A Teenage's Guide To: Die The Best

Step 4: Be kind to pussy(cats)

Ever wondered how hell looks like? Visit the Alcanes School during lunch break and you'll know.

Chaos.

Absolute chaos.

That's exactly how you would describe the entire west wing building.

At the basketball court an exciting match between Sam and Lucifer was going on. They both were the best basketballers in the entire city (though they considered themselves to be the best in the entire universe), and the spectators were screaming their lungs out while cheering for their favorite leaders, their lunch boxes left forgotten at the canteen.

At the far end of the playground Jane Brown, the one and only "ethical" hacker of Alcanes High, was sitting on a bench trying to hack the password for their History question paper and six or seven of her classmates were standing surrounding her, praying for her success as if their life depended on it.

Considering the fact that they hadn't
studied, it wasn't entirely wrong though.

Betty and Mathew were kissing behind the cycle stand, and Margaret, Mathew's girlfriend was trying to get a snap while hiding behind the pillar. Whether she succeeded or not was never known, for a cat decided to enjoy some of the live romance and jumped down from the shed right down on Margaret, and she screamed and dislodged three bikes parked beside her.

Curiosity kills the cat.

Or rather, the curious cat killed Margaret.

The two lovers hurriedly stepped aside on hearing the huge commotion that was created as 13 bikes which were closely parked, fell one on top of the other; and Margaret took her chance and fled back towards the West Wing building at the top of her speed.

It wasn't because of Mathew's superior strength that she ran away, Darcy guessed, more probably it was to avoid a scene. Darcy found Margaret to be an annoying little pussy( like the one which jumped off the shed just then), always too shy to speak up for herself, and yet, when she spoke, she proved herself to be a dumbass.

Sighing, Darcy changed her position so that now she had her back facing the parking area. She wasn't necessarily someone who enjoyed this kind of a drama, except the ones on Netflix, but she couldn't help being observant. The cons of being a writer maybe.

Picking up her lunch box again, she continued devouring her cheese sandwiches, which, no lie, tasted like absolute shit.

And you say surviving a brain cancer was easy.

It could have been, but life's always difficult. Painful. Cruel and torturous. Although it's been two years since she had completely recovered from Stage II brain cancer, she never felt being the same. There were these frequent headaches, spiced up with still frequent check ups and scans, garnished with strict diets which included brown breads and green veggies and excluded Nutella and hot chocolates.

Life sucks? Hell yeah.

Forcing the dry mass of bread down her food pipe, she kept her lunch box aside, picked up her bottle and gulped down some water to get rid of the stale taste of bread.

Looking around, she tried to find something interesting to ponder upon for the rest of the lunch break, but she found nothing that amused her in particular. Everything and everyone appeared to be too dull, too boring and too full of life.

What's so interesting about life? What's so interesting about inhaling and exhaling this polluted air?

She did not know. Yes she was a writer, but sometimes she would wonder if she was really that creative. For she failed to understand why eleven plus eleven boys would run about a field for a mud-covered ball, which if they wished, could easily be bought for each of them individually.

She did not know why Jane wasted her talent in hacking a simple history paper, and why in the first place people studied history --why they worked so hard to learn up what happened in the past. Past, after all, is dead.

That brought her to another thing which she strongly loathed-to disturb and dig up the past-- the dead. She wondered what fun people got in doing so.

She wondered why people fell in love and why they considered biting and sucking each other's lips (and God knows what else) a way to express it. And why people went about breaking hearts.

She would have continued with her chain of thoughts had it not been for a slight sound that made her jolt her head towards her lunch box. She saw that The Annoying Pussycat had decided to feast on some brown bread and stinky cheese sandwiches and was nudging it's nose against her lunch box.

Not here bitch.

Maybe the Annoying Pussycat got a bit offended at being called a bitch and sensing Darcy's dark eyes glaring at her, backed off a few steps and looked at her pleadingly, with the most innocent eyes as if it wouldn't have stolen the food had Darcy not been there.

Darcy, as foresaid, wasn't necessarily cold-hearted, and maybe she couldn't have resisted those puppy eyes, no scratch that, those kitty eyes, and she had already picked up her lunch box with the intention of lending out some tit bits, but at that very moment, a low whistle was heard, to which The Annoying Pussycat turned instantly and nearly pounced upon the whistler.

To Darcy's surprise, it was none other than Elrond Collymore himself, who was standing there looking all the more handsome, with his hands, still shoved into his pockets.

Yes, it was a peculiar habit of his, as Darcy had noticed, to always keep his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

He took out his right hand, in which he held a few cookies and offered them to the kitty, who devoured all of it hungrily, yet with an air of gratitude, depicting that she was already used to these kind of kindness from the new transferee.

He suddenly looked at Darcy's direction, and noticing her sitting all by herself, called out, "Wanna have lunch with me? "

Damn that was cool.

Cut that crap, it was hot.