She was too scared to join in, so she sat on the sidelines, watching life flash by until she could go home and write about it in her notebook.
Summary: She was too scared to join in, so she sat on the sidelines, watching life flash by until she could go home and write about it in her notebook.
A/N: This is a very short story I wrote last night. I don’t really want to say much about it, other than it was really difficult to write, and even more difficult to post. I hope other people find it relatable and it's not just really stupid. The reason it's in the MCR category is because the latest Conventional Weapons greatly helped me write this.
The girl was lonely.
She hadn’t always been, and that’s what made it worse. She knew what it was like to have people who mattered to her and to whom she mattered. But now, in the dull light of her stale bedroom, as she sat, huddled up on her bed; headphones in, notebook in front of her, she didn’t have that. It was gone, and now she was just anyone. Someone no one knew; just another teenager with facial piercings and dead eyes.
She wasn’t a person, she didn’t matter. She was just a statistic. It didn’t matter if she was passionate and wanted to make a difference to the ugly world, make it a little more beautiful. It didn’t matter if she was lost, if she cared, because there was no one else to make it true. Just her. Alone, huddled up in the dark, listening to music that made her feel much too alive. She could just be another story no one would ever read, not even pick up off the dusty shelf until it didn’t matter anymore.
The girl couldn’t bear the thought of being just being another faceless person slumped in the safe confines of an unlocked house. She wanted so much, and that’s why it hurt. She couldn’t just be another face in the crowd. She didn’t want material things, like clothes and money. She wanted music, she wanted words- she wanted to make everyone else’s lives a little better with what she created. She wanted to make a difference, to change people’s lives and make them feel better than she did. She wanted to truly matter- if it couldn’t be to real friends then to the world.
But she didn’t.
She ached for the past where she was someone, where she really did matter. She ached for the people who’d made her laugh and cry, who’d saved her life.
Because without them, she was nothing. All she ever did was sit on the sidelines, watching life flash past so as she could go home and write about it in her notebook, the only place she still mattered just a little.
She was too scared to join in, too scared to live- too scared to be herself in front of the world in case it ruined her.
So the girl remained how she was.
Lost. Faceless. Insignificant.
I realise this is very different to my other works, but feedback would mean a hell of a lot on this. I'd really appreciate it. Thank you.