The Best Are Different

Link Richards ~ Left Sitting

It's that first day cliche. Back to school, it's Junior year. The year after this one, I'll be finally able to kick myself out of my house. I probably won't though; too much guilt. I'd end up burning down the entire country with all that much more stress over my head. 

I didn't sleep last night, of course, fearing for school and all. The summer was sort of a break from the educational stress, except my physical workload was pounded on me. Every year I get older, my mom tells me to get more money and do more for the family and get more jobs and take care of the kids more and... 

You get the point, right?  

All of a sudden I hear my new History teacher tell us to go to the next class. Everyone around me automatically slings their bags over their shoulder and rushes out. I'm left sitting. 

Well that passed by unusually quick, I think, raising an eyebrow in slight confusion, I thought I had just sat down... 

I shrug it off. This is something that happens to me quite often. I don't know what it is yet though, but then again I don't really have time to figure it out. 

I grab some papers he must've passed out during the class that are on my desk, look at them briefly, and shove them in my bag as I walk to my next class. It's apparently P.E. I figure this out by checking the schedule that came with the pile of papers from History class. 

P.E isn't my favorite, it never was, not by a long shot. By now I'm suppose to have the credit for it done, but it's not done of course because I kept on skipping the classes for the past two years. 

I sigh as I face the fact that I have a lot more unfinished credits than just P.E. 

I scuff my old, beat up converse against the school's smooth tile floor and long for a cigarette, or something to just burn.  

I have a feeling this year's going to kill me. 

Eventually I end up in the Gymnasium, late of course. Everyone's in a circle and they left their bags by the door so I do the same, joining the group. 

The teacher didn't change. I'm still stuck with the giant Mr. Pissoff (no, that's not his real name) who never hesitates to call me out when I'm late... like now for example. 

"Oi!? What is this!?" he bellows in his signature fake "Scottish" accent, "Late is your first impression for this year, now is it, Link!?" 

I nod as everyone looks at me and I survey their faces. Most of them I recognize, after all I've been going to the same school as them for as long as I can remember. Although there are a few newbies, there's one guy in particular who manages to catch my eye. He's a tiny guy with a content and ,I'd say, boarderline excited expression plastered onto his face despite his body being deformed. He's got a machine for a leg and one of his arms is missing, it's practically just a shoulder. 

He cracks a joke to an Average Joe looking guy beside him who replies with a chuckle. They both smile, showing teeth, and I can't help but envy that little dude's behaviour. 

Me, I'm quiet and probably come off as really moody I suppose. Although it feels like I've been attending this school forever, I only made one friend, and he graduated last year. I haven't seen him since, which sucks for a guy like me, because he was the type of friend who helped my rather messed up state of mind. 

So here I am, practically alone in the Gymnasium, with Mr. Pissoff scolding the hell out of me as I slouch with my greasy blonde roots covered in an old, random beanie I found in my closet one day as that outgoing deformed kid makes about twenty more jokes and everybody cracks a grin. 

Yup, I need a cigarette.