Chapter 1: Broken

So I have been thinking about writing a short story/novel for a long time. I am talking like, I thought about this during high school long time. I always get frustrated and stop because it just feels like I can't get the description and emotion I desire. I am flirting with a way to incorporate this into my blog. If there is some interest in my story then I will keep writing. If no one except my best friend and wife enjoy it, then I may continue writing, but just won't post it on my blog. Therefore, I need input. Whether you love it or hate it please let me know. I have finished the first "chapter" which pretty much just means this is where I decided to stop writing for now. Here goes nothing...

Chapter 1: Broken

I look down at the paper.

Nashville

Her smile.

Her laugh.

Our love.

My joy.

Gone.

I scoff at myself. This has got to be one of the worst things that I have ever written, and is certainly not going to help my drowning grade in English class. I have never understood English teachers and their obsession with poetry. The ability to write is one thing, we all need to do that, but poetry is reserved for a special kind of person. The unique blend of emotional creativity and over the top language resides in very few people.

However, I find myself reacting to my poem, which is supposed to be symbolic of good poetry right?

I feel my eyes start to sting as tears attempt to break free. I breathe deeply and quickly shut them down. My teacher interrupts my uncomfortably personal moment.

“Jackson, will you be turning in a poem today or will I have to call your father about your grade AGAIN,” Mr. Carlson practically spitting the words at me.

I apologize softly and hand my paper to the girl in front of me. I don’t even know her name. She, like much of this school, refuses to acknowledge I am a person.

As I swing my eyes back towards my desk, I notice her looking at me. The brief eye contact scares her, and she turns back towards the front. It’s like the connection of our pupils will turn her to stone. In reality, the most important part of her, her heart, has already been turned to stone. Her father made sure of that.

“Sarah, would you please read your poem aloud?” Mr. Carlson asks.

“I would really rather not,” she replies, her voice filled with fear.

“Well I wasn’t really asking. You were selected out of the hat. Participation is a large part of your grade. Stand and read your poem.”

She rises out of her seat, her hands shaking. I whisper “everything will be alright,” hoping that she would somehow be able to hear it and receive some sort of comfort.

Broken – no, wait

How will I ever go back?

What you did to me,

It’s unforgiveable.

The impact will be lasting.

Was that what you wanted?

Every day I wake up sure of two things,

I will be crying and I will be confused.

Forever.

Forever I am broken.

No wait, broken doesn’t do me justice.

Ruined.

Stained.

Lost.

“Sarah, wonderful job. There was some serious –,” Mr. Carlson is cut off as Sarah runs out of the classroom crying.

The only thing keeping me from getting up and clocking this jerk right in his jaw are the words that Dr. Granger reminded me of the last time I got suspended, “last straw.” I can’t get expelled. She needs me.