𝐢 𝐝𝐨 ; s.c.

𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚘

ellie laid on her bed, cracking her knuckles and noticing how weak her fingers felt. she observed the way they trembled, the broken rays of moonlight seeping through the blinds, accentuating her quaking hands. was her body struggling because she didn't sleep? she knew that if it could, it would scream at her to take care of herself better, but her brain hushes it all up. her brain is the one in control.

so instead, her bones and muscles and nerves find another way to tell her.

pain.

and now, they weren't completely silenced; they were just being talked over. ignored.

she sat up and opened her bedroom door slowly, trying to prevent any creaking it would cause. she didn't want to wake two-bit or her mother.

she quietly tiptoed to the kitchen, opening the friends and rummaging in there for something quick to eat. she decided an apple would suffice, and after running it under warm water, she went back to her room as quickly as she could.

the ate the apple and felt the wobbly sensation in her limbs fade away, not completely, but enough to satisfy her. she looked out of her window, her face illuminated with raindrop-shaped shadows sprinkled over her face.

she smiled to herself, the rain was her rock.

she closed her curtain and sat at her desk, gingerly placing leslie gore's "misty" on her record player.

with her soft, delicate voice filling the room, ellie opened her notebook and flipped to a blank page. she tapped the eraser of her pencil against her cheek absently, staring at the lines going across the paper.

they look like prison cell bars, she thought as she placed the tip of her pencil upon the flimsy material.

some little thing in one world can be everything in another.

it didn't matter that two-bit hated their dad, his opinion wasn't hers. it didn't matter that socs and greasers hated each other, ellie's best friend was a soc. it did not matter that the gang took every statement they were told with a grain of salt and that ellie had those words stuck onto her like glue for years to come.

unless you're truly making a difference with your statements, they're irrelevant to everybody but you. how could you achieve that if you can't state your statements?

the fear of being shunned for your thoughts is ever present.

what was holding her back was the repercussion that was inevitable. there's always going to be someone that had a counter argument, and just will not let up, no matter how wrong they are, until you admit they are correct.

ellie wasn't one for arguing or confrontation, and when she did find herself in the middle of one, she wanted to just let up and say they were right, cause it was easier that way. but she had more dignity than that. she grew up around people like steve randle and dallas winston, and if they weren't an example of dogmatic and cocky, then there was no real definition.

how do you impact others when you don't know how to impact yourself?

after all, ellie didn't want to be a hypocrite. if she was afraid of standing up for herself, why would she encourage other meek girls to do so? if she couldn't convince herself, there's no way she would be able to persuade anyone else.

she placed her pencil down and stretched her sore fingers. for some unfathomable reason, they were more prone to aching now. it never stopped her from emptying her cognizances into her journal, wearing each page thin with how much lead covered the white. she'd rather this book carry them than her; it was much less burdening.