Unanswered Questions

Part 1

I'm not sure where to start. I've got so many unanswered questions; that I can't answer.

Nobody can.

My names Cleo.
Cleo Trinity.

I'm always wondering what happens as we die. Do we feel anything?

Do we reincarnate? Do we just disappear? Do we truly just die?

Fuck. So many goddamn questions and nobody can fucking answer them.
Does anyone know the way to life? Does anyone know how to truly stop pain? Mentally? Physically? No?

Damn that last one was a Doozer. Fuck. Of course nobody knows that. We all just have to " talk " our problems and feelings; and fucking pay money to do so. Councillors help? Therapy maybe? Phycologists? 
Nah, none of em work. Ever.

Talking to people doesn't work, it makes cha feel worse. People think it works, all the time, but its just the same as taking a hit of a joint: numbs the pain till the next session, as soon as you stop going and taking that hit you'll start feeling the pain. Guarantee it. Plus why waste your money when you can be sad and depressed.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •

"Cleo?" I heard my name? Well I think I heard my name. I take out my earphones, that are busy having an instrumental playlist of all the Coldplay songs flow through them. Fuck. Silence. Not a damn peep from anyone in the schools gorgeously varnished wooden library. Don't you just hate it when that happens? Why do we hear things?

I put my earphones back in and continue that assignment that isn't due for another two weeks.
I might be a so-called nerd but I couldn't give two shits what anybody says. I do what I do to get stuff done. I complete all my work before the due dates and I definitely do not get myself into trouble.

I'm a student at Newcastle all girls University and unlike others I don't party. Ever. I also don't get drunk. Its not that I don't want to ruin my reputation. I don't fucking have one of those. I go past in this strange world of academic standards without being spotted by the rich, skinny, bitchy blondes that think they own the campus. They don't. I thought up a name for them but because I don't talk to anyone, I've gut none to share it with. I've been calling them the bitchy, beachy bimbos, because they literally are only here at uni because their being forced to by their parents. I think me of their fathers is the headmaster but I've got no fucking clue.
People just don't know how to stand up to the BBB's, they don't know how to protect themselves so that when they either;
1. Get dragged into their "BBB group".
Or
2. Get blackmailed into something that will perish their degree and their academic pathways.

The other students in the graduating 2020 class have had to put up with these girls since we started, some even went to highschool with them. I was one of them.

I'm broken out of my thoughts and memories by the kind librarian informing me that she is closing down for the night in about 10 minutes. 
I look outside and see that its dark. Where did the time go?

I look back down at my laptop and see that I've typed out just over 2000 words all up, I mentally calculate that I've typed around 800 words.