Here is a biggo story I'm writing for the heck of it. I used my vocab words!!!
Rolling Girl
By Me
Part One
Roll: to move as in a cycle.
That aimlessly explains my whole life so far. Well, except of the part about the cycle. It just seems to end up in a crash at the end. It just ends in some way where I’m left feeling absurd and felling the roll of self-regression. Again. It happens often, or so I’ve overheard. I attend Northern Skylight Elementary. Its layout it vacuous and it’s hard to get to class to class, even on days where the passing is extended. I am constantly getting into fights. It’s usually not my fault. It’s one time that shrew of a teacher, Miss Wells, or another one of the opportunists who are constantly taking my credit. I, Abby Wilson, a girl of only 10, will tell you of my crashing roll.
School begins at 8:10 everyday besides the weekends. But for me, it’s often a six-day-long school week. I wore my casual red shoes and my uniform, which consists of my light and dark colored skirt and shirt. Not much to explain. I sat and waited for the bell to ring so I could get out of the sensation of frilly-puffballs on your backpack. Jenny, a short, blond girl came up to me. She is not that much of a nice person and is a person I would call many names. She held a fluff ball in her small, manicured, barely-lifted hand. “You must be an idiot to not have an Isumi Pet! What a stupid, ugly, unloved loser.” She scoffed. I put my fists in my lap.
“You only have those negligent, impairing, surreal toys. Its specialization is on young girls your age who bring in profits on your absent-minded naïveté. It is statically shown that girls your age buy those dumb toys. And you only use them for an accessory!” I shouted, not really meaning to. She looked at me with a look that made me feel like those words came introspectively. Which they did. She blinked twice before speaking.
“You are such a nerd for using big words.”
“They’re words that you could never comprehend.” She got a little red.
“If you got anything to say-“She smiled. “You know, I’ll just let Hansie deal with you.” ‘Hansie’ was a boy a bit older than me whose name is actually Peter. He isn’t that strong, and it’s I fight I’ll win. It’s amazing that she is only 10 and is in a romantic relationship. It’s even more amazing that she is found attractive by someone who is living.
“See you then.” I smiled. The bell rang and I jolted to my class. Wells was at her head seat. I almost got to my seat when the bell rang. She glared at me.
“That’s your first tardy Wilson. Next is punishment.” She stood up and took off her glasses. She took a pen and wrote the word tangible on the board. She asked the class if anyone knew what this mean. This class is known for its syndrome of being unintelligent, unwilling, and unprepared. This class is called the ‘Un’ group and gets the lowest test scores in the school, and possibly the whole district. I raised my hand. I knew this word before I learned the prefixes. Miss Wells didn’t call on me. Instead she gave a long conversation on how we were a terribly uncooperative class and how, proportionally, to the rest of the school we have sunk to the rock bottom and are still falling. She got really worked up. The rest of the day was not as important as after school. After school is alive.
Part Two
I walked to the odd wing of the elementary school to meet Peter. He was also backed up by two more boys. I smiled. “Who do you do?” Made them all look at me like I was an alien. I need no give you the details, but let me just say that my hypothesis of me winning was incorrect. The two boys had gotten a hold on my arms and held me down while Peter beat the living snot out of me. After I started profusely bleeding, they scattered towards the parking lot. I lay there, just watching the birds fly overhead. I hear footsteps come this way and I sit up. It was a collage boy… I knew him really well… His brown hair kind of pushed off to one side… I can’t remember what happened after that, but my guess was that he took me to his apartment and cleaned me up. I woke up on his couch in an overly-large Green Bay Packers shirt, undies, and tube socks. He came in with a frown on his face on his face. For a 22 year old, he was parental and not the kind to screw around. He sat down next to me.
“You got yourself into another fight again. This is the 4th this month. Do you even remotely realize what consequences you could face?” He put his chin in his prayer-like hands.
“I’m fully aware. I choose to do this. Not for love or attention, if that is your reason of why you think I’m doing this.” His pupils widened. He uncrossed his legs. I felt warm. I started tearing up. Why? I myself am not even fully aware of that. I fell into his shoulder and started bawling. I couldn’t control it and I personally thought it was embarrassing. He hugged me and picked me up. I’m awfully anorectic for a girl of my age. I most likely weigh 78 to 85 pounds. I haven’t recently updated that. I got put down on his queen sized bed.
“I’m not even remotely tired, just got the bust kicked out of me, and cried a river yet you set me in this bed. What are you thinking?” I picked at my band-aid in my knee.
“Just hold on. I need to call your parents. You aren’t stable enough for movement.” He called as he shut the door behind him. I lay my head down on one of the plump pillows. I thought about why I cried for about ten minutes when he came back in.
“I’m going to be right back. I have to go get something.” He grabbed his wallet but I called his name to stall his leaving.
“John!!! Don’t leave me stranded here! Take me with you!” I tried to get up, only to find myself with a twisted ankle and a rotten-felling gut. He came back, picked me up, and set me back down on the bed.
“You’re too weak to go anywhere. Just stay here okay? If anything bad happens just call the police. Bye.” He walked out despite by complaining. I fell back on the pillow. It felt nice under the covers. He had a lot of flannel blankets beneath the colossal comforter. I wondered where my clothes where and if John of I had dressed myself. What a pedophilic pervert if he had unchanged me. But of course it is understandable if he had. If I had had a choice where it was him or I undress myself, I would without a doubt choose him. John and I have a long backdrop with each other.
Part Three
If you did not know, I have foster parents. I’m not very happy with them. Occasionally, they beat me, and the problem never gets addressed. John knew my original parents. He would take care of me when they couldn’t and even does so now, when Mr. and Mrs. Ceener cannot. He knows me very well and sees the better side of me. He says that I was a quiet little girl and didn’t learn to talk until later in my lifespan. He said my first word was John. Apparently this caused uproar with my parents and they gave me away for some unexplained reason. My guess is that they didn’t want me to be with him any more so they sent me into hiding through a foster life. But one day he found me. It was just an ordinary day; I was playing in the park after a field trip when he saw me. I recognized him at first glance and our friendship was reborn.
Part Four
The door slammed shut as John entered the house. That woke me up from almost drifting asleep. His hands were full of goods and other produce. A warm smell filled the house. Um… Pizza was it?
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I'm not done yet, but I'm on my way. On my word, it's three pages long. I'll edit it as I finish it more and more. Questions and/or comments?