ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
May 16, 2013
In Which Middle School is Hell is a trip into ~Melpyra's psyche, capable of making any reader sympathize easily with her suffering, carried out by wonderful narration and humanity, says the suggester.
Featured by Nichrysalis
Suggested by Clockchat
Literature Text
I can still remember with perfect clarity the day in eighth grade when a boy walked up to me at my locker and said, “Hey cutie.” I was sweaty, having just come from gym class, and I was only at my locker to buy some time before I had to go to math class where the teacher hated me and the numbers didn’t make any sense. But there was a boy standing next to me and he called me cute and I had no idea what to say. As it turned out I didn’t have to say anything because the girl he was with just laughed, a cut off cackle into the oversized purse she was fishing through. I turned back to my locker, not saying a word because I was out of my depth and trying to ignore the world.
Either ignorant to the fact that I was still within earshot or apathetic about the whole situation, the girl pressed the boy for answers. “Why would you say that?”
“Fat chicks need love too.”
The words were mocking, insincere, and they burned through my body like a poison. I didn't ask for this; I was just standing at my locker so that I didn’t have to go to a class where the teacher lied to my mother about me and made me feel inadequate on a daily basis. I was standing at my locker because all I could think about was that my dad was in the hospital for the third time in two years and he was probably in surgery by now. I was standing at my locker because I had just come from gym class and I didn’t know if I could take another day of the teacher ignoring how the athletic girls mistreated the rest of us. But now I was standing at my locker because some fourteen year old angel of the fucking lord had decided to grace me with his all-inclusive love.
Quietly, I closed my locker door and sped down the hall to my math class. I had a test to take, a test that I knew I wasn’t going to be ready for because my mind was completely blank. I thought of nothing as I pushed my way into the classroom, trying to inconspicuously wipe tears from my eyes. But I was still burning inside and now the fire was pushing out, leaking from me, clawing its way out of my eyes so that it could glow on the surface of my face. I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Either ignorant to the fact that I was still within earshot or apathetic about the whole situation, the girl pressed the boy for answers. “Why would you say that?”
“Fat chicks need love too.”
The words were mocking, insincere, and they burned through my body like a poison. I didn't ask for this; I was just standing at my locker so that I didn’t have to go to a class where the teacher lied to my mother about me and made me feel inadequate on a daily basis. I was standing at my locker because all I could think about was that my dad was in the hospital for the third time in two years and he was probably in surgery by now. I was standing at my locker because I had just come from gym class and I didn’t know if I could take another day of the teacher ignoring how the athletic girls mistreated the rest of us. But now I was standing at my locker because some fourteen year old angel of the fucking lord had decided to grace me with his all-inclusive love.
Quietly, I closed my locker door and sped down the hall to my math class. I had a test to take, a test that I knew I wasn’t going to be ready for because my mind was completely blank. I thought of nothing as I pushed my way into the classroom, trying to inconspicuously wipe tears from my eyes. But I was still burning inside and now the fire was pushing out, leaking from me, clawing its way out of my eyes so that it could glow on the surface of my face. I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Literature
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
When I was little, it use to amaze me how colors were made. In art class I would sit and mix paint because blue and red didn't stay the same when they fell in love. Every single color found its match and danced beautifully as I swirled them together. Black and white were my favorites. I'd pour the creamy paint into a bowl and watch as black and white swirls, turned into grey swirls and owned the container holding it captive. Grey was amazing to me. Because black and white are nothing alike, and grey is in the middle. Black is dark and scary and demanding. And white is graceful, and trusting, and clean. Grey is nothing. Grey is bland. And safe
Literature
Disposophobia
Disposophobia
She had always kept everything. Ticket stubs, receipts, the torn-off edges of notebook paper. Any doodles or scribbled ideas, and any note afforded her by a friend were kept and saved. Not everything received the honor, but particular things from specific events did. She wanted to keep track of each and every thing she had ever done. She did so, on a corkboard encircling her room from floor to ceiling; each day had its spot, and one could trace her life along the wall with the zigzagging strings of yarn that connected each day.
She didn't often invite others into her room, for fear they might displace something, either by
Literature
How to Sleep and Never Wake Up
The year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up.
That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes.
That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few da
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
I want to thank everyone who has liked, favorited, commented, and just generally shown support for me in the past week or so since I received a Daily Deviation. I don't have internet at home, so it took me quite by surprise to see over 500 messages for me in my inbox when I did manage to get online. Reading your thoughts and stories has been one of the most touching experiences I've had thus far. So thank you so, so much. I can't even begin to express how much you all mean to me.
© 2013 - 2024 Melpyra
Comments144
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Very relatable