Ficlets

Bathroom Stals and Frizzy Hair [Part 2]

Today, on this most calamitous day, I have lost. I now understand the writting on the bathroom stals. I now know what it is to truly regret. To be haunted with moments, with reality, with guilt.

Worst of all I know no being who can understand. No one who I can spew my misfortunes on; primaraly because the only one who can understand is sitting at his desk contemplating wether he should get the Epic body armer for his 70 Hunter. So now I am obliged to exasperate you kind people with my affliction.

I can no longer scavenge for petty excuces to barge into Ms.Simon’s (forgive my inability to do the appostrophy) 2nd period. I can no longer anticipate the bell at 2:30 or the 3 block walk, the phone calls every 5 seconds, the irritating questions, and the terribly frizzy hair. Things that at a certain point flush you with a sudden urge to throw an inanimate object, now are the things I yern for the most.

And now, in my tiny body of all 206 bones, i know what it is to have lost.

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