SWEET MISERY
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There were dream; then there were memories; and, of course, there's reality. But when these three things become muddled, it all turns into one big nightmare.
"I'm not sure which is which anymore. Everything is just so . . . Confusing, complex. Yet, at the same time . . . It's actually quite lovely."
"Hmm, lovely; such a wonderful word, no?"
"Indeed it is, but it can be used as a dangerous word too." Pause. "Oh, it is a dangerous word."
"And why do you say that?"
"Because any person can say that word – especially the most evil ones."
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Slam!
"Miss Misery, do you mind telling me what is so interesting to daydream about that you just have to zone out of my lesson?"
Misery shook her head, her brunette waves shook along with her. "No, Mrs. Golden," she replied as politely as she could, "I'm just really tired lately."
The elderly woman snorted. "Doing what?" she asked rather harshly. "I don't care what it is you do outside of my classroom, but when you are in here, I expect your undivided attention one-hundred percent! Do I make myself clear Miss Misery?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Let this be a lesson class," Mrs. Golden said, turning her gaze to the rest of her students. "Do pay attention when I am speaking, and do not become one of this." She hissed, pointing at the girl.
The corners of Misery's lips tilted downwards ever so slightly, making the smallest of frowns.
She had been busy lately – very busy. It wasn't her fault that her teachers bombarded her with homework and tests, as if they were the only teacher teaching in the school. It was just plain ridiculous!
A folded sheet of notebook paper landed on Misery's wooden desk. Her deep forest green eyes gazed around the room, but she did not turn her head around, for she knew that if she did, she would get another scolding from her teacher.
Mrs. Golden had returned to her desk and began to grade papers. The students around her were either reading the book they were assigned to read, doing work from other classes, or were secretly texting. However, no one looked at Misery, or at her way, so she had no idea who had passed her the folded paper or if it was even meant for her.
Deciding that it didn't matter either way, Misery placed her thick five subject notebook in front of her and began to silently unfold the sheet of paper.
Mrs. Goldfish sucks!
The corners of Misery's scarlet red lips twitched, but she fought to hold back the smile.
Mrs. Golden was a very popular teacher amongst the students, but she was well hated by them. Known to be strict and old styled, she scared and irked the student body. They had nicknamed her Goldfish because of her long, thin, hollow face; puckered lips; and perfectly large dark round eyes. It didn't help that her scale patterned clothes resembled that of a fish, along with its white, orange, and red color pattern.
Misery's green eyes spotted a sentence located at the very bottom of the paper, under the last blue line. It was written in very small handwriting, but it was still eligible to read.
P.S.
Sorry 'bout your family. We all are.
The smirk fighting with Misery to reveal itself stopped. Her lips were set in a straight firm line. She no longer liked the message. It was just stupid now.
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"Hello."
Misery looked up from her journal and smiled a small smile. "Hello," she greeted back.
"Um . . . I'm new here." The girl standing before her said nervously. She gnawed on her bottom lip and shuffled her feet.
She was small and petite, and looked very, very fragile. Almost as if she might crack and break.
"Oh, that's cool."
"Oh, yeah!" the girl agreed quickly, laughing nervously as she looked at the brunette's impassive gaze. "Um, so yeah, I was hoping – uh, wondering, I mean, if you could, uh-m, maybe show me around?"
The teenager looked at the girl, and in response, the girl shrunk back. An uncomfortable silence passed by before the brunette responded back. "You should go to the office. They'll assign you someone who could give you a tour of the school and show you your classes, instead of you going around asking strangers to do the job."
The girl looked momentarily shocked. The wind picked up and blew her long soft curly blond hair. "I – I see," she stammered, "N-never mind then, I – I'm so-sorry for –" she paused and took a deep breath, "- interrupting you. I – I'll go now." The blond made a move to turn around. "Uh, th-thanks anyways."
Misery silently watched as the girl walked away from her, her head hung, her shoulders dropped. She took notice of how her skinny pale legs shook with every step.
"That wasn't very nice."
The girl didn't have to look to know who was talking to her. She had heard that voice so many times that it had recorded itself into her memory.
"Don't care . . . Besides, she was lying anyways."
"Oh, really?"
Misery detected the amusement in the speaker's voice.
"And how do you know if she really was a new student here? You pretty much made the rest of us students look bad."
"I've had her for three classes since the beginning of the year, and one class last year. We worked on a project together assigned by the teacher. She must be really stupid to think that I wouldn't notice her. We do, after all, sit next to each other for two of the classes we have together."
"And you didn't bother pointing that out to her? Wow, that must be a first. You didn't verbally make her look or feel stupid!"
"Shut up Charlotte."
The blond frowned, but she immediately wiped it off and smiled amusedly at her friend. "Charlie, not Charlotte. I feel like my grandmother whenever someone calls me that."
"That's because you were named after her." Misery pointed out.
"Oh, M, how I hate you so!" Charlotte cried out playfully.
The corner of Misery's lips tugged into a smirk. "Whatever Cherry, you had it coming anyways."
Charlotte rolled her eyes at the nickname.
"Oh, Garret stop!" a girl with long brown hair cried as the blond boy she was sitting on tickled her. "Stop it Garret! I mean it, stop!" she yelled, but continued to giggle nonetheless.
Charlotte wrinkled her nose in disgust, but her blue eyes flashed in amusement. "Valentine's day is coming up . . . Is it not?"
"It is," Misery answered before returning her attention back to her journal.
"Ugh, M, seriously, what do you write in that thing?"
The brunette flashed the page in her journal to her friend's friend.
It was a vivid sketch of a headless man, the bottom of his neck was connected to a splintered stick. His skin was peeling off. His hair looked singed. His eyes were rolled back. His mouth was wide open, revealing his cut off tongue, and rotten teeth. Maggots and other small bugs and insects were scattered about on his face, most of which were located at his bloodied neck.
It was drawn in pencil, and highlighted in pen, but Charlotte knew that if her friend were to use color, she would have seen a lot of red on the drawing.
"Poor guy," she cooed teasingly. "I wonder what he was in for if his head was brutally cut off and then put on a stick for everyone to see."
"How do you know if it was brutal?"
"Based on the lines of his neck where they detached him from the rest of his body, it looks as if they had gotten a knife – or, rather a chainsaw – and slowly cut it off, just to make him feel pain."
A lopsided smile appeared on Misery's face. "Actually, they used a sledgehammer – which took up some time – but you were right about the rest."
"A sledgehammer? Did they run out of pointy objects?" Charlotte mused.
"No, they were just tired of the usual, boring ways to cut off someone's head. So they decided to make it more fun!"
Charlotte chortled softly. "Tell me again, how in the world does your brain work?"
The brunette shrugged. "All brains function the same, it's the way we use it that's different."
"Ah, I see. But we really aren't that different from one another, no?"
"I guess not."
"But tell me, M. How did you manage to draw that so realistically?"
An enigmatic smile slowly curled its way on the girl's scarlet colored lips. "That, my dear friend, is a secret."