Tag Archives: campus

Queen Bee

I went to one of the hottest high schools in Malibu. Money being no issue, glamorous attire was a must. Life there was superficial as all hell.

Lucky for me, I was the queen bee. Higher in the food chain than any of my colleagues. With a raised eyebrow I could ruin any of them.

Everyone wanted to be me, my friends constantly bickered for my attention. Just for a splash of the limelight I was born into. My secret? I was a SoCal ten, which is like a real world twelve.

That is before the accident.

A drunk truck driver swiped the side of my convertible while I was cruising down the coast. I was thrown from the car and took a tumble down the cliffside. I was out of school for weeks.

The doctors said it was a miracle that I didn’t break any bones. That I was lucky there was only superficial damage.

And despite the surgeries and skin grafts, I was left a mutilated mess. My face seriously looked like Michael Jackson got attacked by a cougar.

On my first day back at Seaside High I was met with a cold shoulder. None of my friends visited me while I was recovering and it seemed like they wanted nothing to do with me now. I was like a total pariah.

To go from the public eye to being snickered at in the hallway, was literally the worst. I wanted to strangle every last one of those BITCHES daring to forget who I was. But I played it cool and went to work planning my revenge.

I made the first few attacks look like accidents. Bethany slipped on a waxed floor, shattering her teeth and biting off her tongue. Katy S. opened her locker and her textbooks fell, fracturing her skull. And Katy F. was brutally beaten in the school parking lot by some townies I hired downtown.

But I knew that people were already suspicious. So I decided to go wholesale with the whole vengeance thing.

My grandpa fought some war in Korea and I remember him telling me he killed Chinese people with this stuff called white phosphorus, apparently it like burns you really bad and has to be cut out of your body.

Like I said, money was was no issue. I ordered a few bags to my house from some chemistry supply site. And a simple trip to Pinterest showed me how to make homemade glitter bombs.

I walked into fourth period history with a secret underneath my Burberry trench. And I’m glad I sprung for the two-day shipping because the cops showed up to class and totally put me on the spot. Some fogey named Detective Diaz had found me out and was trying to get me to do a walk of shame in front of everyone in class. All of my so-called friends were watching and I definitely couldn’t give them another reason to laugh like the jackals they totally were.

I unzipped my coat, exposing the DIY chemical weapon duct taped to my pink Gucci sleeveless tee. It was time for those backstabbers to LOOK as ugly as they acted.

Detective Diaz pulled his gun and I didn’t think twice about slapping my palm onto the makeshift trigger on my chest.

White chunks and thick powder exploded throughout the room. Students threw their hands over their faces. Screaming came from all directions. Even the police rolled around in agony.

I looked down to see a hole in my clothes and a white chunk the size of a quarter slowly sinking into my stomach. I pushed through the pain without so much as a squeal. Though my eyes burned and blurred, the only tears that escaped were those of joy. A comfortable feeling rolled through my body.

For a brief moment I was the queen bee again. They feared me up till detective Diaz put a bullet between my eyes.

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Disappearing Act

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten…

I release my breath and a wave of bittersweet endorphins muddle my brain. My fingers dance restlessly on the hardwood table. This is a weekly occurrence for me now.

Only one more month. Just have to push through. 

School is all I’ve ever known and come December I will be graduated with a degree. Ready for the world’s open embrace- or lack thereof.

Nothing much will change, I’ll still have my same internship. I still have another 6 months on my lease. So why is it so scary? What is so unknown?

I have a theory- For my whole life I’ve had a purpose. To learn. Come December that goes away. And I am scared that in that little window of time without a purpose. The few months after school but before my career, I will lose myself.

I’m the first of this generation to graduate college. I really want this, I’m scared I won’t make it. I am so close, but I can feel myself wearing out. My end goal is an end to what I know and a plunge into the unknown. Who knows where life will take me?

All I know is that if I stumble I will eat myself alive.

Find Your Voice

“You’ve ruined this country!”

“You had a chance to fight injustice!”

“You threw your vote away!”

A few comments stuck out, but eventually the taunts of enraged people yelling from across the classroom fused into an incoherent jumble. Konrad Johnson was president and the crowd made it feel like the world was going to end. I voted for Peter Snoqualmie, a third-party candidate from Montana. He seemed like the candidate I wanted for the job so I voted for him. If only it was that simple.

Earlier today, when my Political Science professor asked us to move to certain parts of the room based on our votes I did so with no predispositions. I thought it’d be fun to see the political views of my peers. But apparently the party that lost was not too thrilled. They were angry, and aimed their wrath at the several of us huddled in the north corner of the room. Since I was not with them, I was against them.

The following weeks were an isolating experience. Whenever I entered that class I was met with piercing glares. My normal study group wanted nothing to do with me. People were just so damn mad about him winning, and the media was all too happy to fan the flames of civil unrest. I should have noticed the change in the atmosphere before it started getting out of hand.

One day I walked into the lecture hall ready for a pre-class quiz. I had gotten in the habit of just watching my feet as I found my seat, to avoid passing glares. So I didn’t notice how empty the room had gotten until I fished out my books from my bag.

“Where is everyone?” I asked the sparsely populated student body.

A few students shrugged or looked away. It seemed no one cared to answer.

I heard a tooth grinding screech as the double doors flew open.

“Class! We are going to watch the live-stream of the protest on campus!” He excitedly held an open laptop as he skipped to the front of the class. “This is history in the making!”

With a few cords and keystrokes the live-stream was connected to the projector and shone on top of the blackboard. A pimple faced journalism major held a microphone up to the protesters, asking their cause. My classmates stood in the background waving signs.

“We want Konrad Johnson to resign! Your voice is a weapon! Use it to fight injustice!”

The ringleader spoke for a while longer, but as he did a crowd began to form opposite the protesters. The distinct sound of a bottle shattering on the ground interrupted the interview.

A counter protest had been spurred into action and it got violent fast. The audio cut out, and video was choppy but we could see the reporter struggling to escape. He caught an elbow to his jaw, knocking him to the ground for a moment before scrambling along the ground to get out of the center of the brawl. Blood streamed down his chin.

My professor jittered with excitement. His eyes grew, as if they were absorbing the flickering images from the screen.

“This is politics in the 21st century”

I stared blankly at the chaos projected at the front of the class. My fellow students fought viciously for their beliefs. This was not politics, this was a war rivaling the spectacles at Carthage or Hastings.

It dawned on me then why candidates like Peter Snoqualmie would never win. You can’t win a war by remaining neutral. It didn’t matter how much I liked Snoqualmie, I had to check the ballot unfolding in front of me. And he was noticeably absent from the choices.

I pushed back my chair and stood. It squealed against the linoleum floor. My professor was too enthralled by the dancing lights of the projector to notice me sliding through the double doors. As I neared the quad, the sounds of screaming and battered flesh echoed into the hallways ever louder. Sirens faintly approached from the distance adding a subtle sterile flavor. My nails dug into my palm as I clenched my fists.

I still was not sure what side I would join. But I would come out swinging.

It’s better than not having a voice.