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The Last Moments of Color

Sleep.
My body craves it
But my head denies it.

“Only eleven more problems.”
“Only nine more problems.”
“Only five more problems.”
On my Physics…but then I have Pre-Calc to do

I look at the clock.
It reads 11:57
Well, I should be in bed before 3 AM, which is better than last night…


I never would have guessed that these would be the last moments before the day that would change my life.


My alarm goes off at 6:02 exactly.
I’m supposed to get up at 6:00 but I decided to be rebellious when I set my alarm.
I roll out of bed. It’s a typical Wednesday morning.
I use the bathroom and then go into my room to get changed, moving around like I just rose from the dead.
I don’t feel too much, except the urge to get back into bed.

I get dressed and grab a muffin to eat. It’s blueberry like usual.
I stand out and wait for the bus, shivering in the cold November winds. I make a mental note to dress warmer knowing I’ll probably forget.
The bus comes between 6:52 and 6:55 every morning and today was no exception. I was picked up at 6:54 and since I am one of the last stops, I was forced to sit next to this scared 6th grade girl. I feel like I scare her more because I’m in high school but I can’t help that. I don’t want to scare her more by talking to her so I sit through the rest of the bus ride in an awkward silence. It’s my typical bus ride.
In this awkward bus ride, I remember that today’s some stupid school holiday that’s just a fundraiser for some club. I don’t even remember; I don’t even care! It’s a flower holiday, I think. I’m pretty sure that the boy buys flowers from the conveniently located flower station in the lobby and give them to a girl he likes. I only remember this because some of the populars are talking in the next seat, in their prissy accents, how their superficial boyfriends better buy them flowers. It makes my blood boil to listen to them push the boys around like that. Who are they to do something like that? It’s the most superficial idea I have ever heard of but then again both them and their so-called perfect boyfriends are close to flunking right out of school. That makes me feel a bit better to know that hopefully I won’t have to listen to this incessant ranting for much longer.
I know you think I’m being too hard on these girls but it’s ruining my mornings to listen to their gossip day after day after day. I’m truthfully considering bringing duck tape on the bus with me just to shut them up.
But just when I’m about to lose my temper at them, the bus arrives at school. My converse squeak when I’m walking on the almost perfectly white lobby floors. I have no idea how they keep the floors so…white. I patiently wait in the lobby, brushing off the idea of the flower sales. I don’t care about them nor do I expect to get any flowers. I don’t have a boyfriend, so why should I expect any flowers. I’m just the outcast tomboy nerd. I goof around with my friends while I’m counting off the minutes until I can get to my locker. I’m sick of carrying around all of these textbooks; it’s not fair that I have to keep it strapped to my back for an extra 10 minutes. It’s 7:19; I only have six more minutes left before I can leave to go to my locker. I’ve already given up holding my backpack by this point, like usual, ; I like to have feeling left in my arm by 1st period.
At exactly 7:19, he walks up to me with his single rose. I sigh. I really can’t deal with Joe right now. It’s not my fault I have a crazy ex, right? I don’t think so. I didn’t drive him over the deep end and it’s not even like I broke up with him. He broke up with me, so it’s completely his fault that he’s insane.
He comes soundlessly across the white tiles, grinning and holding that flower. I’m concerned who the next victim in his vicious cycle is going to be. I want, no I need to know who that flower is for. He’s going to hurt another girl, drive her to the point she has no boundaries and leave her in the dust for any boy who needs some “extra action” to pick her up. When he gets bored, he comes back but then leaves her just as fast as he came. He drives these girls to insanity. He’s been going after my friends. I need to know who that flower is for.
I discreetly watch him. At least I hope it’s discreet. He doesn’t stop and he doesn’t turn to go in another direction with that flower. That means he’s headed for one of my closest friends. I would die before that would happen. He keeps that innocent looking grin on his face but I know that monster behind the grin. I know!
He keeps walking across the white tiles to me and hands me the rose soundlessly. I’m in complete shock and so are the people around me. No one ever expected he would come over and make a sexual move on me when he has all of those harassment charges built up around him. I think I am the most surprised.
I mange to stammer, “I…I can’t take this.”
He asks me why not.
“I just can’t! After everything, how dare you try and make a move on me! No! Never! You have better luck with one of those dogs you adore!”
I throw the flower at him. I don’t quite know what happens next. Suddenly he’s screaming. I can’t make out what he’s saying. All I can see is the knife. Shinning in his hands. I’m petrified in fear.
The next thing I know my wrist hurts a lot and he’s rubbing our two wrists together. I’m really confused. I seriously don’t know what his plan is. He pulls his wrist away and I can see there’s a lot of blood coming from both of our wrists. Now, I’m even more confused.
Why is he doing this?
How was he able to cut my wrist without my knowledge?
He begins to take the mixed blood and writing on the floor. I’m not paying attention because I feel light headed. The world goes dark.


That was the most important day of my life. It was the day Joe got arrested. The white lobby floor is now stained red with one phrase that can be part of the happiest day of your life but the worst day of mine.
“I love you.”



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Madison B. said...
Nov. 1, 2012 at 10:04 am:
This line "I get dressed and grab a muffin to eat" reminds me of myself in the morning because i like to eat and its pretty fun dressing up  
 
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