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Stories under the Velvet Sky

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I am what I suppose you people would call a fickle being. My thoughts have very little basis upon reality, changing as quickly as the breeze does. One moment, I am perfectly sane, capable of coherent and understandable conversation. The next, the sentences I speak oft have no correlation, no rhyme or reason to speak of.

Like bacon.

Or squirrels.

Or squirrels and bacon.

For some reason, that sounds oddly appealing. Maybe I should try-

Mmmm, cookies.

Anyway, as I was saying; my mind changes quite often. There is hardly a time where I am completely focused on anything; always that niggling thought in the back of my mind that, when prompted, will interrupt with something that has absolutely nothing to do with the current topic.

Or occasionally, something that has everything to do with the topic, just not in the way that the innocent wish to hear.

Or teachers for that matter, teachers definitely do not want to hear what sort of dirty comparisons your mind has managed to come up with during a discussion. Oh, they know you’re thinking dirty thoughts when you snicker and chortle amongst your friends, but trust me; they hardly care for you to share those thoughts.

Fortunately for me, I’m no teacher. Just a simple-minded student doing simple-minded studies based off of math textbooks written by authors who should have never been allowed near a math textbook, much less a math classroom.

I don’t care what anyone says, “Discovering Algebra 2” by trying to force you to “discover” the concepts, by making you do silly exercises, and then never explaining exactly what it is you were supposed to learn is a terrible way to learn Algebra.

Back to the main idea; I’m a student in high school. High school is very, very boring.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be whiny or anything. It’s just that when you’ve spent the majority of your public education being told by educators that, the boys and girls who are bullying you psychologically into believing that you’re nothing but a worthless piece of shit, actually have crushes on you, it’s kind of hard to treat the system with any sort of dignity, much less enjoy the damn thing.

Yes, I’m sure Isabel has a huge crush on me, let’s get on with things. Are you going to ask her to leave me the hell alone, or will I have to get violent? Asked my little 3rd grade self, staring in the tiny bathroom mirror. My dirty blond hair was in cute little pigtails; my blue eyes were red from crying.

I was tired of asking for help from people who refused to do anything but the equivalent of a wag of the finger, “You shouldn’t do that!” they’d say admonishingly, staring with mild disapproval down at the whichever child had seen fit to bully me that day.

To truly get a grasp of the extent of torment I felt, imagine you are locked in a room with about thirty-two people. Now, these people are wary of you. You’re different from them, they don’t know how, and neither do you really. You want to be friends with them, but you’re different, you repulse them. They revile you, and honestly, don’t want anything to do with you.

Now imagine that, until you enter your sophomore year of high school, that’s how people treated you. Like garbage.

I’ve had my things stolen, been tripped by anonymous assholes, and told that I was worth nothing, that I was ugly, stupid, foolish.

But the worst thing I’ve ever been told wasn’t by my peers, wasn’t by my tormentors.

No, the worst thing I’ve ever been told was by the teachers and administrators of my schools. As I desperately looked for a solution, for an answer, they told me one thing over and over and over, in that same reassuring tone of voice, that same kind gaze. It was all the very same…

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