Thank God they’re done. My first semester of senior year is (Final)ly over. New start, new beginning. I’ve been suffering from Chronic Senioritis, (self diagnosed of coursed). With each semester finished, I feel better and better. I rush from the random classroom with the random proctor down to my locker where I start to smell my prey. I look around and see everyone else sparing the lives of theirs. Throwing them into the garbage. Wasteful teenage Americans. How surprising?
SOFTIES I call them, softly… because I’m no softy.
I quickly open my locker, as if I’m a skilled freshman afraid to be late for my next class right down the hall. Then I look. I look at the folders crying their little hearts out because the little bastards are ripping through them, trying desperately to escape. I’m guessing the jerks must have witnessed what happens, seeing how I like to spare some (but only the ones with the smiley’s or CAYYUTE wittle stickers that shout “Great job, you’re perfect. You should be the teacher. All hail King Phyl… well moving on). I grab my little duffle bag and look both ways, making sure no cops (recycling club membahz) were around. While filling it up, I can only think about the pleasure I was going to get from the sound.
The ride how was a blur; I can’t remember much besides the fact that I was smiling the whole way there, my grin extending from one cheek to the other.
BAM. The next thing I remember I’m sitting in my room, lights were off, and candles were lit. Around me, my papers, all of them. From Spanish to English… Religion to Science, they all were surrounding me. One by one, I start to rip. Rippp. R.I.P. I’m in a frenzy. Now I’m the one screaming, and making weird noises, not those papers.
I’m doing what I loved to do, burning old bridges to the past. Getting rid of the disappointed feelings of the papers dressed in red marks, the feelings of inadequacy, the feelings failure (anything lower that a B- where I go to school…but anyway). The rooms spinning once I got done, but I still managed to stumble over where the new bags from Target smiled confidently, a mother awaiting their child’s approach to seek comfort. I looked in; there they were: new born paper. So innocent, so cute, so ready. They were ready for the happy remarks and the stickers… and this time around, I am ready for a new beginning. There won’t be any need to rip anymore, for I’ll be receiving the smiley’s and stickers that shout.