Below is a story my eleven-year-old granddaughter, Evangeline, submitted for a 2-county writing contest. It got fourth, and she was ROBBED! (speaking as an objective observer, of course.)
I hear the lockers click down the hallway as I hide my head and walk away. Now I am here, in the same place, but no one ever sees me. It is like I am invisible. People bump into me by the apple-red lockers, then they just walk on. Even the teachers ignore me. My name isn’t on the attendance anymore. It is about time I get the respect everyone else gets.
Why do you never see me? What did I do? Do you want to know how I feel? I feel hollow like a bowl. I feel unwanted by my shadow. I can hear my soul begging for a stronger voice. There are so many thing people can’t see about me that I am no longer able to see myself in the mirror. The sorrow inside me is growing. I am tough but no one ever sees that because they can’t see me at all. I am that girl no one ever wants to be with. You know who I am, you just don’t want to. So why do you add to this pain in my chest?
The Girl with Locker 3
I read the note over and over then fold it back up and push it in the slot of locker 13. The locker is used by lthe girl that doesn’t see me — the one who made me scared to walk or talk or even look at someone in the face. I quickly glance around and then pull my hood on.
The next day, I wake up to the sound of the door closing. After my parents died, I moved in with my grandma and even she ignores me. I spring my head out from under my pillow and look at the clock. It is 10:13, School started at 8:00. Who cares, no one ever notices my absence.
At school that day, I walk to my apple-red locker and enter the combination, 13-6-5. As I open the door, a note slowly drifts back and forth in the air to the dirty wood floor. i open the note and read:
Why do you think no one ever wants to be with you?
Why do you think I care?
P.S. DON’T WRITE BACK!
THE GIRL THAT DOESN’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!
I sit down on the floor and start to cry. Now what could it be? The anguish — the evil creature inside me with a black mask is growing. I am angry… no I am fine… no I am furious! I circle my head, trying to cure the anguish in my mind, begging to scream at the world for people to see me.
I stand up and run outside and lay down looking at the blue sky. Clouds scatter around it like stripes on a tiger. My chest rises from the grass. The anguish. I remembered when I was 8, my mom told me I would make a change in the world. Well, how can I do that if the world throws me away in the empty dead garden of unwanted people? I remember my parents’ death, I remembered the day when the cloud were as black as the night — I stop myself, finding both my hands in a fist. “Stop, STOP, STOP!” I scream at the top of my lungs, my chest falling back to the green grass. I force myself to go inside, then I quickly grab a piece of paper and write:
i rip the paper into pieces. The veins in my neck almost crawl away like worms. I circle my head faster and faster, then I fall to the ground. “PEOPLE, STOP KILLING ME, YOU ARE CRACKING MY RIBS ONE BY ONE AND TAKING OVER MY BODY. YOU CAN’T STOP ME. LEAVE MY SOUL, LEAVE MY HEART… JUST GO…”
I scream, knowing no one will hear me. I run back outside, my face flooding like a blue ocean with tears. I run, I run, I run. Finally, I get to where it looks as if trees are in every direction. “STOP EATING MY SOUL, STOP WHIPPING MY HEART TELLING ME I AM WRONG! YOU CAN’T STOP SOMEONE IF THAT PERSON NEEDS TO LIVE. I PITY THE WORLD WHERE YOU GET THE RIGHT MIND TO DO THIS! WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?” i scream, finding myself laying on the wet dead leafs. I close my eyes.
“So take me back to your home land. It is the only place where people can see me. Let my mind fall, let my words thrive, let my story crawl down your throat, haunting your heart. I deserve it. My anguish has taken over. So let my anguish gnaw on my bones, let it chew on my flesh, let it sleep on my body, let it paint with my blood the names of the people that made me like this.”
I am now in the clouds, my tears are the rain, my anger is the thunder.
I am sorry that there is anguish starting in you. I see you.
The Girl with Locker 3.