The first thing that Christabel Mordsa remembered about yesterday was how boring it was. There was a reason she wrote that poem. “And, while we’re talking weird, Christa darling,” Like many musicians who write silly stupid shit like phone numbers as song lyrics and “Jacobs Dad is so mad” Christabel had found that the silliest things caught on. YOLO, now that was annoying. Some moron yelling “YOLO! YOLO! YOLO!” It never made sense to Christabel. She walked into LCC, slowly taking in the sights, what little they were. Something told her to go to the elevator. Call it a hunch. Maybe, just maybe, she’d find someone interesting like YOLO kid. She walked to the cafeteria first though, needing something to eat. The trendies could wait.
She walked inside, tons of people bustling in and out. It was all the same. She sat alone, like always, putting on her headphones. The song played in her head, and she let go of the world again. Not like anyone was going to even take notice. It was boring here, and if you didn’t fit the label, at least in Lackerton Community College, you weren’t ever going to get any attention. It wasn’t bullying in the traditional sense, but loneliness brought a unique twist to Christabel Mordsa’s personality. Oooohhhh Let life come forth from the darkened abyss, and drag thy heart to meet thy bliss.
Her head was full of thoughts as she headbanged to what she was hearing. “The morning brings out the best in you, but come out, and be yourself! Darkened melodies of my heart”
“I am the loving gate of the hated masses! Come unto me and BE YOURSELF!” Her hair flew across her face, and then a memory crept its way in.
“Christabel it’s time for school!” She had been five then. Her eyes, her past eyes, opened, and she watched little walking Christabel come across the road. There was nothing dark and sinister about the trees, and how they swooped down at a unnatural angle that made them look like they’d eat up little Christabel. This memory, she remembers well, but it’s purposely covered in a hazy fog. She has created this fog to mask the memory that haunts her still. Then as she comes across the road –
“With humility I am free from your traps so dark and from within!” The sound of her music, screaming in her ears, saved her from this vision.
The general feeling she had, was one of a deep dark loneliness. Community colleges, she had heard, were a great way to make friends. Not so apparently. The class system in college was defined. The Asians sat with the Asians, blacks of all nationalities sat with blacks. No one looked like Christabel. Except maybe, one girl. She had the same style hair, except it was more of a auburn color. Christabel rose, taking in the sight of the mysterious woman, but as soon as she did, the woman turned, and glared at her. Why? What had Christabel done? She was going to find out.
“Excuse me I-“
“I don’t like you hair, I don’t like the metal on your face –“
“They’re called snakebites, and-“
“Well they don’t, make sense.”
“Can –“ She intended to ask the girl’s name, but before she could, the bratty little kid was gone. 18 and owning the world. “Nah, that’s not a age thing, that’s,” She looked, noticing the child walking to her mother. “a parenting thing.” Part of Christabel felt bad, as though she should walk over and apologize. That was silly though; she had done nothing wrong, and even if she had, wasn’t the golden rule to treat others as you wished to be treated. She shrugged. There was no point in walking over to her just to complain to her mother. Then Christabel would be no better than her. Her first class was soon anyway. Maybe she’d get something out of it this time. Had to check the elevator too, something new maybe.
When she entered the elevator, she pressed the ‘door closed button’ and leaned back against the wall. There was the poem, and nothing else. Could’ve used some change here. Don’t make me press the button, please? She was pleading with her mind now. Something about walking into Miss.Beezy’s class frightened her. What was she going here for? Liberal arts? Like that’d get her anywhere. Sadly I have to go, there’s no avoiding it. She pressed the button, and bit her lip. Maybe if I go slow, it’ll be canceled. Who knows? Not like this day can go any faster, right?
Christabel noticed as she walked to class the oddest thing. Everyone walked like a zombie, spoke in a soft, low voice, and stared at each other. There was laughter, but it was almost as if it was controlled by some external force. She noticed no one she knew, even somewhat from working at The Trend. That was odd. She had thought she might have seen at least one person. She sighed, standing outside the door. Waiting for Miss Beezy was a chore in itself. You had to stand there for at least fifteen minutes into the class period, and even then, even though the teacher walked in late, you were at her mercy if you left.
Society crumbles when the controller becomes too powerful. We become so used to the way life changes and how fast it does that we don’t see the way we had it. How lost is this trendy generation, and how sick of a joke is it that I’m partof that generation that I truly despise?
After all, this generation is so lost on labels and protecting the children from offensive posts online instead of true activism. Odd thing to think about while waiting for a English class isn’t it? What else is there to think about. Sigh, gotta get in, gotta sit down, listen to the pathetic lesson.
I don’t need to be here, I need – damn shirt. I need to be working out. Trend at 4, I hate the place but it’s the only one that would hire me. Call Traguard then. No, rather not, he gets pissed at me too easily. So what do I do? Why do I want to call him? Random thought? No, I wanted to tell him I’ll likely be late because I need to get my stuff from my locker. No he won’t buy it. Not like she’ll notice. Christabel stood, walking out of the room. No one noticed. Feels like a hell all its own though.
Okay out in the hall, time to find my locker. It’s always so cluttered here. The people out here don’t help matters. All obsessed with the labels of their shirts. ‘Oh look at me I wear an t-shirt you know of, holy shit!’ Gah, why do they care so much? Girls are laughing. Everyone is so fake, hiding behind the labels. Either that or they look like zombies. Wandering the halls now, twenty steps and a left turn to my locker. Get the combo put in, open it up. There we go. Plain black bag, exciting compared to the others. Sigh, this sucks.
There’s a part of me that wants to fit in, begs for it and then realizes I couldn’t even if I tried. Purple hair and all, all I am to these people is an illusion, an illusion of whatever truth they wish to believe about me. Atheist, communist, lost to the trends they subscribe to. Why am I so addicted to trends. As a writer said, am I the you, ‘a walking stereotype for all that you promised yourself you would never become but became anyway.” Bright sixteen year old she is. Not many from merry old England impress me. But seriously am I what I fear? Am I the walking contradiction?
The thought that Christabel, who had spent so many years trying to be different was the contradiction of difference, terrified her. The vision she had earlier overtook her once more.
“Christabel it’s time for school!” She was walking across the road, holding onto a baseball bat made of wood. She had brought it to be unique. A five year old wasn’t carrying a full sized baseball bat. Even then she had tried to stick out from the crowd. Across the street, there was a long wooden bridge, held up by rope. She wanted to explore that bridge, to see what she could find. Her steps slowed as she was coming up to the bridge. Holding onto the rope, she crossed it easily. The vision ended and she was lost to her thoughts again.
YOLO? You Only Live Once? Really? Do we? Is it true; are we stuck in the paradigm of loss and regret so much to believe that you only live one time. “Words, Mr Wordsworth.” I’m not a number, I’m not a statistic to the generation I live in. I advanced beyond that. It’s not an ego, it’s a revelation. I am a person. That doesn’t seem like such a revelation when we think about it, but what is humanity? Is humanity normal, stuck behind the pages two and three? Or does it expand to fill vast paintings created by you and me? Do we notice what we create? Are we the greatest poets to another’s illuminated reality? We never know it do we? My purple hair falls across my neck but everyone sees it as a mask. It’s not, it’s a shining beacon of light. It says “HERE I AM! NEW! FREE! Fuck you if you don’t believe me.”
That may sound mean but it’s what we have to do sometimes. Why the fuck do I work at a place called “The Trend”? She picked up her cell phone and answered it. Perfect timing.
“I’m quitting mom!” Christabel Mordsa, Queen of The Dead, felt alive, for the first time.