September Chaster - I Know What Independence Really Means Nika

I'm independent. I've always been. Nothing has changed during the past years. I'm with myself every second, every minute, every hour, every day, and every night. No matter how hard I try, I can’t socialize with other people. I'm secluded from the rest of the world. I know by now that nothing will ever change the way I live. Nothing will ever change as long as I live. Never. How could things change?

I do absolutely everything independently. The way I see it, I do everything alone. Everywhere I go I feel so lonely. I feel like I'm not even there where people see me.

I do things all the same way. Independently. Study, read, write. Cook. I get straight A's, and I work for them alone, I get things done on time, and I do the things I need to do without anybody telling me. People tell me most teenagers my age don't do that very often. Parents tell me they wish they had a child like me. Everyone envies my "natural talent." But really, I do all these things without an order because I don't have anything to do or anyone to look for. I have no one to talk to.

I depend on myself and only myself. I am responsible for my own actions. My parents tell me I'm all grown up.

Later in the year, my father had lost his job. We couldn't stay in the house any longer until he got another job. My mother and father had been arguing day and night for two weeks. My father put his anger on me. I didn't protest. He had had enough pain and anguish, and I understood. But neither my mother or father knew the pain and anguish I was going through.

We had to move out of the house, and into a small, cramped apartment. It was in terrible and bad condition. There were layers of old wallpaper desperately clinging to the walls and peeling off, numerous dead bugs found inside of the window, and a hole the size of a basketball. I just wish I could hold my dog in my arms to make me content once again.

You might not think independence is such a bad thing. I would love to switch places with you.

A few months ago, my dog, August, had to be put down because of hunger. We had run out of food for her, and she was so gaunt and skinny we could see she was suffering by the looks of her bones, hanging out from each side of her. August was my only comfort and company until she died. She was the only thing that kept me off my mind of my loneliness. Her long, golden fur and her warm, wet tongue had kept my mind off everything sad. But soon later my father had lost his job, we couldn't afford to feed August, and soon, she was looking like the bony little creature she had been when she fell into eternal sleep.

I remember the day we took her to a vet to put her down, her eyes clouded with pain, sadness, and confusion. As August looked up at my eyes, she must have immediately saw the anguish and sorrow in them. She warmly tried to push her nose through the cage, and lick my finger. I let her out of the cage as we walked into the shelter. She pushed her muzzle against my leg, and I felt like my legs were going to collapse. I wrapped my arms around her neck, softly whispering her name into her ear. "Good girl," I said. "You're going to be okay." I wasn't.

She weakly pushed me down and licked my face with that warm, pink tongue. Tears trickled down my face as she swiped her tongue over them. Sadness overwhelmed me, and I felt like I almost squeezed the life out of her, but when I let go, she knew something was wrong. And just then did the man coming to take her come.

He pulled August by her collar. She struggled with all the strength she had left to escape and get to me where she knew I would smother her lovingly as I do every day when I come home from school. I saw pain, confusion, and bewilderment in her eyes. And I just wanted to scream, "Don't take her away!" But I held it in. Instead, I slowly approached her, looked into her eyes, and sighed, "You’re going to be fine."
My eyes welled up with tears, and I squeezed her one last time. I slowly drew back, and she still struggled on to reach me. I watched her slowly disappear through the halls and waited. And I heard her yap for help. That was the last time I heard her, and the last thing I will know about her.

School makes me feel only a little better about my life. I watch all the students who are alone walk by me with their heads bowed down. But those students are liked by the teachers. The teachers never played a huge part in my life. No one ever did but my parents and August.

People view me as a popular guy, but no one ever talks to me the way friends do. I always sit alone at a lunch table surrounded by people who never talk to me.

People "love" me, and envy me, so why don't I have any friends? I don't understand...

Independence is so lonely. Nobody has ever understood. I'm locked out and excluded from life. I'm... Lonely. I'm alone. I don't understand.

Do I have anyone to look after me when I'm broken? No. I'm broken right now.

Let's jump back to the present.

School is over. I have to work at a convenience store to gain income for my family. It's little, but it's enough.

Someone walks by me and smiles. Could she finally be someone who I can go to when I'm broken? Like August...?

Two feet ahead of me, she walks past me. No. I don't feel neglected. How much am I used to being alone all my life? Watching her as she continues to walk along holding hands with a friend, I feel like an idiot. Why would I think someone would accept me when I've been neglected all my life?

I start up a jog, making my way down the street. My foot steps on something, or someone. They wince. I look down at them. I immediately recognize the person as a student from my school.

“Do I know you?”

"No!"

My heart thumps hard through my chest. This guy was crazy... "I-I have never seen you before.." Poor guy, he looked so embarrassed as heads turned to look at us.

I reached my hand out and smiled. "I’m September."

He looked at me like I was a psychopath.

"Oak. Oak Clockwork."

He reached out his hands with a trembling hand and he smiled sheepishly.

I felt a rush of happiness. Wow. A friend.



Oak Clockwork: Just One Person is Enough (REWRITTEN) Rikuta

The world is a dark place, filled with crime, hate, greed. However, people love. I love. People smile, their faces filled with joy. I wish to do so too. I want to be more than a ghost, more than “that silent kid”. I want to be seen as who I am, be loved by someone who is my precious person.

So please, if anyone is there, tell me I’m adored.

---------------------------------------------------

I was running. I didn’t know where I’m going. My feet were moving across the ground, my heart was thumping, beating out of my chest. The wind was blowing my bangs back, the air entering my open mouth. It was exhilarating. I threw my arms back. It felt amazing. Fantastic. I could move freely, without being held back by anyone.

The straps of my bookbag moved down my arms as I ran. I stopped to gather my things as a few crumpled papers fell out.

Loud footsteps had come out of nowhere behind me. I winced in pain as a foot stepped onto my fingers. I held my things against my chest, ready to get out of there as fast as I could. Their voice stopped me.

“Hi, sorry about that,” He held his hand out, “Do I know you?”

“No!” My voice screams. I blushed from embarrassment as heads turn. “I-I have never seen you before," I said, making the situation worse.

“I’m September.” He says, a grin on his face.

The voice inside my head whispers. “I know,” it says, “I’ve always known.”

“Oak. Oak Clockwork.” I mumbled taking his hand.

He says something else. Something about school and possibly knowing me from there. He goes off in the opposite direction when I leave. My hands are sweaty.

I make my way to my home. I never expect anyone there. My father earns money but has a horrible habit of going out at night and I assume he goes to the bar. He takes painkillers in the morning afterwards. My mother won’t ever be there again. I try not to think about her.

Our house is like any normal house at first glance but when you look at the details, it's old. The gutters are messed up, some areas filled with leaves I have yet to remove. The roof is old and has watermarks and some of the paint is peeling off the house. I've managed to at least keep the place happy looking, mowing the grass and keeping flowers alive to place them outside to grow. I do the garden work, I do the housework, I do the cooking, and I try keep up with my studies.

I have a part-time job at a convenience store near my school. It’s a small place and the boss is decent. There’s only a few workers there besides me. My father works full-time at a company, the money he earns being just enough for us to get by with. Due to this, I work afternoon and some night shifts are the store. I tend to sleep on weekends when I can.

I push the door open to an almost empty house. I have no means of entertainment and if I did, there would be no time. I set myself to the task of doing my homework. The questions are simple really, some things about predicting the future or one's opinion on something. Foolish. Nobody can enjoy a good book if it comes with meaningless work.

When I’m done, I change into a pitch black outfit, getting ready to work my shift at the store. The owner of the store wants us to either wear the uniform or come in black clothes and honestly, I prefer the black clothes. Makes me seem boring. Just a worker who looks like they just went to a funeral, don’t mind me. I chuckle at the thought.

I make a quick meal before I leave, something enough to fill my father if he’s hungry. Sometimes he doesn’t eat and it concerns me. He’s been looking happier lately though so I don’t mind too much. If he doesn’t eat, then I’ll eat.

It’s still bright out when I reach the store. The sun is too bright. "Oh, it's such a happy day!" they all say. Well, I think that it is bright, annoying, and messing with my vision. Burns my skin too. It's too pale for my liking but I can't seem to tan if I try.

When I finally reach the small convenience store, I notice a pair of eyes that are all too familiar. They shine in the light as their owner speaks to a customer, smiling and happy. How jealous I am. I wish to be filled with light. To be satisfied with my life. I stare at the silver door handle before me and then slowly push it open, dodging the leaving customer.

To be honest, I’m surprised to find him working at this store. I guess the boss needed a few more people to fill in for when he isn’t around. Brown eyes look at me and I find myself looking away.

"Hey! Oak right?" I nod in reply. He continues talking to me. "You work here too? I’m new!” He laughs. “Guess we’ll be workmates now, isn’t that exciting?”

“Yeah.”

He never talked to me before. No one did. I'm invisible. At least I was. “But then he came along.” The voice in my head says. I agree with it.

I'm obsessed.

I smiled at him. Sure it's out of practice but I smile. My grinning face seems to make him smile at me too, though his was much more natural. Wearing the grin on my face, I went to the back room to tell my boss I'm here before going to my station, which is coincidentally right next to September’s.

"Oak, you okay? You don't look that good."

I waved him off. "M'fine."

He still watched me. Probably worried. Well he doesn't know what I go through everyday.

"Welcome!" I said as a customer walks in. Her grey eyes glanced at me and she nodded in acknowledgement. How rude.

I watched her wander around the store, picking up a few things. Watching her slowly bored me and I grabbed a chair, pulling it over to my station and I sat down, my hand raking through my hair.

She came towards me and placed her things on the counter. Her short black, no, dark brown hair moves back and forth, swaying with each step she takes. She seemed familiar. Maybe some kid from school or something. Whoever she is, I hope she didn’t notice who I was.

"Your total is four dollars ninety nine cents." I muttered.

She handed me a five dollar bill and I replaced it with her receipt and a penny. I handed her the plastic bag holding the items.

Just for a second, I saw something in her eyes, a flash of something. Such sad eyes she had. I quickly shook the thought of talking to her from my head. No one would ever understand my predicament.

"Wow. You're amazing at this." I heard September's voice. Is he surprised that I'm good at being a cashier? It's not hard, really. Just some button punching. I still thanked him though.

---------------------------------------------------

The next day, I was sat in front of the orchestra room doors at school, waiting for my turn to play. I gripped onto the neck of my violin tightly, my clammy hands sticking to it slightly. The violin was my mother's. It was one of the only memories I had of her. She loved playing dearly and had decided early on I would follow in her footsteps.

"Oak Clockwork?" The teacher called.

I stood up and fixed myself up, trying to look at least a little presentable. For my mother's sake. I flattened my messy mane, or at least tried to. The hair constantly spiked up for no reason, though I don't mind.

I stepped into the room, my green eyes darting towards the judge. I close my eyes and let my mind go on 'autopilot'. My violin is propped up on my shoulder in the proper position, ready to play.

And when I do, I'm lost in my own world.



Kim Clarity: From my Opinion Phoenix


“You have mental problems”

Ouch. That hurt. But just because I have anger issues doesn’t mean I’m crazy. Just because I have dark thoughts doesn’t mean I hallucinate.

I am a person. Everybody knows me. In school, at least. School is the place for faking. Basically, it doesn’t matter whether the grades are good or not. Like anyone cares. Unlike what those teachers think, grades are not important. Not as important as your reputation. And even then, your reputation doesn’t matter more than it does to any other old kid. At least that is how I think. No one cares how I think. Just everyone knows me. I don’t know anyone. Even though I’m popular in school, home can become worse than you can possibly think.

I am popular because everyone feels sorry for me. They know I’m not as good as any of them, that I have no business with them. I should be grateful. It was they who gave me the second chance. Remember all those complaints about homework being very bad? Well, if you please ask me, homework is a sham compared to what I’m going through this exact moment in my life. Time ticks. The world goes on. They might as well go on without me.

I have mental problems. Someone said that correctly.

As for my grades, if you are really interested in them, they are perfect. There goes one more reason that I’m popular. The truth? I dont care. I ditched my feelings a year ago. I don’t want them back ever again.

The minute I got home, I expected the usual: nobody in the house. Still, I was hopeful. “Mum!” No answer. I sighed. Things weren’t about to get better for me. Oh and one more trouble to add on my list? My dreams and words.

Ever since my parents divorced, I’ve been having flashback dreams. Not normal for a teenager my age. However, my mind kept drifting towards a strikingly disturbing dream left over from last week. I couldn’t make out much, but the details came to me surprisingly. It was dark. On a highway. There was a crash.

And yelling. After a minute, I was curious. Why hadn’t anyone called the police? Suddenly, I was facing a victim, a young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. The typical Aryan. Her left arm was twisted at an odd angle and she kept coughing up blood. When she finally looked at me, her eyes were red. Her eyes met mine, and she spoke. “Tell my daughter…...” She coughed up more blood. “Tell her…… that her path is hard. That--... she needs to understand and follow her destiny. Will you…… make sure she--she gets this?”

Her words hung over the air and met me like a wave of water that I couldn’t surf through or a rule that I couldn’t bend. Words. Something I just couldn’t handle. They were like wild horses that threw me off their backs. I constantly kept drowning in them.

The blonde woman looked at me expectantly, and I nodded. She relaxed, took a final deep breath, and closed her eyes. Then the tears came. I had hoped to keep them back, but one can’t hold back the tide. I heard a sharp, high pitched sound. I couldn’t take it anymore. My eyes flew open, and I realized this was a dream. I had been screaming in my sleep. Only then had I realized that I had been screaming in my sleep.

I spent the whole next day worrying. After all, today was orchestra tryouts. And I was going to give it a shot. I warmed up quick and easy. Then I rushed up to the music room, which served as our audition area. I watched the person in currently auditioning in front of me.

My spirits dropped. His repertoire was so complicated. I probably would end up in second chair, while he reigned king as first. His eyes were green, and his hair was a wild brown with blonde highlights. Definitely not my type. His eyes nervously darted back and forth like a ghost’s. Then I zoomed out to see his face. I was surprised at what I saw. His expression was determined and grim. His look was something that only Professionals would understand. Yeah, he was a pro. He could express, one of the things that the Traditional method couldn’t conjure up for group lessons.

In a flash, he was done. I shot him a glare, and all my other friends who were trying out also raised their eyebrows. He was congratulated by the judge and given 1st chair, so far.

So far.

So far.

So far.

I repeated those words over and over again.

I would beat him.

But I was secretly proud of him.

He was a real musician.

Unlike all those other ones who play without expression.

Then it was my turn.

I started off slowly, trying out the extent of the acoustics in the room. I remembered the happy times, where I had lived in another place, had five real friends, didn’t care if I was popular or not. The times before the incident. All these emotions would show in my playing, and all the real musicians understood what I was thinking. I was playing the piece of my dreams, Paganini Caprice No. 24, the last and hardest one. I loved it so much. I was basking in the moment. My spirit was set free, free of the burdens of life.

Free. And floating.

On wings.

To a place. Where I would never be lonely.

And not a fake haven, like school. I loved it.

And suddenly it was over.

I got first chair. The conductor congratulated me.

I felt noticed.

And I felt real.

After school, I went on my usual route to the out-of-the-way store along the street. Usually, there was no one there. I savored the happiness and, for the first time, felt welcomed. I said a quick, "Hi” to the girl who I jostled as I made my way toward the cash register.The cashier was the exact guy who auditioned at the music room. It was a small world here, but this was unexpected. I had never noticed him before. Then I returned home to face my fears.

I might have thought that I was the only one with a terrible relationship. But boy, was I wrong.



Saraphina Smith: The Truth That I Don’t Mutter Guji

"School is tiring. School is the worst. If it weren't for my parents, my future, and my reputation's dependence on grades, I would skip out on school all the time; call in sick when I really wasn't, a bold prank that could get me expelled, which I don't mind at all, because that means I don't have to go to school."

That's what I say, every morning, in the hallway, on the way to first period. That's right, muttering the entire time between classes, no one noticing except God.

Except it isn't the truth. Every morning I lie to myself. School is the best part of the day. Basically, to me, school is relief from, well, school, to put it metaphorically. I really doubt anyone is in the same weird situation as I am, liking school and homework and studying each night away. Anyone except me, really. Which is the truth, by the way. The truth I don't mutter.

Anyways, I've spent too much time on that strange topic... moving on, now.

Hey, the descriptive paragraphs, the crude sarcasm, the totally casual conversational narrating, I'm very chatty, aren't I?

You don't even know.

~OoOoOoOoOoO~

Typical school story: the student is in this terrible dilemma where their parent(s) are sick or something, they're getting bullied at school. Finally, they stand up for themselves. Alternate solution: someone stands up for them, and they fall in love with that person. Gradually, the romanticism slowly grows and climaxes, and voila! The story ends with a sweet kiss between the adorable and destined couple.

I just summed up the book I was looking at in the library. Well, it's definitely time to put it down. The announcements came up telling me the library was now in the process of closing. I dropped the book I just picked up into the "Unwanted Books" basket and left the library, hiding behind the bench just as the first people left. One, two, three, four, five... any more left? Ah, six, the librarian. Of course, she doesn't notice me either. Well, my record for the number of people who notice me in a day still isn't broken.

I heard a small sound and looked down. A cat stared up at me. What number was I on? Oh yeah, fifty. This is the fifty-first cat that has noticed me. Not in a day. I petted it and listened to its purr, my fingers brushing, unnoticeable, on the cat's fat belly. That's weird, the cats around here don't usually get fed. The feline looked rather restless...

"Hmm... why don't I take you home then?" I took my jacket and wrapped the cat all around completely with it. She mewed in response but otherwise took no offense. I knitted my eyebrows together and thought about what I was doing, but the only response to the current situation that I could come up with was, "Yolo." So I held on tight to the cat and began to leave.

I passed the convenience store along the way and realized that maybe the cat I was holding was... pregnant?! In my panic I recalled reading that kittens couldn't drink cow's milk; they have to drink baby formula that is diluted in the stead of the mother's milk. Of course, it's not like the mother is going to die, but I don't exactly want to tire her out. Man, I'm going to have to buy some cat food too. Once again I looked at the store. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and go there to buy some cat stuff and count the number of people who notice me. I'll be generous on myself and count the cashier.

The automatic doors opened and I walked in. At the front of the store, I looked around and sighted the cashiers. Hey, aren't those two from my school? I sighted Oak Clockwork, some dude in orchestra that I recognized through our collaborated performance: choir and orchestra all playing and singing together. He made AllState, didn't he? I walked up to him and he looked up; so did his buddy in the lane next to him.

"Hey, am I allowed to bring my cat in here?" I whispered. Oak looked kind of shaken up and the other cashier looked a bit confused. He probably didn't hear me. I repeated a bit louder, but still not at an actual tone of voice, "HEY, am I allowed to bring my cat in here?" I made hand motions and pointed at the cat repeatedly.

Oak looked like he was sinking to his feet and about to slowly move down so the cash register would cover his face. I glanced at Lane No. 2's cashier's name tag. September. Huh, deep. He glanced at a man snoring at a corner of the store behind a shelf that had a bunch of miscellaneous stuff that no one cared about. The manager, I supposed. September whispered, "Sure, if you'll let me pet it." He kind of smirked. I offered the cat anyways.

"She."

September looked at me expectantly for me to say more. I didn't grant him the favor. When he realized I wasn't going to say anymore, he mouthed an apology and reached out to the cat. She didn't mind. He must be good with animals, probably has a dog.

September pointed at a pet aisle, and I asked him, "Do you know where the baby formula is?"

He gave me this really strange look.

What'd I say? I was getting really annoyed; he's trying to break me out of my shell, eh? I'm not coming out. Ever. I returned the strange look, trying to mold my features to match his, but it's hard to make a male expression when you're a girl.

"Uh..." September said under his breath. Now I was getting pretty irked. Without thinking, I snapped.

"What the heck is it?" I asked testily. "Just tell me where the baby formula is! Ugh, I swear I'll rat you out to your boss for bad service." No reaction to my threat, but he still looked at me strangely. What was he dawdling about? I sighed, glancing at Oak... Where did he go? Oh yeah, sinking, sinking. Riiiiigghhhhht. I peeked my head over the cash register and found him looking up apprehensively. He "meeped" when he saw me and buried his head in a corner... yeah, that's possible.

September was now looking at my stomach. He then asked, "Are you...? I mean, that would explain the baby formula, but why don't you just get..." His mouth hung open dumbly and his eyes rolled up to stare at the ceiling. What did he just mean--oh... I blushed.

"No, no, of course not! I'm way too young, unless you meant--" I turned even redder. Deep breaths, Saraphina. Deeeeeeeeeep breeeeeeaaaaattths. Pointing once again at the nearly forgotten cat in my arms, I whispered, "She's pregnant."

Oh, oh. That's what September's face said when he pointed at the two aisles I needed. There are five thousand reasons he could suppose why I needed the formula, and he chose that one.

I walked over to the two aisles without thanking him. When I reached the shelter of the shelves, I peeked behind me and saw that Oak had recovered. He still looked like he wanted to sink when September talked to him though.

A girl brushed by me. She muttered, "Sorry," and my heart jittered. I got noticed. I pretended that this wasn't some huge achievement and feigned that I didn't notice her. Friskies, Blue Wilderness, Authority, Whiskas... hmm, which one? I brought the cat's face to the canned foods and looked at her. She sniffed each one, but stopped at Whiskas. I took an entire pack and also took some Blue Wilderness dry cat food.

Damn it, I need to get some litter too. This is gonna be so expensive. I took a bag and placed it in the cart, bumping into a middle-aged man. "Sorry!" I politely said. He acknowledged me and continued to browse. I added the man to my new record. Four people who noticed me. In one day. WORLD RECORD.

Toy mice, a scratch mat, baby formula. Grasping one pack, I rushed up to a lane. Oak was my cashier. He didn't seem to be as mortified at me now. I wonder why? Even though I'm talking to him now, he gives me this bored look that only ignorant, teenage, part-time workers can master. Does he only mind regular conversations?

"How's the weather today?" A flinch. I tittered inside.

He regained his composure and said blankly, "Thirty bucks." I groaned and pulled out a credit card. He rose an eyebrow, but when he saw that I saw that, he lowered it.

Of course I have a credit card. Where can I get cash?