And they said it would be fun
As I sped out the door that morning, my parents told me for about the 5th time that it would be fun. I didn't see how you could consider school to be fun. In fact, saying that school was fun was an absurd idea. Maybe I was being too judge-mental. I mean, I'm sure school is fun for some kids. Like the nerds who read books all throughout recess. Now they were the people who would think school was fun. But not me, because for me, school is just waiting for school to end. Its so hard actually listening to the teachers monotone voices, and something tells me they hate school as much as I do. When I got on the bus last-minute, I immediately ducked into the back of the bus in the corner. That was were I could listen to my music without being attacked by the bus driver. Because believe me, music was all that got me through the long, dreary days of school. People said I was "Anti-social," but I really just hated other people. That's not the same as being anti-social. When the bus screeched to a stop, tires grinding on the asphalt and leaving hideous skid-marks that I did not in the least bit appreciate. I got off the bus last, walking with my arm twisted at an odd angle so that the bus driver wouldn't be able to see the I-pod sticking out of my purse. I went to each of my classes with the usual amount of excitement. It was snowing hard by recess, and I was paying no attention to anything. I was just zoning out into a land of music. I sat underneath the monkey bars, were there was some shelter from the snow, and I listened. Songs were my friends. Every song was a part of me. And that's how it always had been. I heard the bell ring and reluctantly got up. I trudged my way through the rest of school with a missing sense of accomplishment that most middle-schoolers would get from a day at school. I didn't feel as if anything was accomplished. I didn't need to. I rode the bus home in the usual fashion (Hiding from everyone,) and I immediately retreated to my bedroom. At this point, you may be wondering why I was so... in a way, lifeless. It wasn't that I didn't have a good family life. I had two parents who loved me dearly, a warm bed, a roof over my head and 3 hot meals a day. It wasn't that I was depressed or anything. I just wanted purpose. NEEDED purpose. And I didn't know how or where to find it. I spent the rest of the day aimlessly staring into space, clicking around on Facebook, and of course, listening to music. No. I was not the least bit tempted to go and play in the snow. It was around 9 PM and the fireplace was raging in my room. I could hear the wind howling, feel the chill clawing its way through the window and trying to bite me. I started getting this strange feeling. My parents were asleep. The curtains on my window started flapping around like the fan was on. But the fan wasn't on. Then my favorite song came on. You're gonna go far kid. I heard a pounding at the door and ran downstairs with the most energy that I had all day. I didn't have a clue what was going on, maybe it was just the prospect of someone to hang out with (If you haven't already guessed, I don't have many friends, and though I don't like other people, a friendly face is occasionally welcomed if I'm in a good mood.) I opened the door instinctively, and looked around. I didn't see anyone, so I just assumed that the kids next door were tricking me again. That is... until I looked down. A cardboard box sat on my step, half buried in soft snow. I was getting cold, so I grabbed the box and ducked inside. And when I opened it, I saw something I never would have expected to see.
