I need to practice my writing skills, especially first-person skills because Weber likes first-person. So here are a few short things I wrote last night. Keep in mind that some events are real, some are made up, and some are exaggerated. Also keep in mind that I wrote this on my iPod, so spelling weirs aren't exactly uncommon. Critiques, tips, and other feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks!
So Sick.
I downed the last bit of my tea, just for luck. Bitter. So bitter I can feel it in the back of my jaw. It naws at me for all but a few seconds before I scurry off through the halls to my next class.
Math was Hell. It always is, save for my two friends that talk to me about the usual happenings. But today was especially Hellish. I missed school the previous day and I haven't done my homework all chapter. A test was announced on so short notice, I wanted to punch the man in charge for not saying anything two days ago.
My stomach churned. The nausea was back again, and a wave of Miserable hit me like a bus. I was sick. Not physically sick, emotionally sick. I wanted to leave, run, flee, anything. I wanted to fly away to that small, secluded house I had dreamed of. Spend the days with my best friends and the first person I've ever loved.
I kept myself in my seat, not letting my friends on about the storm brewing inside my stomach. Only ten minutes before I could lose my soul in the depths of the Internet and be numb again.
Seven hours. They were out for seven hours. I had the house to myself for seven hours, and yet I still had a blank notebook.
Clack, clack, clack.
My mother's shoes tracked dirty snow onto the kitchen floor, followed shortly by my father's footsteps and the dog's claws hitting the floor sporadically from jumping in excitement. He was like me from ten years ago.
I zombied out to the kitchen, greeting them with a "hello" that could have easily been immitated by a frog. I tried to make my feelings of nausea and uneasiness show even more.
"You look pale," is what she said. Her hand pressed against my forehead. No fever. I'd have to battle the nausea and misery at school again. Lovely.
"Take some Pepto and go to bed," is what my dad told me. As if that would ever happen.
I looked at my mom, and (as if by instinct) she offered to hug me. Was it that blatantly obvious I was emotionally sick? I shrugged and losely hooked my arms under her's. She mentioned something about magic powers, but I was only half-listening.
We exchanged "good nights" before going our own ways to do our own rituals. The paretal unit shuffled down into their lair while I retreated to the safety (though not a sanctuay) of my room. My head was bowed. My throat tightened while my sinuses puffed up and my eyes watered. I didn't know why, but I cried again.
