𝐯𝐢𝐢. you think i'm a sore loser?

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𝖵𝖨𝖨

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𝖵𝖨𝖨. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋?
——— 🧃

 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋?——— 🧃

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BLAIR SAT PERCHED upon the bed, bare feet pointed against white sheets. Her black pen was between her fingers gliding across the notepad, swirling cursive writing as she continuously wrote down notes for the english test she had in a day. Blair Willows had all but forgotten about the english test and without a hesitation, started to study belatedly. English wasn't Blair's favorite subject in school, but she needed to pass her test. She had already failed two classes and wasn't about to fail another.

With her headphones softly on her ears, Blair bopped her head along to the rhythm of the music, tutting her tongue along to the background sounds. Music was her get away from life, with it's different beats ringing in her ear, the harmonizing melodies that travel up and down, the sound loud and clear.

Blair tucked a golden brown strand of hair behind her ear as she continued to write all over the paper, her writing much neater than junior year. She had learned her lesson from the illegible writing last year. Her tongue stuck out her mouth in concentration as she attempted to not mess up her cursive writing but had sadly failed at her one task.

With a frustrated huff, she slammed her notebook shut and threw her pen onto the bed, making it get lost amongst the hoard of fluffy pillows.

Her head perked up at the sound of the TV from the living room. The gunshots and explosions of her father's ending action movies threw off her concentration. Plus, she couldn't hear Led Zeppelin over the sound of it.

"Dad!" She called out in annoyance but she was met with no reply. "Dad!" She repeated, her voice breaking with irritation but yet again, her father didn't reply.

𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 - 𝐉. 𝐎𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 Where stories live. Discover now