Train tracks

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Most people have a 'safe' place. A place were you go to think, or to keep your mind off of something. A place that was kinda like a 'home a way from home'. Mine was the train tracks near my house. These train tracks were special to me. I spent more time here than I did at my actual house. I could walk for miles and not get lost, because they're tracks. A trail for me.
If you walk far enough there's a bridge. A bridge littered with graffiti and beer cans and cigarettes. This bridge was calming for me. I could sit there for hours and no one would find me. It's my little area, and I love it. I have etched thoughts, lyrics, and names into the wood of the bridge and no one knows it's my writing. No one knows this stuff is going on in my brain. They could read it and they wouldn't know who's thoughts they were. This writing could be from anyone. That's what I like. Being in the shadows, unnoticed, unheard. Its humbling, really. Everyone else is looking for their fifteen minutes of fame, while I'm just staying back.
It's better if less people know me, anyways. If I die I only want to effect a few people. Kurt Cobain was as famous as could be and people from all over the world still miss him. I don't want that to happen. I don't want people to remember me. Im not a good enough person for people to remember me.

The alarm clock next to my bed rang in my ear obnoxiously. I reached over to shut it off, rolling off of bed in the process. As I fell, I hit my eye on the corner of my bedside table, and hit the floor with a thud.
"Frick..." I mumbled as I picked myself up off the floor. I lazily stumbled over to my closet to pick out some clothes for the day. I ripped my black skinnies off of the hanger and slipped them on. I did the same with my 'Sex' shirt, but turned it inside out so I didn't get in trouble. I walked to my bathroom to brushed my teeth and combed my hair, slipping on my black Vans on the way. As I approached the mirror, I saw what had happened to my eye. The skin around my eye started to swell and turn a purplish-blue color. I poked it slightly and hissed. I continued to get ready, trying to ignore the pain in my eye.
I stumbled down the stairs and out the door, skipping breakfast. My walk to school was short, but I still left quite early. About five minutes later I approached hell. My high school was probably the worst high school in the world. It was similar to other high schools is some ways; crappy food, bullies, stuff like that. But what I really hated about this school was the teachers. The teachers at this school were mean and old, and seemed like they always had a stick up their ass. This school also lacked in the performing arts department as well. They had an art class and band. They didn't have choir, orchestra, or drama class, which was probably the worst thing they could ever do. And I have to live this hell. .


A/N: Idk what I think about this. I wrote this in an hour at 2am so it's probably shitty. Cover picture photography done by notgraceful_butterfly on instagram.

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