Perfectly Flawed (non-Green Day related), chapter 1
She shoved her headphones in her ears as she sat in the cold bus seat, trying desperately to drown out all of the mindless noise around her. People stared, elbows shoved, kids yelled as she boarded, every day. No one questioned why she was silent; she was just there, the girl with headphones, the music, staring out the window. The same view day in, day out.
It was funny how it relaxed her. It was home, that view, the music. More than anything else would be, at least. That was the only place where she could really think, where she realized how different she was from everyone else.
And she realized her story was not that of the stereotypical "underdog".
Because she hadn't suddenly found her break, her chance, her passion. No, all she had found was a computer, some false friends, music, and this view. This bus. That was her, all rolled into one behind a pale face and blonde hair. She was the shy punk, the smart girl just not smart enough, the girl with pictures in her head but who couldn't even draw a straight line. The writer with nothing to write about. The music lover with a guitar collecting dust.
Under motivated, 7th grade educated, just another teenager lost in a crap-tastic small Ohio town dreaming of something big without the guts to try.
School was hell. Thinking about it, she knew she was probably one of the biggest ingrates in the world, going to a preppy private school and talking about it the way she did. The red-bricked hell-hole, she called it. But it wasn't like the rich kids were all fun just because they were... rich. If anything that made them harder to deal with. Totally absorbed in their own little worlds. You say two hundred people died in the war today? There's a war? Oh, that. Sorry, forgot that was going on, no one here reads the paper anyway... by the way, did you catch "Pimp My Ride" last night?
Honestly.
She wasn't about to say she was some patron saint, some well-read child prodigy. If anything she was the sum of everything wrong and right in the world: perfectly flawed.
It was funny how it relaxed her. It was home, that view, the music. More than anything else would be, at least. That was the only place where she could really think, where she realized how different she was from everyone else.
And she realized her story was not that of the stereotypical "underdog".
Because she hadn't suddenly found her break, her chance, her passion. No, all she had found was a computer, some false friends, music, and this view. This bus. That was her, all rolled into one behind a pale face and blonde hair. She was the shy punk, the smart girl just not smart enough, the girl with pictures in her head but who couldn't even draw a straight line. The writer with nothing to write about. The music lover with a guitar collecting dust.
Under motivated, 7th grade educated, just another teenager lost in a crap-tastic small Ohio town dreaming of something big without the guts to try.
School was hell. Thinking about it, she knew she was probably one of the biggest ingrates in the world, going to a preppy private school and talking about it the way she did. The red-bricked hell-hole, she called it. But it wasn't like the rich kids were all fun just because they were... rich. If anything that made them harder to deal with. Totally absorbed in their own little worlds. You say two hundred people died in the war today? There's a war? Oh, that. Sorry, forgot that was going on, no one here reads the paper anyway... by the way, did you catch "Pimp My Ride" last night?
Honestly.
She wasn't about to say she was some patron saint, some well-read child prodigy. If anything she was the sum of everything wrong and right in the world: perfectly flawed.
