A Form Of A True Story- The Loan One

May 20, 2012
By Anonymous

Sunlight filters through my room. You can see the little puffs of dust float through the rays emerging from my window sill like moths to a light. My feet dangle off my bed and my toes barely touch the rough carpet on the floor. The closet’s door is ajar just the slightest, the drawers in my dresser are neatly tucked in, my desk in the corner of my room is a tragic catastrophe. I grip the edge of my bed, the soft, warm comforter merging into the shape of my hands. I start to swing my feet a little, feeling like a little kid again.

School was canceled last night because of the blizzard that had hit us yesterday. I smile and hop off the edge of my bed and walk across my small room to the door. I gently open it, afraid I might wake my mother. My dad works night shifts at a machinery downtown and is only home about six hours a day. My pug, Jake, walks up to my door and sits right in front of me.
“Shh…” I hissed at him as quietly as I possibly could. He cocked his head at me, confusedly, and let his slobbery tongue hang out of his mouth. His big, warm chocolate eyes stare back up at me with a smile in his eyes and I can’t help but smile down at the little bunch of love and fur at my feet. I bend down and pat the top of his head very lightly.
“Good boy. Go uh…eat or something.” He heard ‘food’ and sprinted, well, for a pug, and skidded to a stop right in front of his food bowl. He plunged his face into the bowl and began munching away at the dry food piled high in the steel container. I opened my door wider and stepped into my hallway and shut my door as quietly as I could. I gave a sigh of relief and walked into the bathroom to well… get ready for a do-nothing-at-all kind of day.
I pull open my drawer and snatch up my black liquid eyeliner and mascara. I always put on so much eyeliner that I look like an Egyptian. That’s how I like it. I wear so much mascara that my top lid almost feels top-heavy. I’m a normal stand-out at school and I don’t really belong to a “Group”. I have my own Group. I’m labeled “Goth”, “Emo”, “Loaner”, Etc. But, I’m a weird kind of Gothic-Person. I still like to laugh –sometimes –, and smile—somewhat—but still, I wear black. I listen to Screamo.( Ya, I’m not afraid to admit that my favorite bands are Asking Alexandria and Sleeping With Sirens!)

I also tend to avoid everyone at school. Besides my friends. My friends are in Band and Chorus. So am I. Weird, right? A Goth in Band and Chorus? Not something you see every day. But, trust me, weirder things happen at my school. The tables at my school for lunch have 8 seats. My friends and me can’t even fill all of them. We fill about 6 all-together. Some of my other friends sit at other tables just because they don’t like the friends that I sit with… Joyful, right?

My other friends are just like me, though. They listen to the same music as me, dress in dark colors like me, even wear the same styles of make-up as me! Ok, that’s a lie. Only one of my friends does those things. Everyone else are jocks. Popular. The ones that will be labeled “Most Likely To Become Famous” or “Most Likely To Succeed” in high school yearbooks. Every day, I’m just another loaner at school. Stick around for my story if you want to…

The author's comments:
I was inspired to write this piece from myself actually. I use writing stories to help me deal with the things I have to deal with at school because of the way I dress and look. I'm no different from anyone else. What matters is on the inside, not the outside.

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