Okay, I wrote this story a while back durring the summer.
I don't think I've posted it here. I did post it on another forum though.
But if I did post it here, I'm sorry for reposting it.
The Mysterious Girl
She was about the age of seven-teen. She liked to wear black, to show a mysterious side of her. This young lady was very anti-social. She is what normal people call “weird.” This mysterious woman loved books, but didn’t’ like to read them. She like the way books looked with a hard back cover and with out a picture. She thought it was a mysterious look. Yes, this woman had a personality. In fact, she was very funny, but to an outsider, she was strange. People would see her in the library searching for the oldest books and looking threw the pages. They were lucky if they saw her read. Which in fact she does, but not often.
I saw this woman in a library one day. She was looking at the copyright of, what appeared to be, an old book about religion. I tried to see the copyright, but she turned and sat down before I could see it. I saw her flipping threw the pages, but not reading. I hid behind a book so she wouldn’t see me if she looked up. I tried to study her. There was a fight that broke out behind her, but she paid no attention. The two men fighting were throwing glass. I wanted to run up to her and help her, but she just simply stood up and slowly walked away. Glass was flying above her head and to the left and right sides of her arms, but there wasn’t a scratch on her.
The next day was the first day of class. I went to class early so I wouldn’t have to sit in a spot I didn’t want to sit in. Ten minutes before 9:00 a.m. and I arrived at my classroom. When I walked in, there was only one person in there. It was the mysterious girl. She sat in the very back of the classroom in the left corner. I sat down in the middle of the class. I looked at the mysterious girl. She had very beautiful brown wavy hair. She was wearing all black. I tried to imagine what her life is like. Does she have a whole bunch of cats? Was she hurt as a child that lead her to be anti-social? While I was thinking, students were entering the classroom. They blocked my view so I couldn’t see her, but I saw the book she was looking at. It was the old religious book she checked out from the library.
When class was over, I met up with my friends. We were making really funny jokes until the mysterious girl walked by. My friends didn’t notice her. Only I did. I asked my friends if they’ve seen her. They looked and told me that it’s the first time they notice her when I’m around. They usually see her when I’m not with them. The mysterious girl walked into the school library and I followed her in. I wanted to make eye contact to make an excuse to talk to her. Finally, I just gave up. I just went to the art section to look for a book to check out. I pulled a book and when I did, I heard someone say, “Van Gogh” behind me. I turned around and it was the mysterious girl. “Do you like art?” I asked. She nodded. Then she stretched her arm and said, “My name is Jeannette Aguilar. I’ve noticed you, but never had the guts to speak until I found you with an art book.” I smiled. “What a coincidence,” I said, “My name is Jeannette Aguilar as well.” We shook hands and she said, “It’s finally nice to meet my other half.”
Don't blow up any credit card buildings.
Nice story. It was very interesting, with a nice twist at the end. I was going to post about its autobiographical nature, but the story's end killed that idea.
I really like your story, Janet.
I'm still trying to interpret the story as if there is one Janet who has an imaginary friend, or two Janets that for some uncanny reason are the exact same person in two different bodies.
Mr.Jingles wrote: I really like your story, Janet.
I'm still trying to interpret the story as if there is one Janet who has an imaginary friend, or two Janets that for some uncanny reason are the exact same person in two different bodies.
It's the same person.
The down and negative depressed side,
and the normal (at least infront of people) side of me.
I wrote that story when I decided to get out of depression.
I know what it's like to suffer from depression.
The worst part is that you don't feel like you're able to tell how you feel inside to anyone, and instead choose to keep your depression hidden from everybody else by pretending that you're just doing fine.