In my book everyone gets a whole chapter but me, and I don’t even think that I’m the author.. then what can I be? Don’t I need to be the main character in my book? The one that the readers love and admire.. and feel for.. and cry for..? but I guess it doesn’t matter to me, because I care only about which books am I at, which chapters do I cover.. and who wrote them.. I had the math test today and although I know that even if I say something or don’t say something it won’t matter and my grade is already absolute, I don’t want to say that it was too easy or hard.. I just want to say that I felt good about it, I regained myself, today I’m ok, today I won’t cry.

So I sat on my way back in the bus, in this 2 sit place though no one sat near me. I thought about the oddness in my early class leaving and then I put my purse in my school bag and I took out this apple that mom put me in the morning. It was so red and tempting but it really ruined the harmony of the silence. I don’t know if you noticed ( who’s you..I don’t know) but chewing an apple is something quite disturbing to your ears. All the ride I thought about how not to make noise and how to chew with no sound. So I bite it slowly, piece by piece, letting it be, letting me avoid its noise. But it’s still in my ears, and I’m thinking about how the people are hearing me, how I’m taking this unwanted attention, how I nurture my outburst. How I roll in their imagination . no- they roll in mine. So what if I make noise? It’s only an apple, why do I want to sneak my rage under their noses, why do I embrace these sniveling thoughts, why do I CARE?!

But then I went down, I put the eaten apple in the garbage can and I walked as I always do from the station to my house.

I always look if there’s someone behind me or somewhere near me, coz if I don’t I am telling myself “ you’re brave, do it!” then I scream.. not so loud, but I know they can’t hear me, still it’s brave for me to scream in the street.. oh so insignificant creature..myself
And now I’m at home.. touching my keyboard and picturing me somewhere else..

Sometimes it’s O that is on these pictures
But sometimes it’s only me
And the rest of me that is out there..

I still know who you work for

Natalie