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The Pity Project

Author's note: I wrote this piece in the hope that people will read this piece and know that there is no such...  Show full author's note »
Author's note:

I wrote this piece in the hope that people will read this piece and know that there is no such thing as being perfect. Perfect is just a word, with as much meaning as "good" or "wonderful." We are all perfect in our own ways. 

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Sun and Water

The sun is shining today! It's so beautiful and keeps me warm. Hard to believe something so gorgeous can cause so much damage. Sunburns, skin cancer, wrinkles, aging, cataracts, to name a few. The sun is especially dangerous to me. With pale skin and green eyes, the sun will target me more than those with darker skin. I better put on a squirt of sunscreen (not too much, that creates pimples, not too little, that creates sunburns, aging, skin cancer, just read the third sentence again. I will not waste time repeating what has already been said.) So I open my backpack with my name embroidered on it (high-quality backpacks get stolen so often these days I will need evidence that the backpack was once mine before it was stolen. Then I can report this to the police and justice will prevail) and pull out my sunblock.

The sun actually weaving its way around the enormous gray clouds is a rarity here in Augusta, Maine. Usually you'd look up and get spattered with an army of cold raindrops or a big gray mass. But I don't look up when it’s raining. I'd make a mistake. And you know I strive to never make them. I have my pride, you know.

Each time the raindrops fall I am careful. Every crack, bump, and puddle on the road swamped with muddy water I avoid because cracks, bumps, and puddles result in tripping, falling, and slipping. And I'm almost a hundred percent sure (because no one can be fully a hundred percent sure) that avoiding these small natural disasters (yes, they are categorized as natural disasters. For once, go and read Science Today) will reduce the chances of me making any careless and unwanted mistakes. So today I am jumping, carefully, over the brown puddles on the sidewalk, galloping gracefully around the black bumps on the road, and you think I look like a complete idiot when my feet skadoodle around the many, many, cracks on the roads of Augusta. But I'm not a complete idiot. I know that. You don't though.

You think you know everything about me just by looking at my face and scrawny body. Just a scared little nerd with no life or hope. First of all, nerds are intelligent at school but completely clueless at life, and I am definitely not clueless. How dare you insult me. For shame.

Second, I have a life or else I wouldn't be telling you this. I would be sprawled on the ground, dead.

Third, I have hope. Hope is a desire for a certain thing to happen. I desire knowledge. Boom.

You try and insult me, but you are no worthy component. Jumbled and mismatched words of hate spit out of that round hole on your face, and your red cheeks inflate and deflate in only milliseconds. A chicken has better pronunciation and grace. A coward has more confidence. I smile at you calmly, tell you to take a deep breath, give you three solid facts that contradict every gobbledygook statement you've said about me, and walk away with bravado. Though I've never had to actually "burn" (or so they call it) someone yet, I am safer prepared. Thankfully, no one has ever tried to insult me (but you). However, I don't think you qualify as a person. A person is a physical being. You're just living in my head.

I finally skadoodle myself to exhaustion as I quickly sprint into school (Eduard's Middle School. Still don’t know who Edward is), passing by the soccer field and lunch tables as I go. But, please, don't go through all of that trouble trying to imagine how gorgeous my school is. The lunch tables used to be beige but now they're sort of a brown rust color. The soccer field is full of dry and scratchy weeds with two rocks on each side as goal boxes. A perfectly horrible place for young minds to mature and develop (but let's not forget, in middle school there aren't just minds developing.)

If development was a glass of water, Ashley Smith's mind would receive a single droplet. The rest of her would be hydrated completely, if you comprehend what I am articulating. I am the complete opposite: my mind would chug down the whole glass of water, but my body is dying of thirst. Don't take that literally though, I fill up my black insulated water bottle five times a day not including before or after school. I suppose all of my body's energy goes into brainpower and not puberty. Every time I look downward all I see is the cement ground. No two big mountains or even small hills stand in the way. Ashley looks downward and she most likely doesn't even see the ground. She sees her two Appalachian Mountains covered by a tight pink crop top. Modest, that's her.

I have always had a mutual dislike with Ashley, you see. Maybe its because of her beauty (blonde hair, blue eyes, two mountains, you get the picture), maybe its because of her confidence (raises her hand in class, flirts too often, wears the tiniest skirts I have ever seen), or maybe its because of her exclusiveness (of girls. Boys are always welcome.) Maybe it's all of it.

I have blue eyes like Ashley, too. But that is the only similarity between us. Understand that I don't boast that I make no mistakes and am perfect. Ashley tells every living soul she meets. Another difference is that I actually am perfect and Ashley is not. She may think she is, but I know better. Yes Ashley, even you stumble when your heel gets stuck in the crack on the road. Also Ashley, I've heard some very scandalous rumors about you. Oh, you bad girl.

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