MMfff...

She was always a sort of a loner. Her kind didn’t really need the attention people try to provide her with, and/or the parties that they invite her in to be deemed normal or perhaps like the average kid in her school. The thing is, she doesn’t want to be one, and she finds the idea of doing something for the amusement of those around her while she sacrifices her perception of herself positively disgusting. Nobody really understood how someone as vibrant and dynamic as her could enjoy so much the seclusion that she carried around with her most of the time. April was much of an enigma to everybody as she was to herself.

The pen she had been holding for quite some time now hanged miserably just less than an inch from the empty piece of paper on the arm rest of her chair. The seemingly becoming more unintelligible sounds coming from the person who was talking in front of the room was beginning to irritate her nerves. Small beads of water started to form in her forehead and trickle down her eyebrows. She dabbed her right hand on it, the one she was holding the pen with then it resumed its position back to the empty piece of paper just waiting to be filled with words. She could not think of anything to write about, and this surprised her tremendously. On a typical day, she would have already finished with the task but this day the wind blew a different air. The professor continues to babble about how to make a great descriptive essay, and how to let people who read it remember what you wrote. He grounds out that `usually no matter how great the writing is or the story per say, the reader eventually forgets about it”. He revealed that he wanted his students to learn and know how to create prose that would stick to the minds of those who know how to read like sand on a wet surface.

Fuck… they lost my fucking jacket. What the freak! And I'm to blame? The gall!

--oOo--