Alone; A Fictional Story I've Created

It started with my MUET teacher encouraging us 6AA2 students to write anything for our school (or ex-school to most of you) since it'll be our last year. One morning, I had a story stuck in my head until I couldn't sleep in the car on my way to school. So here it goes...

It was a fine day. The Mother of Light shone her glorious rays onto our planet, giving life to Mother Nature. A pair of yellow mynahs flew across the neatly-trimmed field, a sight I had not seen for a while. Not far from where I was, a magpie sang proudly, the wind carrying its melodious voice for anyone who cared to listen.

Tranquility – a feeling I had not experienced for a long time.

Where am I, you might ask. Well, my answer would be a place where it would always be crowdedon weekdays. Need more clues? Sure. This particular place is noisy during the day and dead quiet by nightfall. Still can’t figure out? All right, how about this – the place consists of students and teachers. Right you are! I’m in a secondary school. Ironically, I’m not where I’m supposed to be.

You have to forgive me for playing with your mind. It’s just that I like to speak in riddles, or else this whole conversation would be boring, won’t it? Or has it become boring to you? If so, I apologise for that, but please humour me a while longer. I’ll go easy on you this time.

Back to the point. As some of you had found out by now, I’m not in class at the moment. To be more specific, I’m on top of one of the trees in the school field. Yes, I am running away and no, it’s not from the discipline teacher. It’s Life that I’m avoiding.

Life has been unkind to me. Schoolwork keeps pouring in like a waterfall; rough, vicious and unforgiving. Although it was indirect, I knew the teachers were expecting excellent results from me. I could tell by their endless praises and encouragement. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet, but that’s reality, and reality sometimes bites you hard. They might not notice, but they were really giving me a hard time in maintaining my results.

Pressure; that’s the word that explains it all.

Truth be told, I can’t handle even the slightest pressure. Pressure makes me panic easily, never failed to get me distracted, and eventually I’ll lose my cool. I started talking harshly, spitting obscenities once in a while to my friends for no apparent reason whatsoever. In the end, their numbers slowly diminish, and no matter how much I apologise, I will never get back the feeling to have such great, helpful, and funny friends.

Things were much more unpleasant back home. I was constantly the victim of their incessant quarrels. “Their” refers to my parents, for your information. Worse comes to worse, when one of them throws in the towel (storming off after a row, to be exact), I would be the lucky substitute for one of their bickerings and shoutings. Imagine being called a “stupid, hopeless child of his” or an “idiotic, good-for-nothing child of hers.”

Well, I guess I have to end my sad, sappy story here. Seems like some school prefects on duty patrol have found me. The look on their faces is expected, but there are things that still puzzles me though – what made them look at me like that?

Is it because of the way I dress?

Is it because of the way I look?

Or is it because of my rotting body, suspended in the air, a thick rope biting through my neck, and bulging red eyes staring lifelessly down at them?

By the way, thanks for spending time with me. I‘m looking forward to another pleasant chat with you. Next time, why don’t you bring along some friends? Why not?

They always say “the more the merrier”, right?

So, how was it? Did it have a suspense/shocking effect on you? If not, then I have failed to impress the readers. By the way... NEVER, EVER TRY THIS ANYWHERE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, SO DON'T SUE ME, OKAY?!