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Literature Text
I can hear the laughter, their laughter, behind me, even though no breath leaves their lungs. I let my forehead become painfully acquainted with the sleek black table in front of me. How I wish it was a cosmic black hole, a vacuuming vortex of nothingness to remove my presence from this world.
My stomach seems to have run off, ashamed of its owner; in its place traitorous cocoons just happen to decide right now to conveniently snap and crack open, and then all hell breaks lose in my midsection. The well-rested, fluttering fowls feed on my organs, and now my heart beats in protest, screaming a mixture of hip-hop, rap, and metal music to send a rather violent message expressing how much it hates my brain at this moment. Said Nervous Center lives up to its named station by having a mental breakdown, desperately trying to escape its suddenly seemingly small cell. And even though I'm willing with all my might to not even exist (and therefore playing the Silent Game with deadly accuracy) my legs decide to commit suicide as they begin to hop up and down, up and down, the action agreeing with my strong desire to just leave.
But alas, I must endure this stressful and tedious torture.
When escape is finally an option, I take it with greedy haste, putting poor and heroic Robbin Hood to shame. As I exit my existence of embarrassment, I vow valiantly to repair my reputation. To prepare and practice, and then pop out all my fellow peers eyeballs from their sheer amazement of me, until they're all both reverent and rambunctious in my presence. I will not fail again, but if I do, I'll go out fabulously. After all, life is all about getting up again each and every time you fall, right?
My stomach seems to have run off, ashamed of its owner; in its place traitorous cocoons just happen to decide right now to conveniently snap and crack open, and then all hell breaks lose in my midsection. The well-rested, fluttering fowls feed on my organs, and now my heart beats in protest, screaming a mixture of hip-hop, rap, and metal music to send a rather violent message expressing how much it hates my brain at this moment. Said Nervous Center lives up to its named station by having a mental breakdown, desperately trying to escape its suddenly seemingly small cell. And even though I'm willing with all my might to not even exist (and therefore playing the Silent Game with deadly accuracy) my legs decide to commit suicide as they begin to hop up and down, up and down, the action agreeing with my strong desire to just leave.
But alas, I must endure this stressful and tedious torture.
When escape is finally an option, I take it with greedy haste, putting poor and heroic Robbin Hood to shame. As I exit my existence of embarrassment, I vow valiantly to repair my reputation. To prepare and practice, and then pop out all my fellow peers eyeballs from their sheer amazement of me, until they're all both reverent and rambunctious in my presence. I will not fail again, but if I do, I'll go out fabulously. After all, life is all about getting up again each and every time you fall, right?
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That, and not to put bloopers on any school video project, because even though you thought only your humorous teacher would be able to see and "appreciate" your homework, you'd be wrong.
© 2011 - 2024 PoisonedRose12
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Oh nooooo 