Picturesque IX
I saw a human today, who I used to think was a monster. She was not a monster today, not when she read a letter she wrote to a friend in our Creative Writing class. She cried as she spoke; I never saw her cry before. So, why have I always thought she was a monster?
Perhaps it was the circumstances in which we were introduced, through a group I never really felt a part of. She was immediately accepted; I was not, and never would. I stayed because I had nowhere else to go; being alone at my middle school was a ticket to ridicule and trouble. My “friends” did not help much, though, being as “odd” as I was, but proud of it.
The years I spent at my middle school passed, and so did the torture. I entered high school, and settled into the sea of faces.
My “friends” then reared their own ugly, ridiculing heads, saying much of the same words my middle school tormentors had.
Of course, this was how I felt. I could have misjudged, I could be wrong; but this is what I experienced.
The added torment lasted for a year, until I finally gathered my courage and took leave of the group. I paid little attention to them; I needed time away from them, away from their world. Perhaps I was immature about it . . .
That would explain why I saw a human today, instead of a monster. It has been two years since I left that group, and sometimes I still feel bitter. The others say little to me, which is good, for I do not wish to partake in anything with them anymore. I have moved on, or have I?
Whatever the case, perhaps it is good that I saw the human today. It may not change the past, but it is good to know that they seem to have dropped their supposed cruel ways.
