We had the strangest group on the 20th; it was hardly even a group, come to think of it. Our assignment was to read any book in the room for forty-five minutes.
"Surely they're joking?" Angella asked, taken aback.
"Nope, don't think they are," I responded with a sigh, grabbing a book called The Pigman by Paul Zindel. I read it in middle school but hardly remembered any of it four years later. I do remember it being quite a depressing book, though...
I sat down on the hospital's highly uncomfortable chairs and opened the book to the first page. Here is how the novel's first chapter (the oath doesn't count) starts.
Now, I don't like school, which you might say is one of the factors that got us involved with this old guy we nicknamed the Pigman. Actually, I hate school, but then again, most of the time, I hate everything.
That part made me burst out laughing because, for a second, it felt like Zindel had written the book about me. Especially that last line.
"What's so funny?" Stella asked, reading Black Beauty. That book makes me weep every time I read it because of the scenes of animal abuse. Horses are my second favorite animal after jaguars.
"Here, I'll show you," I said as I went over to show her
the intro. She didn't laugh as I did, but it got a small chuckle out of her.
"I think he just described every teenager in the world," she said with a tiny smile.
"Who did?" Angella asked, confused.
"Here," I said as I showed it to her. '
"I swear I've read this book before. Is that the one where they prank call people?" she asked curiously.
"Mhhm," I simply responded.
"I remember it cause I had to read it in the 8th grade. It made me cry," she said, shaking her head.
"I know something more depressing," Thomas said with a frown.
"And what would that be?" Devon asked.
"The Scarlet Ibis by James Hurst."
"That story made me cry for like an hour!" I exclaimed. I remember having to read it for my Freshman year of high school. It was one of the few stories from our textbook that weren't complete garbage.
We continued to read in silence, and the more I read the book, the less I was a part of this reality. The book was a black hole pulling me in. I became so detached from the world that I continued reading after our timer had rung. Why, you may ask? It's simple, really.
Reality is often disappointing.