Omniscience

The Writing Retreat: Part One

There's one good thing about me, and that's writing.
With writing, I can make others feel things. I'm in control of the narrative. Should the long-lost father come back? I decide. Should the dead mother turn out to be perfectly fine? I. Decide.
Horror, fantasy, mystery, etc. Humanity took 26 letters and made thousands of words. With thousands of words, they made hundreds of different languages and millions of books.
It's freaking amazing.
And that's just the tip of the iceberg. There's so many more reasons why I love writing. With writing, people get to know you, only the parts you want, but still you. But if you write well enough, that you? It's great. Amazing.
You can have a whole identity when it comes to writing. I don't mean making your whole identity about writing, I mean writing in regards to your identity. What I mean to say is: your writing, and your tastes when it comes to writing, are as unique as a fingerprint.
There is no one exactly like you when it comes to writing.
                                     ***
A thing catapults at my head. I turn to look, only to catch an eyeful of grotesquely giggling faces. Ugh.
When I turn back, face flaming for absolutely no reason, the girl sitting beside me is looking at me. Staring at me, too be frank.
"What?" I snap. I don't want this.Why can't I keep my temper in check? But words are spilling out of my mouth, and I can't stop them. "Enjoying the show? As-" I stop myself just in time from swearing at the poor girl.
I turn back away, and I can hear her emit a sigh of relief. I hate this. Why can't I keep my temper in check?
Another girl is staring at me. This time, I manage to hold myself back, but just barely. What is it with the staring today?