We question ourselves; we consider our souls to be nothing but demons unleashed and our mere skin and bones is nothing but a façade. Disguise. And when we put it like that, we realize the sad truth... that it is not us, it is not our souls, that are the demons. But it is them. The people who are 'superior' to the poor, the ugly, the intelligent, the freaks of nature.. at which point, one particular freak of nature asked oneself the question of who, who could have been so troubled, so drowned in their own puddle of misery, to create such freaks of nature? Well, nature is not the answer, oh no. For everyone is beautiful, yes, the girl with the gold framed, geek glasses, yes, the girl with the braces, yes the girl who's obese and sits in a puddle of her own flab, yes even the nerd guy who knows almost every answer to a gcse exam paper... we are all beautiful, are we not? Now, of course, there is/are only one person, or group of people, who would comprehend the truly beautiful people as the freaks, the inferior, unfortunate outcomes of nature. Flaws are considered as audacious and ugly. Define ugly. Ugly, the sort of word that moves with the times, just like trends. Fat people, in Africa during the 1920s were considered beautiful; the bigger you were, the more beautiful and attractive you would be to potential husbands. Long necked people in Jamaica were considered beautiful; the longer necked you were, the more beautiful and attractive you were. And now, well, what can I say? What has this society come to? Perfect eyebrows? Perfect skin? Perfect lips? A perfect bum? Perfect breasts? Perfect hair? Perfect, perfect, perfect... Why are flaws not beautiful anymore? Why?!
"Ciara Viola-Elson..." a deep, stern voice suddenly called, interrupting my little thought bubble.
Startled, I jumped and my pen rolled off the desk, to the floor, earning a snigger from the class. Pushing my glasses up on the bridge of my nose, I blushed and got up to retrieve my pen. Of course, my class were so rude that even the guy whom the pen was near (called Matt, short for Matthew), didn't even bother to pick it up even when I got there. I kneeled down underneath his desk to get the pen, and he nudged my head with his bony knee.
"Ouch!" I cried out, as I banged my head underneath the table. I heard a squelch noise, and almost retched with disgust. As unfunny as it was, the class burst out laughing and laughing and laughing. I breathed out as my fingers neared the pen, ready to grab it and run. One more second... Then the guy, who went by the name of Gabriel Evergs, stomped his foot down on my hand and I screamed with pain. I backed up with disgust and tried so hard to not let the unwelcome tears fall.
"What the-" Mr Riles, my dumbass of a teacher, exclaimed with confusion. His pot belly bulged out of his 2-sizes-too-small checkered shirt; a soft gleam of sweat was visible on his bald head. His glasses hung off his red, scrunched-up face.
Before I could reply, the a shrill, piercing noise was heard. The bell. Saved by the bell...
I watched Sir do the math in his head as he tried to figure out what was going on, and then I saw his perplexed expression feign into something that was a bit of anger and a bit of pissed off (annoyance would be the correct term). Around him though, the students instantly put their equipment, if that's what you could call it since it consisted of a rubbish, fading pen and most likely a pencil and a ruler that was used only to stab and prod people with, away and slung their bags over their backs. They were almost ready to leave but sir said, "stay seated. What just happened? Well, I'm sure the back row were not involved so you may leave," and he dismissed the back row because they're just the quiet ones who have some sort of so-called flaw that separates them from functioning a normal school life that would consist of friendship, relationships, drama and boring teachers dishing out detentions every week. You're probably thinking why I am not one of the back row people- that is because even though I am exactly the same as the people on the back row, I am stubborn, persuasive and confident. Not confident as in, oh, I'm gorgeous. All the boys think I'm just a walking version of sex, blah blah.. no, not that. Confident as in I am not afraid to speak out, I couldn't care less about what other people, the 'popular' kids think, I'm what I am and well, only God can judge.
I smiled then, because it reminded me of the song 'We Own It' by Wiz Khalifa and 2 Chainz, one of the lyrics are: I am whatever I am, only God can judge me now....
"What?!" Gabriel spluttered as Sir pointedly looked at him.
"What the- What did he do? Ask Ciara!" Matt interrupted, glaring at me. My expression remained blank and I tried to appear as unfazed.
"Yo Ci!" Gabriel tried to act all friendly with me, but I threw him a huge dirty look and he backed off with a face as though to surrender.
"Don't. Call. Me. Ci." I spat, through gritted teeth and with clenched fists.
"Or what?" he replied, trying to come across as cool.
"Oh, little Mummy's boy, who would've thought? Actin' like the hard man, sit back down." I retorted, fuming so much that you could practically see the steam coming out of my ears.
The class, idiotic as they are, all oooh-ed as Gabriel blushed and looked down for a split-two seconds.
"Shut it freak." Matt scoffed, walking up to me.
"Matt, sit dow-" Sir began but then Matt raised a hand as a polite gesture of Sir to shut the fuck up and he said, "oh, Sir, it'll only take a sec. That was my pen that fell actually, so Ciara, please, if you would?" and Matt held his hand out. He stood their patiently and I made no effort to even respond. He then came nose to nose with me, kneeling on his knees, and said loudly, "oi, four-eyes," and he then poked my glasses so that they nearly fell off as well as leaving a huge thumbprint on the lenses, "gimme the pen. An' I could make your life hell, so you better shut the hell up and stop tryna' act the 'ard man. Now, pass the pen." We both stared each other out, and my eyes were tearing up. I couldn't do it. I blinked and looked down with shame. He sniggered, then snatched the pen and walked away. He smiled sweetly to Sir, who looked a bit shocked but then a bit- no it couldn't be, could it? He looked scared.
"Sorry Sir. I got it now, continue," Matt flashed Sir a million-watt smile before sitting back down.
Sir cleared his throat, then smiled, "that's fine Matt. Okay." he glanced at his watch, "well, you can go." and he slumped down in his chair. The class rushed out and every person classed as a definite somebody all glared at me to the point that I just waited for them to leave. I was the last person in the class and was about to leave when Sir called me over. I looked at him patiently whilst I stood in front of him. He took a swig of water, put his feet up on the desk and swiveled round on his black chair to face me. A look full of concern. I sighed inwardly.
"Uh... Ci-sorry, I mean, Ciara," he corrected my name as he obviously remembered how I hated being called 'Ci' by strangers. Well, people who aren't my friends. "You can speak to me you know? I can help, with all this..." he waved his hands around the air to gesture that by 'this' he meant everything, "this... bullying and everything... It will remain confidential. And if necessary the said bullies can even get punished, well they will." He looked at me expectantly as though waiting for an answer. Then pure fury rushed through me and I didn't care at that moment what I was going to say, so I said it.
"What?!" I spluttered, furiously, "you know who the bullies are. You just saw it happen right in front of your eyes. And I fully well know that you, a what? Oh, fifty something old teacher heard the threats he made, yet, what? You did nothing? And now you're saying you can help me? No you can't! You couldn't even handle some in-class bullying, how the hell would you handle this? Don't make empty promises Sir. Because you're just going to give me hope and I will think that all this will get better and that I could even live my last few years of high school with peace and that I could be considered as cool and even a friend. But then that'll never happen and instead, it'll worsen. And thank you very much, but first of all, I don't wanna be them cliché bullying cases you hear about and I don't want pity and sympathy, and second of all, even I did want help, I would never accept the help of a teacher," I was raging that I didn't notice the door open and hear the footsteps, and I was turning red, and even sweating, "who can't even stick up for a student who's being bullied."
I met the angry gaze of a stern teacher, and gasped as I just realized what I just said and to whom I just said it to. Mr Riles, the deputy head.
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n. i quite liked this chap, hbu? vote, comment, the usual. hit me up through my inbox plss. bc i have no friends. jokes i do xxxxxx
do I? let's ask these lot >> sugardaddyniall unicornNJK kittengurl89 ???
btw Deniz Goksen is this Turkish youtuber and she's soooo tumblr, like goals af.
so Ciara is Deniz Goksen. and at this point of the story, she looks like this:
(that's her Instagram name^ and no copyright is intended from using that photo)
and that's what Ciara looks like, even the same glasses and stuff at this point of the novel.
k ily
-tan xx