Look 'bad luck' up in the dictionary. Go on. We'll wait. See there? That picture of an awkward college student tripping over his own feet? That's Peter Parker. He's majoring in chemical engineering, and by some stroke of (you guessed it) bad luck, t...
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Annabelle tapped her short fingernails against the college desk and stared out the window; awaiting the arrival of their literacy professor. She had always disliked mornings, it was too responsible a time, with the daylight demanding that it be 'faced' and with the sun already up and in charge of the world, with little hope of anyone usurping or challenging its authority. She spotted someone slumping out of their home nearby; a shot of light attacked the face of the poor waking human being, as yet another slave limped wounded into the light-occupied territory.
What irritated her most of all about these mornings were the people that actually enjoyed them. There were at least ten of them in her class right now that were in horribly good temper, as if they had been up for three hours and already conquered France or something.
Annabelle pouted and tried to direct her eyes away from the sun. Instead, she grabbed a permanent marker from her pencil case (she was the only one in college that still seemed to have one) and started drawing on her hand. She drew a dog, a halo-wearing heart, then she simply settled for colouring her nails with the marker. By the time the teacher had shown up, Annabelle had run out of room on her hand and moved further up.
The thick black ink clashed with her skin, covering the small red dots that littered her arm. These flawed spots were a little thing that the doctors liked to call 'Keratosis Pilaris', or Annabelle's preferred term, 'Chicken skin'. Don't worry, this didn't mean that she was turning into a chicken...though that would certainly suit the terribly ridiculous nature of this story. In all honesty, Annabelle didn't know much about it; only that it was a fairly common skin condition that caused tiny little red spots that kind of resembled goosebumps. Only, they were permanently dotting her skin like dozens of tightly-knit constellations.
As a kid it had bothered her. She constantly wore jackets just to hide it from people...then she realised that no one cared. She realised that she didn't care either. Actually, the redness kind of resembled a very minor sunburn, and she always thought that sunburns were kind of pretty...was that weird?
There was a loud bang that echoed through the room like a gunshot. All eyes in the classroom turned towards the door where Peter Parker was clumsily staggering in. He mumbled about a dozen apologies before tripping into an empty chair, making yet another piercing thud.
The professor rolled his eyes before continuing with the lesson. This time Annabelle actually started paying attention. "As I was saying, we'll be moving onto poetry next week. As a starting point, I want all of you to bring in your favourite poem or one that you believe was influential at the time it was written. If you don't have one, find one."
Annabelle's heart sang. She had always loved poetry, perhaps in a similar way that she adored literature (though she preferred books written before the 19th century). Her mind sorted through hundreds of files, analysing each folder in search of an appropriate poem. Should she choose The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus? Or maybe Daffodils by William Wordsworth? She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron was certainly on the list, but as was almost everything that Edgar Allen Poe had written, after all, he was her absolute favourite.
