I’ve seen a few introduction posts in the writing community, so I think I’m going to take the time to introduce myself as well.
My name is Jill. Or, you can call me Jay. Whichever is easier for you works for me. I’ve been writing since I was very little, and making stories has always been something I enjoyed doing. I haven’t really gained a lot of attention for my writing, really—on other platforms, too I mean—so I’m still a bit new to sharing my stuff. I’m always, always writing because it’s a big part of my life. I’m president of a creative writing club at school, anyway.
I took an interest in tumblr because it seems like a valuable place for writers to be, and it seems relatively easy to connect with people via tumblr. I made this account yesterday, but have so far had no luck in making any friends. This account, of course, isn’t just for writing. Though writing is my central theme, I’ll most likely also be posting things I love aside from writing. So I hope I can find people with similar interests.
If anyone is reading this, I hope you have a fantastic day. Thank you.
I don’t entirely know how my life came to be this way.
I lay in an ever-growing pool of warm, red liquid, beside the girl who tried to stab me. While it wasn't fun actually stabbing her, there was something about turning the tables that made it sorta worth it to get messy with her blood. Not that I took pleasure in her pain, of course; revenge is just so sweet. Her scissors were in my hand instead of hers due to the fact that I’d wrestled it out of her grip when she decided it would be fun to stab the loner kid who barely ever spoke. The cement was colder than the corpse of King Henry VIII, and yet simultaneously, my face felt hot, like I’d ran a 10K marathon.
She held her stab wound, crying out in pain from my counter-attack as though she hadn’t just tried to bash in my face and given me a broken nose and tried to plunge those scissors into my flesh. I probably just shouldn't have come to school today.
Her jet black hair was a mess. I might have accidentally pulled her hair extensions out during the fight. But she’s staying still on the ground as though her own skinny body will sustain itself in the chill of oncoming autumn. She was wearing a ton of layers of clothing, you know. Maybe she didn’t want to feel the cold embrace of the earth. I stood, slowly, still clutching the bloody scissors. The crowd around us was closing in, some hands reaching out to grab me and pull me away as though I were about to go in for the kill. I didn't fight it, even as I was forced to the ground by someone I didn’t quite know. I definitely deserved it, considering this girl was bleeding and probably needed a doctor...and yet these people were defending her, as though she hadn't pulled the weapon on me first.
It doesn't matter anymore, though. She didn’t die or anything. The paramedics confirmed that the stab wasn’t going to kill her, even though it’d hit an artery to cause a ton of bleeding. I pushed away any notion of regret so I could just move on, even though it was an extra weight I had to carry. Sometimes I have nightmares about that day, though.
She was back quite quickly, with stitches of course, but she left me alone, and I never talked to her or her boyfriend again, who I'm almost certain was cheating on her with her meatier, senior sister.
I still got expelled, though. And she didn't face a damn bit of punishment for instigating it. Go figure.
So here I am in some family meeting with my aunt and her boyfriend, waiting on my parents, but I knew they would cancel because my darling younger sister had a choir concert or some shit. She was fresh to high school, attending one of the better, more dignified establishments, practically the pretty-little-princess to our parents, and probably to her teachers, too.
But the doctor in charge - who I personally think is just a cheap counselor in disguise - sat in front of us, a somber look on his bearded face, as though analyzing my existence, quickly concluding I was a mistake by the universe. To be honest, he probably isn't wrong. He must've thought that this meeting was a mistake. My needing to be counseled, I mean; I guess I looked semi-normal. Surely someone like me wouldn't do all the things that got me in trouble.
...Nah. I'm a born troublemaker. I still can't be trusted to supervise a class while the teacher is out of the room, especially if half the class is comprised of stoners and druggies. Considering the huge mess that came from it, I can't say I blame them for not trusting me. That's a story for another time, though.
“How are you folks, today?” Doc asked--and I call him that because he insists he’s a doctor, and because I didn’t catch his last name. “Got any weekend plans?”
I shifted in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest, sinking in my chair as I listened to the conversation. I was unable to do anything else while they spoke, anyhow. I didn't have a cellphone on me or anything, and nothing to preoccupy myself with like a magazine or pencil and pad. Even if I had those things, I can't imagine I'd have anyone to text, or anything interesting to draw or write about. I’m not sure why he thought he should ask a question like that, especially now. What did it matter? How did that help the situation I was in? Auntie and Markus never go out, anyway. Date nights just aren’t a thing for them. It took one boneheaded move to scar both of them for life, and cause them to make serious revisions in their relationship. What happened doesn't matter; all I can say is, it's partially my fault. Markus can go fuck himself. I'm pretty sure that's the only way he's ever gonna be getting any.
“Oh, uh-”
“Well, no, but-”
I didn’t pay attention to whatever Auntie and Markus answered with. There wasn’t much of a point to. Chances were, they were just going to sit down and watch a ton of shitty romance movies where the storyline is essentially the same; a man falls for a woman, she falls for him, they end up dating and maybe even having sex, then a silly misunderstanding, then a rain scene, or an airport scene, and then they live happily ever after, because that's totally what happens in real life. Nobody seems to die in those movies, or leave their kids with their broken spouse for another person, or decide their kids mean nothing to them and leave them with an aunt who can't possibly understand what abandonment feels like.
“I’m a little unclear on this...Are the two of you Aveline’s parents?” Doc asked at some point; I’m not sure when or why. He should have our files and know the deal, shouldn't he? I had been absentmindedly picking my already-too-short nails, trying to get rid of the painful bits handing off the cuticles, maybe file down the uneven surface somehow. Before they could answer, I spoke up:
“No. They’re my guardians, not my parents.”
Auntie gave me a dirty look, as though warning me that if I don’t keep my mouth shut, I’ll be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ in no time. Markus directed his gaze at me as well with those shiny hazel eyes of his, watching as though he was about to close our distance, leaping over the burlap chairs in the shrink’s office, uprooting me like he was an experienced gardener and I was the dandelion, throw me to the bonfire that which will rid his world of me. I just smirked a bit to hide my urge to laugh, never focusing my gaze completely on Auntie, purposely ignoring the hard look that Markus gave me.
I soon looked up from my nails so that I could get a better look at Doc. I watched him with an unwavering gaze, shunning every desire to bombard him with pejorative-riddled questions about what he was writing on his clipboard, his left hand making the pretty loops in the cursive he’d been trained to use. I crossed a leg over the other as he looked up as well, mocking, wondering, somehow insulting green eyes, greener than the vomit that spewed from that one girl's mouth in The Exorcist. But my eyes seemed to challenge him in some way, like my presence challenged his dominance because he looked away soon, clearing his throat uncomfortably as though he feared that my tiny body would be able to stab his comparably large body with the scissors.
“I, uh, take it Aveline isn’t attending-” He paused to glance at my file, at the name of my now former high school, and I don’t blame him since it had an oddly sophisticated-sounding name, “-White Mountain Academy?”
"It's a school for the scientifically gifted,” Auntie piped up almost excitedly, fidgeting with her opal earrings, “She got in on a scholarship after, uh…”
Doc paused as Auntie's voice died away, looking up at us, his amber skin shining some under the halogen lights. I was sure he was sweating since the heat was turned up high.
“After what?” he asked, but Auntie was silent. Markus was silent, too, watching him with an indiscernible look on his face. Why they thought this was such a good idea, I don’t think I’ll ever know.
I was silent, as well, until I uncrossed my legs and stood, ready to leave, but Auntie grabbed my arm as though to calm me down or perhaps even keep me in place, even if her grip was light and gentle, like she was trying to keep hold of a piece of flimsy scrap paper that somebody left for the wind to carry.
Doc glanced rapidly between the three of us like a curious boy seeking a bandy-legged truth that never slowed its jog.
“Am...I missing something here?”
“Oh, no, Sir, it’s just-”
“Can I talk to Aveline alone, Ms. Maguire?” Doc asked, causing my heart to leap into my throat. Auntie’s hand left my arm as she gave him an uncertain look. But she complied, rising to her feet and pulling Markus out of the room, leaving me to speak with the faux doctor.
“...Have a seat, Aveline,” he ordered, and I obeyed, only because the quicker we finish, the quicker I can just go home. It seemed like all I'd done since I was sent home was talk to some guy in an office that smelled like straight-up ass. I'd rather just hide until everything blew over, rather than talk about this to people who don't even know me. I'm not about to be sitting there and taking it while my Auntie has to try and explain the things I do to people I get in trouble with. I'd rather not see that scene; Auntie doesn't deserve that shame. I don't want to see or hear her cry over it. And yet, I can't seem to stop my behavior. That's how my life has been for the past few years. I can be called a problem child, and the person calling me that will be absolutely correct.
“What happened when you got the scholarship?”
“...I finished middle school on a bad note, and would’ve been expelled if it weren’t the last day of school. I’d gotten a scholarship into the high school because I guess my entry into some contest secured it. Besides, the high schools near my house are shit.”
“Why’s that?”
“Have you seen some of the hoes from that school who prance around the street wearing skimpy clothes? Showing off their asses and tits in hopes they’ll get a nice, hot-?”
“Okay, I get the point, Aveline.” He grumbled, writing something else down on the paper attached to the clipboard. “And...What caused you to be expelled from this school?”
“Some girl thought I was messing around with her boyfriend and she tried to stab me.”
“But you got expelled because…?”
“She was the one who ended up being stabbed. She tried to kill me. We can’t have that, now, can we?”
He wrote more down on his clipboard. It continued on like that, like a test or quiz or something, as though everything I’ve been experiencing in my life was one big lesson, in one big classroom, and this was a major test to see if I retained anything I’d been learning. But I couldn’t care enough; I couldn’t bring myself to answer easily, thoughtlessly, as though just relaying gossip.
“What are you going to do about school, then? Aren’t you a senior?”
“I honestly don’t have an answer for you, Doc.”
“Doctor Vega,” he corrected me sharply, “And you have to find one soon. It’s not gonna be good for you if you just don’t go back to school.”
I knew he was right. Deep down, I knew. But I didn’t recognize it, falling silent in response. It was like my brain suddenly switched 'off' upon being prodded for questions regarding the topic of school, and the impending future. I shifted in my seat, biting my nails again, averting my gaze from his face.
I legitimately do not understand why a vegan who’s dedicated to pursuing a 100% vegan lifestyle, to the point where they want their pets on a vegan diet as well, do not. just. keep. naturally vegan pets.
Rabbits, guinea pigs, hamsters, gerbils, tortoises, iguanas, a fucking horse, for fucks sake!
Like. My god, you have so many options for pets that literally CAN’T eat meat! Why would you insist on keeping a predator, if you can’t stomach the idea that they’re goddamn predators??
Do you have any idea how goddamn loving a hamster can be? Would you like to know what it feels like when a bunny asks you for cuddles?
Vegan pets are a thing. Animals that literally only eat plant matter are a thing.
You don’t have to torture dogs and cats to live a purely vegan lifestyle. Go buy a fucking guinea pig.
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