R.j.Elsewhere

Australia

꧁ i write for myself ꧂

18
Italian
Bi
She/her
Catholic but also a witch(?)

Message from Writer

Man, I’ve been here since the summertime of ‘17. Ik, I’m way too old for this shit.

Also:
•#BlackLivesMatter
•I don’t fuck with any forms of transphobia or homophobia
•don’t follow me or like any of my work if you’re racist or sexist

Thank you

Memories of the up most unimportance – and yet I still find myself drifting off to visit them like an old friend, The trilogy

December 17, 2018

FREE WRITING

9
I.     I had tricked my teacher once. She was an older lady, and I didn’t like her all that much. She talked in a tone that bored me so, I spent the year teaching myself Latin (to this day I still can’t find it in myself to recall on what she tried her hardest to lecture me in). Do I feel guilt for such a thing? Well, my mother wishes I did. But hey, felix culpa. All I regret is not studying my Latin harder.
 
I fooled her good that day – but not good enough, I guess. For the realisation stuck her after she caught sight of the foxing leer which played my lips like a puppeteer. Between the remark she gave me and the look upon her face, I don’t even think old age will take something like that away from me.
 
“You, Tina, remind me of that one Shakespeare quote, ‘Look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under it’. I never thought a girl like you could be pinned as such a thing.”
 
I still don’t know whether to take it as a complement or not.
 
II.     My brother plays soccer three times a week at a park just down the road from us; for reasons I don’t care to know – he never brings a water-bottle with him either of the days or nights he plays. Though the one time which he did, it also so happened to be his last. He lost the bottle somewhere on the park’s grounds being the careless, rash boy that he is. Mother made both my sister and I go out that same night with him to try and find the damn thing. If it was just some cheap, vanilla water bottle made of plastic and worth 10 cents if recycled, you bet we wouldn’t have spent two hours looking for the damned thing. But it wasn’t.
 
It was a Nike bottle – and god help us if my brother wasn’t a brand deal just waiting to happen.
 
When we got to the park, my sister and brother went straight for where he last saw the bottle – I however, didn’t give a shit. It was rare that I was allowed outside the house on my own after the sun had set. I was trying to enjoy what little teenage normality I could get.
 
What I came across at that park had me hooked on nightfall walks ever since. The carpark at the park was a small thing, and had only two street lights to help you see through the thick of night. But that didn’t stop the two guys I found on my stroll from playing game after game of checkers.
 
That sat on their car’s hood invested in their game, nursing cups of coffee and 2 minute noodles, and Angus and Julia Stone hummed a gentle tune from the inside of their stereo. I spent the two hours it took my siblings to track that devil’s cup down watching the two of them let their fingers dance around each other, and their minds tick away with the night. Never did they ask me who I was, nor I to them. But they let me watch. And I found myself understanding the game at the end.
 
I just wish I had the guts to ask them for a game or two.

III.     I hated everything that day. I hated my school. I hated my friends. I hated my family. I hated the very air I breathed. I hated the world and all that lived upon its swollen earth. Everything that day fuelled by icy tamper to the max and all I wanted to do was bury my knuckles into something hard and unforgiving to the bone. Life itself felt like a perfidy ally.
 
Yeah, I know, I’m dramatic – deal with it.
 
I especially hated the sun that day, too. Everything was too blistering and the walls of school seemed to melt and drip from the intensity. I hated it. Plus I was broke (I’m always broke), so I couldn’t buy a drink throughout the school day. I hated that too. So once the bell rang, I marched myself to the McDonalds down the road from my school to get cup of free, ice cold water (yeah, I’m that broke).
 
I didn’t bother putting my books away in my bag from last period before I left school – I was too thirsty to use my brain. Once I got my cup of water though, I found myself with full hands and a closed door. I regrated my haste in that moment.
 
But before I could moan and whinge about having to place all my belongings down to pack away, a boy around my age rushed over to open the door for me. I was shocked at first – then questioning his motives. I’ve seen him at that McDonalds a few times with his friends, the same ones he was with now, and I could let they were that type of teenage boys. The ones who like to use ‘pretty’ girls to get to their beautiful friends.
 
I don’t like being used.
 
But he gave me a shy smile and in an even shier voice, said, “I hope you have a good day.” I guess my face showed my anger and my defeat. When I thanked him, and walked out the door he was more than kindly holding open for me, I couldn’t but let some of my anger go.
 
Hate is a strong word, and I didn't feel like the world deserved something so robust anymore.
Honestly, just stupid events i find myself reliving at times. But it felt nice to write about them.

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  • December 17, 2018 - 6:15am (Now Viewing)

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3 Comments
  • Halopoet

    I wish i experienced something like the second and third one. Im sorry to intrudr but your novel excerpt darwin's theory felt like it was related to the second memory and both are so beautiful. Even the shakespear's quote your teacher said to you is beautiful. But she shouldn't have said that to you. It was legit cruel.


    11 days ago
  • Anha

    OOF YOU GOTTA TELL ME WHO THAT TEACHER IS


    almost 2 years ago
  • Silver Pen

    I agree, something about the creation of anything is like a release of emotion. You did a good job of telling the stories and displaying your inner world.


    almost 2 years ago