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Lookin Out For #1
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| Zenchowdah |
"Accelerate your life," it said on the pen. He was looking at it on his desk with his hands cupped over his eyes, leaving an elliptical field of vision. The image of his hands super-imposed over each other created a strong, though somewhat detached, metaphor for his current situation. His state of affairs at that point was on of excruciating ambivalence. On the one hand, his moral background demanded him to do what had been, up to that point, ground into his conscience as right, and on the other, his human instinctual urge told him to further himself among his peers, and establish a more "normal" life for himself. He had never liked that word, "normal". Too relative, he felt. What is normal to one can be unusual for another.
He pulled his head from his hands, while looking around the room. He suddenly became aware of time and his place in it, and realized that he had best get to work on his assignment, as time was dwindling. The assignment, a creative writing piece for his English 12 class, was a bit of a challenge for him, as he had known himself to adhere to the motto, "Creativity is the ability to hide one's sources." If people think it is random, it is random.
The next morning, he was in AP European History. The events he had felt such anxiety about were now passed, and he played them through his head.
He had walked with her after school to the Navy recruit office, as he had promised to do a few days prior. On the way there, they had picked up a mutual friend who, despite some poor choices in life, still had the ability to make a good decision. Upon arrival and completion of formalities, she was told the basics about joining and reassured about small concerns she had. However, the night prior to this, she had told him that after they went to the recruit office together, there were things she needed to say. He thought it to be of some importance, as it was presented amongst the phrases "No one knows", "Don't tell anyone", and "I feel I can trust you".
Given the anxiety he felt about the situation, he felt relieved when the random third party joined them on their visit, as surely she would not speak the details in the presence of another. His hopes were confirmed, and his fears assuaged. He questioned this, though. Fear? What had he to fear? The only rational fear he felt was that her trust in him would be misplaced. The fear that when she told him this bit of information, he would not have the capacity to perform as she hoped or required, or, worse than that, he would not have the capacity to care. People always seemed to trust him with things they had to say; he was their vent. He had begun to feel like a therapist, unpaid in all aspects short of the information relayed to him itself, and any delusional idea of becoming closer with the person as a result of the chat. he had begun to resent these sessions, but faked compassion, as it was "the right thing to do".
English again. His teacher was belting out useless commands already taken over by the software, which was, though outdated, able to auto-save in case of malfunction. His mind was wandering as he attempted to focus on the task at hand, being the later stages of production of his creative piece. It occurred to him that everything to be written after what he had written would be rather difficult, as it had not happened yet. He thought it an unusual approach to writing, but very little was "normal" in his life anymore, anyways. He realized his piece had begun to ramble, so he went over in his mind the occurrences of people forcing him to give them therapy. There was the bipolar girl who was giong out with a good friend of his, the promiscuous alcoholic who felt she was worthless, and a bevy of other misfits and social outcasts that decided to spill their feelings in hopes of guidance. Most of these people ahd heard of him from one of his previous "clients", who had been too lazy to help out. The title "rent-a-friend" suddenly occurred to him, and he thought it humorous. He tended to laugh a lot of things off, and this innate levity often enabled him to get through his days without telling anyone off or hurting himself. He compared himself to Jesus, with the task of taking in of others' pain, but dismissed it quickly, as it is foolish to think so much of oneself.
Detention. He is thinking about the event at the recruit office, and how it made him realize that he does not want to do a lot of the things he does. He tells himself that he often does not do the things he wants because he considers them selfish. One who thinks only of himself is selfish, and they are therefore not good people, or so has been engrained into his head. Often he has foregone his wants and needs to see that others wants are met. The logic behind this was what he referred to as the Columbine Theory. At Columbine, people died because no one believed that the so-called "Trench Coat Mafia" would actually do anything, though many knew that they were considering it. To neglect the words of a person who says such things is to invite another such crisis. It was his job to make sure it did not happen. He only wondered why no one else thought it was their job, or felt that putting themselves above others was even an option. He wondered if he was doing his English assignment right. He didn't care. He liked it and it was flowing. He had not had something feel this natural since the last time he was with "her", the new "her".
It was like they knew each other forever. One of them would bring something up that the other knew nothing about, and an outsider could be almost certain that they both would have the exact same opinion on the matter. Given, she was with someone that she had been with for over a year now, but when he talked to her, and the inevitable therapist/client session arose, she seemed grateful, like his skill at it meant something. She had mentioned that her current relationship had been leaving her feeling unfulfilled, and he wanted to think he was able to fill that void. She was interested, that much was clear. What's more is that she wasn't a total self-esteem disaster story. She had confidence in herself to the point of being capable of creating a conversation, whereas all of the the other speaking flesh bags that had been interested in him were just that, speaking flesh bags. No real intellect, just knowledge that had been pumped into them by Viacom and its infinite sub-companies.
Next afternoon, it was study hall. Despite his best efforts, he found himself almost unable to produce any real progress on his English assignment, as he was distracted by the morning's events, mainly a stupid presentation put on by the school. The production dealt with respect, and how one should treat everyone how he would like to be treated. This is all well and good, as it is true, but the school felt it was necesary to enlist the assistance of a company that insisted on making a mockery of adolescence by peppering the film with pop music and other allusions to the "normal" teenager. It was cheesy, and everyone there knew it. He hated cheese. Pointless media chaff. He thought of her again. She understood; she knew why he thought the wayhe did, and accepted it for what it was, and that was all that mattered. "You don't think so? Screw you, man."
The water's choppy, but it doesn't cut me now
Cuz I ain't sinkin, no
I ain't goin down below
I don't think that way
You know I never have
I can't slow down now
Just because you lag
You're always pullin
keep on tryin to bring me down
I'm gonna show you that I dont around
You show your face
and i look the other way
you blink your eyes
and you got no friends to play
Pick up the slack?
no.
I wont carry your monkey on my back
Save the world?
NO WAY
got no time i gotta save myself today.
I've got a mission, to fulfill the things in life
I've got a lot of things to see before i live to die
All this negativity, tryin to bring me down
as you get worse, i turn my life around.
-Death by Stereo |
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| Orbax |
| I dont read anything by this guy, lol |
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| DjDeComp |
| quote: | Originally posted by Orbax
I dont read anything by this guy, lol |
:stongue: :stongue: |
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| Flyboy217 |
Did you write this? Personally, I'm impressed. The virtually flawless grammar and spelling is already no mean feat. Add to that the intelligent sentence structure, and clearly this is no average piece of work. But the real kicker is that the eloquence is actually put to good use. Rather than being mere embellishment for inane fluff, it actually serves to poignantly disclose mature ideas.
He had begun to feel like a therapist, unpaid in all aspects short of the information relayed to him itself, and any delusional idea of becoming closer with the person as a result of the chat.
Really, not bad. As for "critics" like twisted420 (that is, pseudo-intellectual... nay, pseudo-intelligent intellectual wannabes), I trust you already know to ignore them. I do have a few suggestions (minor grammatical and spelling qualms, sentence structure suggestions, thoughts on flow), if you're the author and you're interested.
Anyway, keep up the good work. |
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| Zenchowdah |
| quote: | Originally posted by Orbax
I dont read anything by this guy, lol |
HA! |
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| Zenchowdah |
| eh stupid bump |
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| Aiwendil |
Yes. We must all look out for number one. Yes. Number one is hiding in the corner of all our minds. He is. Number one. What are you doing number one? Why do you DO THIS? Heheheh.......nuuummmmber oooooooooonnnneeee. I seeeeee youuuuuuuu. :)
Must look out for number one. |
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