Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Rant ❯ Insomniac ( Chapter 1 )
[ A - All Readers ]
By: SasorizaNoOnna 
A series of interconnected stories through the perspective of one angry adolescent girl...All 'rants', as the title suggests. [Mild cursing]
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.26.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 294 | Status: Work In Progress
A series of interconnected stories through the perspective of one angry adolescent girl...All 'rants', as the title suggests. [Mild cursing]
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.26.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 294 | Status: Work In Progress
Sleep has become harder for me.
I suppose it’s a side effect of what’s recently transpired; of his falling in love with her and my falling out of love with him in almost perfect sychronicity. He’s like the squatter that stubbornly refuses to leave his tenement, even if you’ve harassed and threatened him for weeks on end. Not an idle moment passes without thinking about him. Now that everything is said and done, I’ve thought of a million different ways that I could have changed his mind, even changed him somehow. After all, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and that’s the one thing I can’t forget.
It’s enough to drive anyone with a conscience quite insane.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I haven’t been trying to get on with my life; I haven’t gone into any sort of deep depression, and otherwise, I’ve felt normal. After he left, I went through nothing but the standard ‘cry-and-eat-cookies-for-three-days’ phase. I didn’t have to salvage the remnants of my life from a smoldering pile of ashes…I’ve been getting by really well. If you discount the long, sleepless nights and the hours of lying awake with the bitter old memories playing through my mind like a home movie, things have been absolutely swell. Never better.
But perhaps it’s not just the insomnia or the unwanted nostalgia that’s bothering me. I’ve also been seeing him more frequently. No, wait, perhaps ‘seeing’ isn’t the proper word for it; ‘imagining’ is more accurate. I’ve been imagining that he’s nearby more than I ever have, even when I was completely smitten with him. He’s been appearing everywhere, like some kind of imaginary stalker that disappears the moment I glance his way. He’s nothing more than the flash of a hawk-nosed face in profile, a glimpse of a scrawny arm swinging limply at someone’s side, the phantom cascade of auburn hair spilling over a shoulder clad in a ratty old t-shirt. They’re just fragments of a person that isn’t even there, but it’s enough to stop me dead in my tracks for a second or two. Whether it’s an astonishing case of photographic memory or just plain insanity, I’m not sure.
Of course, none of this is surprising, considering the circumstances that introduced us. We were never the lamented star-crossed lovers that seem so popular among teenage romances. There was a lot that kept us apart, yes, but it wasn’t the work of warring families or the cruel hand of Fate.
It was his fault. Our fault. You can’t blame Fate for making Romeo an oblivious, uncaring idiot, or Juliet an angry bitch who expected too much. In a way, our 'love' (used in the loosest sense of the word) was doomed from the beginning simply because of the people involved.
Step back to about ten months ago, in the auditorium of this high school set in the heart of Hicktown, USA. To the auditorium that would be our metephorical Verona. Cut to me charging in through the double doors in a frezy, my messanger bag swinging off of one shoulder, the doors slamming loudly and unceremoniously behind me. It was my first day as one of the only freshmen members of drama club, and already I was frantic about ruining my nonexistant reputation by being late.
"Thank god, you're finally here!" a nasal voice intoned from over my shoulder, boring into my eardrum like a drill. The owner of a voice, my newly-aquainted friend Anthony, came waddling up to my and frowned. As one of the only freshmen who had any idea as to what the hell they were doing here, it had been my top priority to get to know him, even if he was a completely destestable person otherwise.
"What took you so long?" he snapped, putting a hand on his hip as his dark eyes scanned my confused face. "We've been waiting forever for you to get here! Damn it, do you think I have all day to wait around for you?" I opened my mouth to mumble a hasty apology, but he waved his hand in dismissal and turned away. "Whatever, I'm sick of yelling at people...I've had to do it too much today as it is. It's like I'm the only one who even frickin' knows what they're doing..." Stalking away as he continued to mumble under his breath about everyone's imcompetence, he looked back and glared at me.
"Well, are you just going to stand there? Hurry up!" he snarled. With a defeated sigh, I flung my bag into a nearby seat and trudged along behind him, the first traces of a headache already gnawing at my senses. I had only been halfway up the flight of stairs leading backstage with Anthony's bitching still ringing in my ears when I first saw our Romeo. Needless to say, it wasn't quite as magical a moment as people assume it is.
Said Romeo was standing off to the side of the stage (stage left? right? I really wasn't sure) with a hot pink little script book clenched in one hand. He was reading aloud and gesticulating wildly as he spoke, pacing around and moving his free hand to emphasize the words I couldn't even hear him saying. Under ordinary circumstances he might have been attractive, but at that moment he looked like a complete idiot.
They're so cute when they talk to themselves.
"Hey," I whispered to Anthony, proding his shoulder, "d'you know who that guy over there is?" Looking as I nodded my head in the mumbler's direction, he quirked a brow.
"Him? That's Chris..." he replied, a strange look crossing his face. "He's kind of stupid, if you ask me. But I'll tell you more later, we're still wasting time right now." As he walked a few steps ahead of me, I glanced back at the stranger again.
Maybe he's nice, I thought briefly, After all, what the hell does Anthony know?
I was completely unaware that that wasn't the case at the time; it was what the hell I knew.
I suppose it’s a side effect of what’s recently transpired; of his falling in love with her and my falling out of love with him in almost perfect sychronicity. He’s like the squatter that stubbornly refuses to leave his tenement, even if you’ve harassed and threatened him for weeks on end. Not an idle moment passes without thinking about him. Now that everything is said and done, I’ve thought of a million different ways that I could have changed his mind, even changed him somehow. After all, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and that’s the one thing I can’t forget.
It’s enough to drive anyone with a conscience quite insane.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I haven’t been trying to get on with my life; I haven’t gone into any sort of deep depression, and otherwise, I’ve felt normal. After he left, I went through nothing but the standard ‘cry-and-eat-cookies-for-three-days’ phase. I didn’t have to salvage the remnants of my life from a smoldering pile of ashes…I’ve been getting by really well. If you discount the long, sleepless nights and the hours of lying awake with the bitter old memories playing through my mind like a home movie, things have been absolutely swell. Never better.
But perhaps it’s not just the insomnia or the unwanted nostalgia that’s bothering me. I’ve also been seeing him more frequently. No, wait, perhaps ‘seeing’ isn’t the proper word for it; ‘imagining’ is more accurate. I’ve been imagining that he’s nearby more than I ever have, even when I was completely smitten with him. He’s been appearing everywhere, like some kind of imaginary stalker that disappears the moment I glance his way. He’s nothing more than the flash of a hawk-nosed face in profile, a glimpse of a scrawny arm swinging limply at someone’s side, the phantom cascade of auburn hair spilling over a shoulder clad in a ratty old t-shirt. They’re just fragments of a person that isn’t even there, but it’s enough to stop me dead in my tracks for a second or two. Whether it’s an astonishing case of photographic memory or just plain insanity, I’m not sure.
Of course, none of this is surprising, considering the circumstances that introduced us. We were never the lamented star-crossed lovers that seem so popular among teenage romances. There was a lot that kept us apart, yes, but it wasn’t the work of warring families or the cruel hand of Fate.
It was his fault. Our fault. You can’t blame Fate for making Romeo an oblivious, uncaring idiot, or Juliet an angry bitch who expected too much. In a way, our 'love' (used in the loosest sense of the word) was doomed from the beginning simply because of the people involved.
Step back to about ten months ago, in the auditorium of this high school set in the heart of Hicktown, USA. To the auditorium that would be our metephorical Verona. Cut to me charging in through the double doors in a frezy, my messanger bag swinging off of one shoulder, the doors slamming loudly and unceremoniously behind me. It was my first day as one of the only freshmen members of drama club, and already I was frantic about ruining my nonexistant reputation by being late.
"Thank god, you're finally here!" a nasal voice intoned from over my shoulder, boring into my eardrum like a drill. The owner of a voice, my newly-aquainted friend Anthony, came waddling up to my and frowned. As one of the only freshmen who had any idea as to what the hell they were doing here, it had been my top priority to get to know him, even if he was a completely destestable person otherwise.
"What took you so long?" he snapped, putting a hand on his hip as his dark eyes scanned my confused face. "We've been waiting forever for you to get here! Damn it, do you think I have all day to wait around for you?" I opened my mouth to mumble a hasty apology, but he waved his hand in dismissal and turned away. "Whatever, I'm sick of yelling at people...I've had to do it too much today as it is. It's like I'm the only one who even frickin' knows what they're doing..." Stalking away as he continued to mumble under his breath about everyone's imcompetence, he looked back and glared at me.
"Well, are you just going to stand there? Hurry up!" he snarled. With a defeated sigh, I flung my bag into a nearby seat and trudged along behind him, the first traces of a headache already gnawing at my senses. I had only been halfway up the flight of stairs leading backstage with Anthony's bitching still ringing in my ears when I first saw our Romeo. Needless to say, it wasn't quite as magical a moment as people assume it is.
Said Romeo was standing off to the side of the stage (stage left? right? I really wasn't sure) with a hot pink little script book clenched in one hand. He was reading aloud and gesticulating wildly as he spoke, pacing around and moving his free hand to emphasize the words I couldn't even hear him saying. Under ordinary circumstances he might have been attractive, but at that moment he looked like a complete idiot.
They're so cute when they talk to themselves.
"Hey," I whispered to Anthony, proding his shoulder, "d'you know who that guy over there is?" Looking as I nodded my head in the mumbler's direction, he quirked a brow.
"Him? That's Chris..." he replied, a strange look crossing his face. "He's kind of stupid, if you ask me. But I'll tell you more later, we're still wasting time right now." As he walked a few steps ahead of me, I glanced back at the stranger again.
Maybe he's nice, I thought briefly, After all, what the hell does Anthony know?
I was completely unaware that that wasn't the case at the time; it was what the hell I knew.