High School for Me

Chapter 2

I inspect my sore knees and trace my nose. My nose is in a better condition than my knees. I sigh. Why me of all the people? No, I stop this thought from mounting inside me. No, Donatella. That's a thought that I shouldn't think of, self-pity isn't something that will get me anywhere. I picture someone else sitting in place of me. Reflecting on the embarrassing moment she would've just confronted. Even though I'm visualizing it, I feel sorry for that soul. This is bad, my head is baffling me! I decide to think of something else. Hmm.

I look at the road and the individuals in the cars surrounding the cab I'm sitting in. They must have their own, completely dissimilar lives. I do this often, so I start playing the game. I make up a life that the person in the car beside me must have. His father must be pleased by him, for he must be doing well in his academics. I judge him by his clothing style, his bright colored shirt. He must be a happy-going personality. Probably the comedian of his house. I smile at this thought, while my cab drives past his black car.

I continue playing this game until I reach my home and then pay the driver. I open the door to my home; my parents aren't going to come home until late evening. Which means I'm going to be all alone, with no one to talk to. I'm not in a mood to study right now so I climb the steps to my room. I dump my school bag in the isolated corner of my room. One of the four walls of my room is covered with posters of all kinds of musicians, while the wall opposite to is painted with stripes of different, bright and gloomy colors. 

I distinctively remember, when I started to crib that I wanted my room walls painted a different color. I was eleven that time and my parents told me that I could do it by myself. The idea of painting a wall by myself was exciting and so I decided to paint the walls with stripes of various colors. I remember getting so tired after painting one wall, that I decided to leave the other walls the color they were.

Adjacent to the colorful wall is a wall that has fairy lights stuck on it. Right below the fairy lights is my bed. The last wall is opposite to my bed and has the door with some paintings, poetry pieces, stories and other things by me stuck on it. You see, my room is very colorful. I, honestly, am colorful in the inside but I just don't like it displayed. It's my own little secret.

I go to the tiny room opposite my room, it's my study room with plain walls and a decorated and bright study table. I don't even need colors on the wall, the study table does all the work. My bedroom doesn't have a window and I know that's weird, but I like it that way. I think, I like staying in privacy in my room as though I'm hiding secrets. Again, this is also one of my character traits. I like this quality, though. It means I'm really, really good at keeping secrets and am, thus, trustworthy. But I never really got to put this quality of mine to test, as nobody really shares their secrets with me.

Anyway, I put these negative thoughts aside and go sit at my study table. I love writing in front of a lovely view. And so, I like a window in this room. The window's opposite to where the chair's set, so I can see the view while writing. While writing, I think I let every part of me out. That's why I don't mind a window because I am letting people know my secrets through my writings. I am letting out these secrets of mine using this literary window.

I read the words stuck on my study table, "I love Myself." I really do love myself. With this thought in my mind I write a poem. I spend about two hours writing it and simultaneously looking out the window, at the spellbinding view of the trees and plants with fruits that have been sowed in our yard. 

Right when I'm about to finish writing the poem's last line, the doorbell rings. I look at the clock on my right. My parents aren't expected to come so early. It's merely half past six. Skipping three steps at the end of the staircase and switching the lights of the house on as I go; I wonder who it might be. When my parents aren't at home, hardly anybody comes home. The obvious reason is that I don't have people who I invite for a cup of coffee and a chat, but my parents obviously do. While humming to a song, I approach the door. When I open the door, I am completely shocked by who I see. My mind goes blank and I think I might just puke.