M P 3

구

Immediately a white screen popped up exposing the same playlist that I had been so deliberately avoiding to listen to ever since I got it, and yet, it managed to last longer with me than I thought; and in a way I was satisfied that it did.

Because in a second strange way, I felt for certain that this inanimate object in my hand held the answers to my past.

[past]

(Y/n)'s pov:

The next morning I had awoken with my pillow wet from the tears that had rocked me to sleep the night before.

Some would simply see me as a crybaby who needed to grow a pair and go back to school as if nothing ever happened.

However, in all honesty, how can you do that when high school is as place swarming with beings seeking you out to deteriorate your mood?

Your so called friends weren't really your friends at all, but just people who were prioritizing their image before being an honest and understandable person.

(But not all of them are like that. There is actually people out there below the age of 18 who are mature, and are willing to understand where you're coming from. Whoever you are, bless your heart)

Which in my opinion is making our society as a whole, a lot worse than it should be. Personal image is more important than our own thoughts? Numbers define our importance? Age defines our wisdom? H-how is any of this okay?

But hey, I'm only an 18 year old senior who should know nothing as some adults still think being 'young' means still being numb to real world problems. Some really think this.

Too bad for them, they're really missing out on some great ideas and progressions our youth can bring to the table to better our future. Losers.

"(Y/n)! Aren't you waking up to go to school?" My mom calls out, as the heated argument in my mind comes to an end.

"Ugh," I groan. "Can I just stay home? Or maybe just transfer to a completely different school. Where no one knows me or my face," I silently whisper to myself, digging my face into my pillow.

Allowing myself some more sleep, I hear sudden footsteps approaching my room; and like any other teenager who didn't want to go to school, I quickly began making coughing noises as if I was about to die; along with a slight touch of sniffling.

The door to my room is then carefully opened by a woman in her mid-forties, who is cautious on making any loud noise with her heels as she makes her way towards me.

Although I refused looking at her (knowing if I did I wouldn't be able to lie), I could sense the worried look on her face as she approached the weak me who continued with the unrealistic coughs.

"Oh, honey. Are you not feeling well," my mother asks, feeling my forehead that would definitely tell her I was fine and simply being a lazy human being.

"No," I answer in a soft weak tone. "I feel like throwing up and everything hurts."

I cuddle myself more with the blankets, while my mom runs her tender fingers through my rough hair. "Well, if you feel that bad just stay here for today, okay?"

I internally celebrate my triumph, while on the outside I simply nod my head while softly shaking my body as if I were cold; which seals the deal feeling as my mom plants a kiss on my forehead.

She then fixes her suit, whispering a goodbye as she stands and exits my room; knowing she had to be at an early work meeting she couldn't miss.

I wait until I hear her car pull out of the driveway before taking the blankets off of me, and make my way towards the kitchen to see what I should prepare myself for breakfast.