be the new student.  Class, for the next five minutes I would like you to come up with ten everyday dramaticizations we use.  This is an independant activity; you may not work in groups."  Ten or so whining huffs filled the air as Ms. Gretyl turned to talk to us.  "Welcome, you can have a seat right in the back next to Kayla."  She pointed to an empty, graffitied seat next to a window opened a crack for air and a highly-manicured girl wearing a revealing baby-blue skirt.  Despite the winter setting, the room was actually overheated.  Or maybe that was me.  Mrs. Vega handed the teacher a  pink slip dirtied with my profile scribbled in blue-inked cursive.  As I turned to leave I noticed her eyebrows raise as she read the brutally honest words.
Like gears shifting together as one, all eyes moved as I quickly took my seat.  A buzz of chatter blanketed the rooms.  Accented words in various conversations hurt like pinpricks to a vein.
"Dude, he's a faggot.  Look at him."
The others barely contain their laughter.  There are four of them; all huddled together.  One girl takes measure, scanning me like a copyer.
"O-m-g," she says.  "I saw those jeans on a goth girl in the mall!"
"But he's not a total goth, right?  He's like, punk-emo-goth.  His hair's in his eyes.  And it's black, like everything else.  And he's got a wristband on.  You know what that means, Tiffany," he smuggly said as he glanced at a paper laying complete on a nearby desk and scribbled away.
Tiffany held up her tanned wrist and furiously dragged her hand back and forth.
"Cutttteerrrr," said the heavyset boy.  Fuck you.  Fuck you.  Fuck you.  Fuck you...  Tears were itching to pour out.  Aiden didn't say anything about them.
"Carter, shut the fuck up!"
"Probably only moved cause he was in a crazy house.  They do that to them."
Just then opened the door, Ms. Gretyl stepping in from her private conversation.  The one that follows me wherever I go.  Where they reveal all secrets.  She knows.  "Excuse me!  Class, watch your langauge and get back to work!"
I'm all for being gay.  Don't get me wrong.  And I hate labels.  It's just that I know they want to hurt me, on my first few seconds here.
But the thing that bothered me most?  
They were right.
Labels suck kids.
© 2008 - 2024 GrayscalexBassGDMCR
Comments4
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Brought2youby's avatar
Damn. If I had nothing to lose, I'd honestly set that school on fire after my first day.

I like it, If you want, I can sketch your character :]