Eagerly Sammie followed, her bag’s strap held loosely in her right hand. Gossip followed them, though she did not know it was about them. “What a sl*t, she already has her claws in someone.”, “Who is that someone?”,”Don’t know, does it matter?” Iris sniffled, her posture hurt. As they walked the duo’s mood darkened without Sammie even noticing. Step, by step, by step, they approached the rectangular frame which held the downward shaft. Passing through the incorporeal veil she could now glance down that deep, black, and dismal abyss of 3 well lit stories. Sammie hesitated, and Iris did not notice.

Over the rail she could see it, and just hours ago it had been fine, but now it was not. Why? She had fearlessly faced foes who towered over her, yet here she dreaded to look down. Why was it so much harder to bow your head than to look up? It was because you follow where your head points.

Falling, you could only fall if you weren’t on the ground. Iris had already taken the first step, she had to follow. Yet this remnant fear she did not realize she had held her tightly, her breath skipped and hurried, running faster and faster. She could feel the phantom shove, and a touch did come. But this was a tap, and on her side, pushing her to the rails and nothing else.

“Are you alright?”, someone asked. “I’m fine”, the quintessential “I am not alright” came out. Turning her head Sammie saw who asked, it was the girl who had received her eraser. “I think you dropped this, here”, her hands held out that white stick of plastic, the message had been rubbed off, evidence erased(heh, heh). “Thanks ”, the change in attitude from her previous stare confused her.

Looking back to the steps no daze grasped her this time and she found Iris waiting at the first landing, not a hint of impatience in her eyes. “I have to go”, she carefully tried to rush off away from the girl, but the girl then asked, “Can I accept your invitation?”. Grasping the rail with her good hand she turned back and nodded, kindness should be reciprocated in turn.

And with that, the trio headed down into the depths of hell, for school is hell, and arrived at the sole sanctuary within. The lunch room bustled, it was a jogging group for fat men and women. The masses swelled and undulated like fat folds and the smell was rank, for no matter how rich one is, the scent of adolescence can not be denied. Although the group’s spirit had been down, for some reason this sight invigorated them; the mind is truly a perplexing thing.

Settling in an open area one of the three had to hold fort, Sammie volunteered. Tip # 37 - always take the grunt work. With her tush firmly placed in two seats and legs extended out onto a third Sammie let out a sigh and with it, her tension. Shoulders dropped in relaxation, arms and elbows rested on the table, her posture opened its mouth to scream, “6 ft, I need social distancing.”

Unfortunately, her previous classmates were as dumb as a fish without an I; they neared like greenland sharks. “You’re Sammie, right?” one of the boys asked, his spiky hair so defining she only knew him as Crazy Hair Kid. “Why the F*ck wouldn’t I be?”, oddities kept appearing today. “Well . . . ”. His face scrunched up as if in pain, “you look like a -”. They were interrupted.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

30 seconds ago -

Kira’s nose rose with a sniffle; her’s was like the Hound of Auberon’s, it could pick up the trail from miles away. Inhaling once more she honed in on the nature of her prey. Questioning someone about their gender based on their appearance?! On her honor as Kira Rausch she could not allow this to happen.

She was a follower of the teachings of Social Justin, the them who had done many mighty deeds by slaying those of the evil clan of tweets. They had cut down the gossip goose in the fields of reality, they had maimed and killed the cruel comment condor in the cloud, and they had smote the trolling toucan in the forests of follows. Although not of their progeny she still followed this way of life, of being one of their warriors, an SJW.

Charging into battle across the lunchroom she took little time to assess the situation. Boy with spiky hair confronting boy with feminine features. Larger group around the boy with spiky hair means that the boy with spiky hair was the aggressor; her target was locked. Speeding up she simultaneously rammed into both the aggressor’s and the victim's personal space bubbles, cracking them into shards of confusion which rained down upon their previous owners.

“Who are you to question their identity?!”, Sammie watched as this slightly panting individual called out angrily. Like a badger after some honey whoever this was tore into Crazy Hair with such ferocity that she questioned if there would be anything left. Watching as her peaceful lunch drained away Sammie muttered under her breath, “F*ck’in H*ll”.

The boy was now ten feet away from her and, with the rest of the group, on his knees apologizing profusely to this, girl? Sammie squinted her eyes as if that would make her be able to see better. The girl’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets like a pug’s, her forehead was covered in sweat like a lamprey is by slime, and her arms flailed like a monkey who saw a smile; mother nature right here. But Sammie could tell, by the feminine facial structure hidden under that blindingly bright red hair, that she was in fact a lady. Second time a beautician's skills had come into use.

Then, the unnatural redhead came over to Sammie and grasped her shoulders; frankly, the visage she was faced with when looking up was one she could do little to forget. Huffing out the girl spoke, “You are who you are, don’t let people pressure you into being something you aren’t.” “Okay”, Sammie replied awkwardly, what else are you supposed to say to a random stranger who may or may not be mentaly unstable.

Adjusting in her weird seating position she saw the girl off, who now slowly trudged back to her seat at one of the further tables. The group watched her leave warily, eyeing her every move like a clan of meerkats does a lion. With a distance of 20 feet between them the group now “tactically” retreated with their tails between their legs; the resistance had been too great to overcome with their measly curiosity.

Now, at long last, there was a bubble of silence around her. It was not true silence like a vacuum but, considering the circumstances, it was enough; she relished in it. For a long minute, a baker’s minute of 61s in fact, she was able to enjoy pure unadulterated bliss juiced from the blood and flesh of joy Pixies. (*chough* found in veggies kids, eat your veggies). Then they came back, and bliss it was no longer.