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Never did I feel the need to write out my feelings. Scribble meaningless words, that would completely confuse me later on, onto paper. Yeah I guess I did get A's on all of my essays and even a few comments here and there about how much of a talented writer I am. The hobby just never appealed to me.
But here I sit, legs crossed tightly against a dated, rose printed love-seat. Writing away in a hardback journal that Shannon so kindly gave me.
Words without an origin, without a direct emotion behind them are being printed quickly into the thin lines. It started out as a rant about my parents, how i'll never be their perfect little eighteen year old who marries straight out of high school to a wealthy, employed man. Just like my mother had.
Then it changes; a sentence about Shannon, a sentence about Natalia. A sentence about Maddie, a sentence about Noah and Caleb. Paragraphs about Sadie's rotten attitude and Gatens un-called for release.
The subject starts to drift where I didn't want it too. It starts to seek the part of my mind thats filled with memories and thoughts of a certain freckled boy. A roommate who I have kept my distance from for two weeks now. Ignoring his countless attempts to talk to me or get my attention.
It was becoming unbearable to ignore him.
"Scribble scribble scribble," I hear from behind, two hands being placed onto my thin shoulders with a light shake. I whip around, not surprised to see the presence of a boy I just had in my thoughts. Wasn't mad either.
"Written anything about me yet?" Finn asks, releasing me from his grasp and climbing over the couch. He relaxes, sitting back in the seat next to me.
I shake my head, looking him in the eyes with a content expression. As if I just gave him a complete apology and sob story about how I'm no longer mad at him, his face lights up at the sight that I don't brush him off.
"Not ignoring me anymore?" he questions, smiling wide and giddy. I simply shake my head again, only hoping to exchange words if I absolutely have too. "Good," he sighs, turning his head away from me and looking straight towards the tv.
"Bingo! Bingo!" the girl that sits in front of the tv exclaims. I haven't caught her name yet, or exactly what she's watching. But when I realize, it makes me slightly uncomfortable.
"December 9th!" the announcer calls out from behind the television screen. "Bingo!" the girl exclaims again. "April 16!" one by one, one birthday after another; young men are sentenced to their deaths.
"It's fucking sick of you think about it," Finn looks over at me, a newly lit cigarette in between his fingers. "They're doing this on tv, everyone crowded around praying they don't get enlisted. And, shit, I don't know a lot about war but if you're going to draft people, just do it by mail," he finishes.
I smile at him, leaning forward and reaching my hand out. I gesture for him to hand over his cigarette, which he so gladly shares with a smile. "Being drafted is an honor, Finn," I say in a mocking tone, quoting something my mother had told me not long ago. I put the cigarette in-between my teeth, inhaling as I turn away.
"September 1st!" the older man on the screen shouts, the date placed on a board seconds later. It takes me a moment, a second to realize who's birthday that is. And even though I shouldn't feel it, I feel as if i'll cry.
