My head rested on my brown ski mask and my gloves, made of leather, clenched with my fists. Cat looked at me and I at his similarly disguised face and hands. “Ready?” I adjusted the collar on my trench coat. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Cat took out his knife. I mirrored him, taking out my own knife, and we entered the convenience store.Cat picked up a box of cigarettes and approached the register. With my fingers holding miy knife still and ready in my pocket, I circled to the other side of the register and grabbed the clerk. As I held my knife still a centimeter from his neck, Cat dug through the cash register and poured cash into a draw string bag. When the register was empty, he threw in a couple boxes of cigarettes. “Le’s get outa here.” Cat pulled the bag closed and slung it onto his back. “Comin’.” I hit the clerk hard in the back with my knee and ran out of the store while he barely breathed upon the ground.
This isn't the first time she's kicked me out. It's not my fault she has a drinking problem and dad wants to divorce her and take me with him. I would gladly go with my father. What could my mom do for me. She only married my dad for his money. She doesn't even have a job. I took out my phone and called my dad to tell him what happened. I went over to my unicycle and rode to Starbucks. My dad said he'll get me my own car when I get my drivers license.
Emilia, I am happy that this story is far removed from your real experiences. I would imagine you have a great relationship with your parents. I am a bit disappointed that you don't really know how to ride a unicycle, though!
Nothing happened. I just stood there, waiting for something to happen.
My parents said I was the perfect child. I was born on the perfect day at the perfect time with no blemishes. They said I matured much more rapidly than most kids my age. I scoffed at the thought of having a disorder such as autism. After all, I was the perfect kid. I got along with my siblings well. No one made fun of me in elementary school. In fact, mostly everybody looked up to me. They must've thought I was some sort of religious person. Some of my friends made me go to this place called church. I'll go sometimes if they force me, but I don't think it's healthy to worship a god that you can't see. My life is doing well on its own. I don't need anybody else. In middle school, random people came up to me, praising me for how great I was. I guess it was the fact that I looked like the guys on TV, on the magazines, in the movies. I automatically fit in. Eighth grade graduation was okay, I guess. High school was the high point of my life. I was so focused on getting a good education that I shut down my social life. I joined band and choir and stuff like that, without the intention to make friends. Friendships were inferior to me. But it didn't matter. I was still important, still perfect. Perfect enough to become one of the biggest tycoons of the twenty-first century. My salary was so enormous that the nation's debt hit an all-time low. The Supreme Court ruled that I was too selfish. Too greedy. Too perfect. They put me in cuffs - for being perfect - and placed me behind bars. I was lucky enough to escape. Yet home was the place I did not want to run to.
Now here I am. Standing at the edge of a bridge. Wondering why there's so much imperfection in this world. The adrenaline kicks in. I prepare to jump. Then I realize, I'm too perfect to die. I pull myself back onto the top of the bridge. A crowd of hundreds faces me. A news crew comes up to me and interviews me. "Why didn't you jump and end your life?' one reporter asks. I simply reply, "I'm too perfect to die." The cameramen zoom up on my face. The little girls on the street sigh in awe of me. The police track me down once again. The whole world follows me until I reach my house and slam the door in their faces. The doors locks with a great around of reverb. I'm home. I light a candle, serve myself some tea, and sit in the comfiest chair in my mansion. Their big world is marked with flaws. But my own little world is perfect. And that's how it should remain.
She rolls down the window of her red Subaru and flicks her cigarette as she pulls into a parking spot outside of school. She checks her brown pixie cut hair in the mirror and loves the way puberty made her face pleasantly plump. She opens the door and scoffs at the girl with the blonde hair in her green mustang blasting country music. She puts in her headphones and turns on the Beatles album Abbey Road, turning up the volume as she walks into school. As she passes teachers and classmates she smiles big and makes sure to politely say hello. She reaches her locker, and as usual it is unlocked. When she opens it everything falls out. She panics because she can't seem to find her grandfathers autographed copy of On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. The book she reads then rereads to backup any argument made by any Bible-thumping Christian willing to attack her non beliefs. What she picks up instead is an old book of poetry given to her by her ex-girlfriend who moved to California last summer. She sighs as she tosses the book back into her locker. She hears the bell ring, already knowing she'd be late to class, she picks up her saxaphone case and heads off to band class.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteMy head rested on my brown ski mask and my gloves, made of leather, clenched with my fists. Cat looked at me and I at his similarly disguised face and hands.
ReplyDelete“Ready?” I adjusted the collar on my trench coat.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” Cat took out his knife.
I mirrored him, taking out my own knife, and we entered the convenience store.Cat picked up a box of cigarettes and approached the register. With my fingers holding miy knife still and ready in my pocket, I circled to the other side of the register and grabbed the clerk. As I held my knife still a centimeter from his neck, Cat dug through the cash register and poured cash into a draw string bag. When the register was empty, he threw in a couple boxes of cigarettes.
“Le’s get outa here.” Cat pulled the bag closed and slung it onto his back.
“Comin’.” I hit the clerk hard in the back with my knee and ran out of the store while he barely breathed upon the ground.
Yikes! Well, I suppose I should be reassured that you are very far removed from this character! Thanks for sharing.
Delete"Fine Mom!", I said storming out of the house.
ReplyDeleteThis isn't the first time she's kicked me out. It's not my fault she has a drinking problem and dad wants to divorce her and take me with him. I would gladly go with my father. What could my mom do for me. She only married my dad for his money. She doesn't even have a job. I took out my phone and called my dad to tell him what happened. I went over to my unicycle and rode to Starbucks. My dad said he'll get me my own car when I get my drivers license.
Emilia, I am happy that this story is far removed from your real experiences. I would imagine you have a great relationship with your parents. I am a bit disappointed that you don't really know how to ride a unicycle, though!
DeleteNothing happened. I just stood there, waiting for something to happen.
ReplyDeleteMy parents said I was the perfect child. I was born on the perfect day at the perfect time with no blemishes. They said I matured much more rapidly than most kids my age. I scoffed at the thought of having a disorder such as autism. After all, I was the perfect kid. I got along with my siblings well. No one made fun of me in elementary school. In fact, mostly everybody looked up to me. They must've thought I was some sort of religious person. Some of my friends made me go to this place called church. I'll go sometimes if they force me, but I don't think it's healthy to worship a god that you can't see. My life is doing well on its own. I don't need anybody else. In middle school, random people came up to me, praising me for how great I was. I guess it was the fact that I looked like the guys on TV, on the magazines, in the movies. I automatically fit in. Eighth grade graduation was okay, I guess. High school was the high point of my life. I was so focused on getting a good education that I shut down my social life. I joined band and choir and stuff like that, without the intention to make friends. Friendships were inferior to me. But it didn't matter. I was still important, still perfect. Perfect enough to become one of the biggest tycoons of the twenty-first century. My salary was so enormous that the nation's debt hit an all-time low. The Supreme Court ruled that I was too selfish. Too greedy. Too perfect. They put me in cuffs - for being perfect - and placed me behind bars. I was lucky enough to escape. Yet home was the place I did not want to run to.
Now here I am. Standing at the edge of a bridge. Wondering why there's so much imperfection in this world. The adrenaline kicks in. I prepare to jump. Then I realize, I'm too perfect to die. I pull myself back onto the top of the bridge. A crowd of hundreds faces me. A news crew comes up to me and interviews me. "Why didn't you jump and end your life?' one reporter asks. I simply reply, "I'm too perfect to die." The cameramen zoom up on my face. The little girls on the street sigh in awe of me. The police track me down once again. The whole world follows me until I reach my house and slam the door in their faces. The doors locks with a great around of reverb. I'm home. I light a candle, serve myself some tea, and sit in the comfiest chair in my mansion. Their big world is marked with flaws. But my own little world is perfect. And that's how it should remain.
Sorry, that should be "The door locks with a great amount of reverb."
DeleteShe rolls down the window of her red Subaru and flicks her cigarette as she pulls into a parking spot outside of school. She checks her brown pixie cut hair in the mirror and loves the way puberty made her face pleasantly plump. She opens the door and scoffs at the girl with the blonde hair in her green mustang blasting country music. She puts in her headphones and turns on the Beatles album Abbey Road, turning up the volume as she walks into school. As she passes teachers and classmates she smiles big and makes sure to politely say hello. She reaches her locker, and as usual it is unlocked. When she opens it everything falls out. She panics because she can't seem to find her grandfathers autographed copy of On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. The book she reads then rereads to backup any argument made by any Bible-thumping Christian willing to attack her non beliefs. What she picks up instead is an old book of poetry given to her by her ex-girlfriend who moved to California last summer. She sighs as she tosses the book back into her locker. She hears the bell ring, already knowing she'd be late to class, she picks up her saxaphone case and heads off to band class.
ReplyDelete