Unknown Difference

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
I went through a tough fifth grade, and I've always wanted to write about it and how books were really the only friends i had.

Submitted: January 23, 2009

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Submitted: January 23, 2009

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Part 1: Reading

I lay, dozing off softly, my feet in the grass, my body relaxed. The sun felt amazing on my skin, filling every cold pore in my face. I sighed, enjoying God's gift.

I lay my palm on the fiction paperback book laying on my stomach. I could never force myself to read non-fiction. I lived non-fiction, so why did I have to read it? This short novel was another twisted

love story. My favorite. I opened my eyes, squinting slightly at the blazing sun. For a moment, I didn't move, just kept squinting. After a long minute, I rolled onto my stomack and got onto my knees

listening to the cackling grass on my way up. I yawned lazily and made my trek back to the house. After dusting off my muddy bare feet, I walked in letting the cold rush onto me. I watched my mom

watching the new as I walked past her and into my room. She didn't even glance at me on my way through. I was always spending long hours reading in cold places. The rest of the day

was a boring mass of reading and napping waiting for the next day of school. It came.

Part 2: School

I stepped onto the gravel, kicking loose rocks with my Converse as I walked to my class, eyes kept down. Once I reached our waiting tables, I hurried off to the farthest

table, searching my ugly Dickies backpack for my new fiction book about hungry but loving vampires. I sat on the bench, opening my book and letting my eyes

flit left and right over the pages. I could hear the giggles, I could see the fleeting glances toward my table, and the murmured remarks that followed. I wasn't stupid.

I was an outcast, but I was far from stupid or deaf. They didn't even try to hide their unexplained disgust for me. For my oversized bangs, my brittle long brown hair,

my flat chest or my inability to follow the latest trends. I live with my books, the characters spoke to me. The storyline carried me through my first few years at that

merciless school. I would read and digest the letters artfully placed into certain words until the giggling would stop and the murmured whispers would cease. I had

so many thoughts crowding my head there was no room for revenge. And as I pushed by those fateful years, I realized who I was, I analyzed who I could be. I was able to live peacefully, surviving on the moral that ignoran-

ce is bliss.


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