Clueless

Chapter 1 ~ Journal Entry #1

Warning(s): Aggressive language, depressing themes, trigger warning, mild violence

Author’s Note: I kind of brainstormed this idea for a new fanfiction, circling around Zayn. I’m not going to tell you what it’s about, because I want it to be a surprise, but I’ll try to tell you as much as I can. Right now, I’m aiming to make most of the story from Zayn’s point of view. He’s going to be in a high school and yes, all the boys will be in this fanfiction, just not famous like they are today. I don’t really have a plan for this story, yet, but I have a beginning, and that’s what makes a story come to life — literally. So, without further adoo (Adew? Adu? Adue? I honestly have no idea how to spell that word), here is the first chapter of Clueless. Sit back, relax, and let your imagination wander…

Zayn’s POV

Journal Entry #1

13:00

May 3, 2013

Right now, I’m in a bathroom stall. Seems weird, I know, but it’s the only place I can really be alone and think about things I can never talk about. The floor isn’t sticky like the last time I was here, but the stench is way worse. It smells like someone peed on the floor, then let a few rats die in the yellow liquid. I don’t know how I came up with such a bizarre description of how bad it smells, but hey, a lot can happen when you’re sitting in a school restroom beside a toilet with a razor in front of you and a red pen in your hand.

 Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself, yet (not that you’ve noticed; you’re just a book with blank sheets of lined paper ready to be written on, mind you). I’m Zayn. Zayn Malik. My friends call me- well, actually, I don’t really have that many friends and there’s no point in lying to a book, so I’m just going to give you the straight-up truth. I’m sort of a loser in this hell hole called school. I sit alone at lunch, never get picked during gym class and get picked on by the jocks. The Disney Channel movies make it seem like a joke, but honestly, that’s as real as high school gets.

Why am I writing in you? Well, that’s a very good question (not that you can ask questions, you’re just a diary/journal/book thingy). I have many reasons, one being that I feel horrible, I feel like crying. I would never cry, though, because I don’t really cry; not that often, anyway. But when I say I feel horrible, I’m not lying. I actually feel like a piece of shit waiting to be flushed down the toilet. I figured maybe writing in a journal would make me less depressed and take my mind off things, like those theories say on the internet. Everything today has gone worse than it normally does, and that’s saying something. Like just a few minutes ago, I was on my way to class and Niall Horan came up to me. Niall’s a jock; he’s on the football team and has a new girlfriend everyday. He’s pretty fit, too (not that I’m gay, but you know what I mean), even though he has braces. Everyone in school used to think braces sucked before Niall got them, all transparent and ‘cute’ since he’s Irish and everything looks good on him. Now, a lot of people who don’t even need braces have them and personally, I feel sorry for their parents. Those metal train tracks probably cost a whole damn lot. Anyway, he came up to me and he had his other jock friends with him. I don’t quite know their names, but their probably as buff as he is, if not buffer. They were all glaring at me like I had done something wrong and I had to take a moment to think of the day’s events — I hadn’t even looked at them today, so I had no idea why they would be mad. I actually didn’t get enough time to ask them, because in no time, Niall had me up against the locker by my neck and his two other friends were laughing and throwing mean insults at me. They called me fat, a slut, stupid, bitch, cunt, pussy and any other horrible curse words you usually can’t find in the dictionary. Now, I’m not sure if Niall was on his guy period or something, but I couldn’t breath under the grip he had on my neck, and the next thing he said to me was just plain evil. He told me to kill myself. The guy actually looked me in the eyes and spat out the words, and his friends were still laughing. Like it was a joke. Well, let me tell you something, nobody should ever joke about such a thing. I mean, people can actually kill themselves from hearing that- not that I’m suicidal or anything.

Okay. Maybe I am. Maybe I hate myself, and my hair, and my eyes, and the way I laugh, and the way I think, and my shit life. Maybe I really do wanna die and I’ve tried before. But you’re just a journal and you don’t care, so I’ll just continue on with what happened.

After they spat all those insults at me and my lungs nearly closed, they let go and hurried off to their class. There were still no teachers monitoring the hallways, so I did what any normal human being would do after being nearly choked to death; I slid down onto my bum on the floor and panted to catch my breath. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would and thinking back now, I don’t really know why I had been so surprised that it did. I’m a really good athlete and most parts of my body are pretty healthy (including my sick abs — they’re like bricks in my skin, I swear), so I should have saw that coming.

Now, I know what you’re thinking — Oh, Zayn, if you have rock hard abs and probably awesome muscles, why didn’t you just fight back? Well, I’m flattered, but I’m not really the type of guy to start a fist fight. I mean, I know if I had hit him, technically, he would have been the one who started it, but still. I don’t know the guy well enough to judge and he is way buffer than me (no matter how much I hate to admit that), plus, he’s two years older. I’m only in my second year, he’s in his fourth. He could beat me to a pulp in 0.9 seconds if he really tried.

Gosh, all this writing about how he could beat me up is making me really depressed. I just remembered I have a razor and it’s just sitting on the floor. It looks lonely and its edge is shining with an unknown light. I gotta do this. Don’t worry, I’ll try not to stain your pages.

-Z

End of chapter one