02
Tangled FaithsThe familiar buzzing noise emitted from the vibrating of my phone, under the pillow my head rested upon, was being ignored. The second alarm, a noise that could be found the alarm signal of a sinking ship off of one of those military movies, was what actually awoken me from my deep slumber. A haze coated my eyes in a sudden blurriness that I had to rub them viciously for it to subside. My hands were searching for the snooze button on my cellphone once they came in contact with the cool screen. Rattling of clothe hangers from on the opposite wall could only mean that my alarm had woken Dohee up as well.
Is it cold today? I texted Dohee even though I could've simply stepped outside and walked to her bedroom. From the events that took place yesterday's evening, I aspired to avert from their presence to avoid anymore saddening memories to occur; the last thing I wanted today was begin my morning pondering on something that would wash over me with sorrow.
The cellphone that was being clutched in my hands vibrated several times before I checked them. They were all from Dohee.
Yeah and I'm sick. Please pick up my violin after school.
Typically once I received a text associating with someone becoming ill, I would immediatly dart to make sure of their condition, allowing them to exploit me to fulfill their needs. That was the type of person I could be described as; caring, thoughtful, concerning. Today I felt different, every other day would consist of myself prepping Dohee for school, aiding my mother with the dishes after finishing breakfast. I felt like I could rule the world, placing myself to fill in the spot as the queen and everyone else as peasant, but I knew that feeling was something only achieved by slipping in my headphones. Music was the only option I had available to rid myself of worries and useless lines from previous conversations. It refreshed my mind from the taunting the students inflicted upon me at school, the way they cackle when I passed by to retrieve a paper that I should've gotten at the beginning of class was erased from my mind. They were just faces with a heart of nobodies.
The school gates that entrapped us was basically useless once the druggies discovered a way to slip around the bushes, a way that could lead them on the far end of campus where it was under less surveillance. The concentration of the guards were surrounding the main entrance. I witnessed their plans when I was delivering a referral to the front office.
"Good morning," one of the teachers murmured as they slipped through a crowd of students who where consuming much of the space that could be used for students to arrive to their class. Those were the populars. They were updated with the latest trends such as new printings on their uncomfortable-looking clothing that hugged their waists more than needed. The shorts and skirts were basically classified as their undergarments, there was no use of clothing if they weren't going to conceal themselves. Myself, on the other hand, didn't spare a thought on what they were interested in, drugs, intimacy, and tattoos that coated their bodies and made them appear as a walking newspaper. I dressed myself in comfortable jeans, a school sweater that covered my long sleeved collared shirt, and boots that were somewhat trendy and still in style. I was after a more appropriate school appearance, professional and not exposing, they were our uniforms for this year. I wouldn't doubt it if I- including the students who obey the school's policy- would be the only ones that wore them.
I drifted into my way into the period that I despised the most out of all my classes; Language. The students in my classroom were brainless, I wouldn't be surprised if a box of rocks could outsmart them. The teacher, of course, noticed that I and two other students were the only ones that seemed to display some type of interest in the class. She kindly greeted us with warming smiles that I somewhat returned but lopsided. The late bell rang, leaving other classmates to attend the detention hall where they contacted their parents.
"Morning, class," she began. "How are you this morning?" Groans that originated from grumpy, sleep deprived students sounded throughout the entire classroom. I rolled my eyes in contrast.
"Teach," a boy about my age interrupted her. She paused her hand which was currently writing the agenda. "What's going to be on the test?"
If he paid any attention to what the teacher rambled about yesterday, his answer would've been already given to him. But who has the time to focus in a class that could aid one when picky careers require certain formalities that could only be spoken to each other of lower and higher rank?
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