wicked woman.
"I wish I was never born. I wish I wasn't born in this body. I wish my shoulders weren't so skinny. I wish my knees weren't shaped so freakishly on the sides. I wish I didn't have hip dips. I wish I didn't have freckles or this ginger hair. I wish my heart didn't ache with every emotion. I wish I was lovable. I wish I had somebody to love."
I'd recite that every single day and night hoping for something to change. Of course, nothing ever did change. Nobody interested me, and nobody was interested in me.
Today, I didn't recite it. It's the first day of my junior year. I don't want to get up. I really don't. Please, please don't make me. Please don't-
Loud knocking came from outside of my door and made me jump. "Robyn, I know you're awake. Get up." It was my dad. "Can I lay down for a few more minutes? I'll get ready quick-" He slammed his fist against my door to interrupt me. "This is why I told you to go to sleep earlier. Get the fuck up." I could hear the floorboards creaking as he walked away, then him plopping down on that broken leather recliner. He's the one who broke it, not me. Dick.
I sighed and sat up to stretch, immediately falling back down. I love when I stretch like this. Well, until I get a charlie horse. Ouch. I got out of bed and felt a bit dizzy.
I should probably drink more water, now that I think of it. Maybe my lips would be more moist. I hate that word. Moist. Moist lips. I'd like that word on another girl, though.
I grabbed my brush and began to run the bristles through my hair. Despite its color, I love how its wavy and curly texture balances out. It's lovely, isn't it? Especially my fringe. I might fall in love with myself.
I went into my bathroom and washed my face. My eyes feel so weird when I get water in them. It's like the water dries my eyes out. Doesn't water make things wet? I aspire to be like water. I don't wanna make someone's eyes wet, but other places are good.
Sitting back down at my desk, I applied my moisturizer. I won't hide my freckles this year, but only because it takes too much time. I applied my mascara slowly, both on my top and bottom lashes. I only put one or two coats because I already have long lashes. It's the only thing I like about my face aside from my eyes and lips. My nose is cute, but it's too small.
I smeared lip gloss on my lips and touched them to feel how smooth they were. I think I put too much. Oh, well, the more the merrier. So very merry. Shut up.
I slid my golden hoop earrings through my ears. I don't remember the last time I wore these. I should more, though.
"Robyn, hurry up. School starts in twenty minutes!" Dad yelled. My heart dropped like a rollercoaster. Why am I anxious? It only takes a few minutes to get to school. I hate emotions.
I dressed myself in my favorite sage green dress and my chunky brown socks. These converse are really beat up, but they'll have to do. I put my golden cross necklace that my dad makes me wear on and grabbed my bag. It has a few notebooks, pencils and brightly colored pens. This'll help with doodles. Well, preferably my notes that I won't take.
I went out into the living room and saw my dad drinking a beer while watching gold. Why do they play golf so early in the morning? Get a life.
"Are you gonna drive me?" I asked anxiously. "Ride the bike." He said, not even turning my way to speak to his own daughter. "Can you drive me tomorrow?"
"How many fucking questions are you gonna ask me? Can't you see I'm busy?" He exclaimed, turning his head towards me angrily. Busy? Sure, fuckface. "Fine." I said and slammed the house door by accident on the way out. I hurried onto my bike and peddled away so I didn't have to hear him yelling anymore.
Somehow, it was still dark. The street lights were still on. What little sun there was shined into my eye. I know I look good in the sun. It shows how amber my eyes are.
I continued down the street for a few minutes while breathing in the crisp air. Such a nice feeling in my lungs. I felt my boob because there was suddenly an itchy feeling in my lung. I have nice tits. Not too big, but they're decently sized.
I got to school and chained my bike up. I walked through the doors and smelled that new school smell. I love that smell but it gives me anxiety. We went and got my schedule a few days ago, so I think I have Algebra first. Great.
I took the first staircase by the door to the second floor. I had to stay in this class for study hall sometimes, so I know where it is. I hope Mr. Graves doesn't still teach in that class.
He does. I walked through the door and looked around the classroom. Travis used to pick on me here. God, he was hideous.
"Ms. Feyer! It's great to have you back. How's your summer been?" Mr. Graves asked and stuck out his hand. I smiled and shook his hand. "It's been eventful. I'm glad a teacher I know is my first period so it isn't awkward!" I was lying through my teeth. This is awkward.
"Your seat's over there in the row before the last one. The third one. Is that good?" I stared at him and at my seat, then back at him. "Yup, all good!" It was not all fucking good. I don't want that seat, but I know he won't change it.
I sat down at my seat and looked at my desk to see my name written beautifully in cursive. Robyn Feyer. That made me smile a little, seeing my name written so carefully yet in such a swift and violent motion. You can tell how quickly he wrote it, yet so very elegantly. What a sight.
I looked around at the other desks to see what kind of people they could be based off of their names. To my right, there was a Jennifer Jones. Jennifer Jones. I like that name. It's simple, but the first and last name complement each other. The way the J's have that little curl and how round the O is.
"Ya like it?" I heard a deep, raspy feminine voice booming down on me from above. I look up to see a medium-haired blondie who had a lovely color of pink at the tips of her hair. Her hazel eyes were staring into mine. The bridge of her nose was broad, and her cheeks were soft yet bold. She had a septum piercing and a lip piercing. Her lips were a light pink color which complimented her pale skin. Her lips were big. Moist lips. Oh, and she's tall.. she's fucking hot.
Her eyebrows raised and leaned in a little. "Anyone home?" I stuttered and blinked a bit. I could feel my face turning red. I fixed my posture and cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, I zoned out. I assume you're Jennifer?" I said. I'm so nervous.
"No need to be formal, weirdo!" She sat down in her chair. I looked at her outfit. Oh my.
She was wearing an opened brown flannel, a white tank top.. a tank top.. oh, I cannot look there. I continued looking down and saw she was wearing black, ripped cargo pants. She has the same shoes as me. Huh.
"You sure do zone out a lot. My name's, obviously, Jennifer, but I prefer Jenny." She stuck her hand out. What's with everyone wanting to shake my hand-
Oh. Her fingers are long. Her hand is so boney and big, and the rings she's wearing fit her outfit perfectly. My fucking god. I shook her hand and looked at her. She smiled at me and tightened her grip. Such a firm grasp. Oh, and her teeth. They're beautiful. They're so big and her canines are sharp. I bet it'd hurt if she bit me.
"Don't be shy, bro. I don't bite." I wish you did. "I'm not shy, just a little anxious. It's nice to meet you, Jenny. I'm Robyn." She scooted her chair over to my desk and read my nametag. "Ooo, Mr. Graves can make names look like art. Robyn Feyer. Niiice." She's so close. She smells amazing. The way my name rolls off her tongue is.. I can't even think of a word. Fuck.
"I was thinking the same. His handwriting is lovely." You're lovely.
"Right? Damn, I wanna write like that! Too bad this is a fucking math class. Having math first period is baaad luck." She said while scooting back to her desk.
"Wait, come back." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Okay, Ms. Needy." She said jokingly and scooted back. "I just can't hear very well." Is that really the best you could come up with? Fucking idiot. I hate you.
"I'm pretty loud, but I'll follow your orders, Ms. Needy." She said and tapped my desk in a rhythmatic way. Oooh, she's loud.
"What's your middle name?" She asked suddenly. "Mae." I said in a quiet voice. "Mae? Robyn Mae Feyer. That's a pretty name. Who the hell named you, I gotta meet 'em!" She said excitingly.
"What's your middle name?" I repeated her question in attept to change the subject. "Oh, it's fucking Mill. Weird ass name, huh?" She said and laughed, laying her head on my desk. "Jenny Mill Jones. Huh." I said approvingly. "Well, when you say my full name, it sounds better. Except when you say Jennifer Mill Jones. Sounds goofy." She's right. Why did she emphasize the "you", though? I guess she likes my voice. I like mine too, it's rather stern yet feminine.
But.. she's so close. I just met her, so why do I feel like this? She groaned and sat up, stretching her arms. Her legs and arms are so long. I poked her side. She jumped and giggled. Her laugh is adorable. She poked my cheek.
I'm smiling. I'm fucking smiling. "There's that smile! You're really pretty." My heart, oh, my poor heart. It hurts so bad. "You're pretty too-"
"Alright, class is starting, kids." Goddamnit. Jenny looked at Mr. Graves and scooted back to her desk. Her backpack is cool. It's the color of my dress, but more like a sack than a backpack. Huh. She opened it and looked at all the notebooks she brought. They were all different colors. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, and black. She chose the red one. Thank god.
I got out my red notebook and carefully wrote "Math" on the front with my red pen. She scribbed the same on hers aggressively with a black pen and underlined it a few times. She writes so fast, but her handwriting is.. fascinating. It's not messy, but it's edgy. I can't think of any other way to describe it.
"Copycat." She said and I looked at her. She was still looking at her notebook, but I think she can see me in the corner of her eye because now she's smiling. I immediately looked back at my notebook. "I don't know what you're talking about." I said sarcastically and smiled at my notebook. I heard her laugh lightly and she gently kicked my desk. I quickly turned my head towards her and she was holding in a laugh. We both giggled quietly.
"Ms. Feyer and Ms. Jones. Do I need to move you two already." We both looked up with blank stares. Everybody is looking at us, but I don't care. "No?" We said. He stared at us for a few seconds and sighed. "Okay. Anyways, we're starting class off with notes. Yes, it's the first day, but we have lots to learn." The whole class sighed but Jenny and I looked at each other trying not to laugh.
This is gonna be a good fucking year.
love and such
Why does everyone cling to love? Love is extremely subjective, in my opinion. Everyone has their own definition of love, despite there being a universal definition. For some, love could look like obsessiveness. For others, love could look like romantic dinners and cute picnic dates with a marriage down the road. Or, a best friend. All of these in some way are true. But is love real? How do we know what we feel is real? Are we real?
Reality is also subjective. Why does everybody believe in a higher power? Why do we need an explanation of why we are here? Our curiosity is never-ending. Our intelligence will be our downfall. We will never stop learning until our death. Personally, I don't believe in a higher power. A set of rules written in an old book does not explain our existence. We always need an explanation for something, but some things should remain unexplained and will remain so. We will never know until we are gone. We are simply organisms whose consciousness and deep emotion are a cursed blessing. Peace will never exist, and love will never be unconditional. Those who say the only unconditional love we will ever receive is from our parents are ignorant. From thousands, no, millions of cases of abuse and neglect, this can easily be proven wrong. We will never be loved our entire lives. Love does not exist. Yet we cling to it.
We cling to things we cannot have. We want things we will never have. Our curiosity is our driving motive. This intrigues me. Once we have those things, we want more. We are never satisfied. We are never happy. Satisfaction and happiness do not exist either. We do not exist. We are in a reality that does not exist. No reality is a reality. Yet, reality is reality because we believe so and we do exist. Life and death are contradictory. Life leads to death, so there is no life. Death leads to a new life, supposedly, so there is no death. Neither matter. It is an endless cycle of chemicals, senses, and experiences. It will never be real. For all we know, we live in a game. We live in a book. We live in a letter. We will never know. I hope we never know.
Is That You, Mother?
Mother has been away for some time now. I cannot frankly recall when she left, but I was rather glad when she did. She was an overbearing woman. Whenever she wanted something she would smack the wall with the butt of her cane, stirring up a cantankerous racket until her ungrateful demands were met.
BUNK! BUNK! BUNK!
Now it is just I alone in this old house, enjoying the peaceful bachelor life. Peaceful, until I heard that very sound mother would make from her bedroom.
BUNK! BUNK! BUNK!
I approached her door carefully. "Is that you, mother?" I stuttered. Slowly, I creaked the door open. There she was. The room was dark but I could make her out from the moonlight that shun through her window. My mother's decaying corpse laying in her bed as she once did, waiting to command me once more.
#horror #shortstory #flashfiction
Is That You, Mother?
Mother has been away for some time now. I cannot frankly recall when she left, but I was rather glad when she did. She was an overbearing woman. Whenever she wanted something she would smack the wall with the butt of her cane, stirring up a cantankerous racket until her ungrateful demands were met.
BUNK! BUNK! BUNK!
Now it is just I alone in this old house, enjoying the peaceful bachelor life. Peaceful, until I heard that very sound mother would make from her bedroom.
BUNK! BUNK! BUNK!
I approached her door carefully. "Is that you, mother?" I stuttered. Slowly, I creaked the door open. There she was. The room was dark but I could make her out from the moonlight that shun through her window. My mother's decaying corpse laying in her bed as she once did, waiting to command me once more.
#horror #shortstory #flashfiction
