Well, Bonsoir! this is a new thing i'm trying out, just to move away from the whole crazy demons, sex and blood thing for a little while. I've always wanted to write a student teacher thing, so, I have. It's nice to have a little bit of love in your life once in a while, you know? :)
SO, please vote and comment, because if you guys like it, i'll know whether to go on with it or not :)
P.S Isla is pronounce EYE-LA. For those of you who thought it would be IS-LA, shame on you... ;3
It had been another one of those days. The rain hammered down hard, everything had turned to mush underneath my feet; you couldn't swing a lock of hair without being caked head to foot in mud. I'd learned this lesson the hard way when I moved here, but have now thank fuck have brought myself an umbrella. Still, the wind blew like hell and my mood was no better.
In Caratelle, this was the norm. It hardly ever was dry, or much less warm. You'd expect France to be a beautiful place. Full of people on bikes in berets, with baguettes in the basket at the front. Instead, this tiny village in the north was almost always rained on, the houses were old and everyone knew everything about you within a second of you moving in. Everyone went to church on a Sunday, no one drank or smoked or ever indulged in something. The place was a grey pit of old fashioned stupidity, and I hated everything about it.
I'd lived here for five months and already I'd contemplated swimming back to England where people were civilized, and understood if you slammed the door in the face of some stupid ass preacher. The only reason I came here in the first place was because my mom and I felt bad for my grandma out here on her own in this hole of shit. Turned out, she loved it, just wanted us to keep her company, the old witch. Now I was stuck, wet, alone and so fucking bored.
My school was even worse. Caratelle had only one place of education, and that consisted of a small old building from the 30's, that still had old posters up from the war. I was one of fifteen students in the secondary school, and the primary had twenty eight. We had two classrooms, a hall that doubled as a lunch hall and a sports hall, and a little patch of concrete to play on. Everyone hated me there, or at least I thought they did; no one actually understood what I was saying anyway. They'd all been raised under God and church and all that, whereas I smoked on a regular basis, swear like a sailor and am about as polite as Osama Bin Laden. I wore make up and didn't bother trailing off to the services with my Nana and mom on a Sunday. They didn't exactly approve, but I never asked for approval anyway. So, whatever.
It had been another ridiculous day at Caratelle's Catholic Centre of Education (huh, ok, sure...) and it of course was raining like a motherfucker, and I was almost about to blow my fuse. The only bus that ran through the village to the outskirts was almost half an hour late, the bus shelter had a hole in it, and I could only stand in wet socks for so long before I started to eat my own feet. I was alone, and sure did feel it. Out of instinct to drown my sorrows, I pulled a cigarette from my coat pocket and lit up. I took a long drag, enjoying the flood of smoke at the back of my throat. It didn't matter that this was my eighth in one day, or that I was only fifteen, it still helped. Screw these bible bashers.
'You know, you really shouldn't smoke at your age. Bad for the lungs and all.' I jumped around, hearing this voice which was distinctly American. I wondered if I was going crazy and imagined it, but turning to my left I saw a man leaning against the old stone wall, a few suitcases at his feet. He had shaggy dark brown hair and stubble, with the brightest of blue eyes. He wore black jeans and a white shirt, looking around twenty five. 'Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.'
I coughed like a loon, having inhaled the smoke the wrong way and nearly choking. He raised his eyebrow as if to prove a point and I scowled at this rude, kind of hot, man. 'You know, you really shouldn't talk to strangers. Didn't your mother ever tell you that?' I say sarcastically, blowing smoke in his direction.
He grinned. 'Didn't your mother ever tell you not to give in to peer pressure?'
'uh uh, I'm not the one whose pressured. I'm the one who does the pressuring in the first place.' I say. It was true, at least. 'You new around here? Got to hand it to you, its nice to have someone who can actually understand me.'
|Evan Rachel Wood||as Isla Malone|
|Jared Leto||as Daniel|
|Cynthia Nixon||as Camille (isla's mom)|