Noelle - Day 37 (Random Unfinished Story)

So I wrote this thing.
I can actually talk, but right now I am too lazy, so I'm just kinda ignoring bad grammar and not bothering with fancy wording.  I save that for working on my book (Glitch) or short stories (I've posted a few, actually) or R.M.S. (for you guys!).  Anyway, here's the thing.

I wrote a story, intending for it to be as long as a short book, but I never finished it.  Now, I'm relying on your comments - I know how it ends, should I finish it?  It up to you!  Here's the story, you comment, and I am leaving now.

When my friends were young, they listened to me.  As five-year-olds and kindergarteners, they had imaginary friends, and imaginary stories.  And when I spoke, they really would listen.

Right now, I am sitting on my bed and thinking right back to when I was born.  I still remember, waking up in my mother’s arms.  I remember the blue blanket against my soft cheeks, and feeling hungry every night.  I remember sneezing.  My father whispering, “Pepper.  Her name will be Pepper Francis Pope.”  My life began normally.

A few years past, and my hair grew long, curly, and shockingly red.  That’s one of my prized possessions, my hair.  It never gets frizzy, and it always stays in the curls that I put it in.  I still remember Jimmy tugging on it my first day in kindergarten, saying that it couldn’t be real.

Mother brought me in.  I could hear the children laughing at the entrance to the hall way.  I clutched onto Mother’s hand, my tiny tennis shoes squeaking on the rubbery floor.

“Don’t let me go in Mommy!”  My high voice echoed down the hallway, fading into silence.

My mother looked down on me, her black wispy hair bouncing.  She sniffed and said, “I told you to call me Mother, remember?”

“I’m sorry.”

She pushed open the last door we got to and the room got very quiet.  “Hello, this is Pepper,” she said to the teacher, Mrs. Willson.

I looked at my sparkly shoes.  No one said anything, but all eyes were on me.

Mrs. Willson grinned that false smile teachers always have and said perkily, “Why don’t we say hello?  Hello Pepper!”

A few kids mumbled along, but most just turned away and went back to their games.

I sat down at a table in the farthest corner and finally looked up.  Nobody, not even the teacher, seemed to notice me, so I watched them.  What else was there to do?

I started to learn everybody’s name.  They all had their name tags pinned to their shirts, and it wasn’t hard.  That girl was Jennifer - she was expertly pulling up her hair into a ponytail over her black coat.  She hadn’t even looked at me when I came in.  That curly brown haired boy was Jimmy.  He had been one of the kids that had said hello.

I looked around.  Nobody was watching.  Jimmy was building a block tower, so I walked over and plopped down next to him on a cushion.  He looked at me and blinked.

“Hi!”  I said as friendly as I could.

Jimmy smiled shyly and whispered over the din in the classroom.  “I like your name.  Pepper.  Do you make people sneeze?”

“No.  Nobody except Father.”

Jimmy and I became friends that day.  He tugged on my hair, and I tried to tug on his tiny brown curls.  We took an imaginary trip to a magical land with dragons.  We made the best block tower that classroom 7B has ever seen.  We were having a blast until Chandler showed up.

Chandler had lots of freckles and army-cut hair and a horrible white grin.  I crept away when he approached, staring at his name tag.  It had a face with pointy teeth and a scowl on it.

Jimmy backed away too.  He was scared - I could see it in his white eyes - but Chandler didn’t care.  He liked it.  He kicked the base of the tower and it came crashing down.  I watched as the blue block that I had placed at the very top hit Jimmy on the head.

The bell rang for recess and as soon as Chandler had shoved his way to the front of the line I ran to the teacher.  Wait…I told myself…don’t be a snitch.  My curls bounced when I skidded to a halt, miraculously not knocking anything over.

So I never said anything to Mrs. Willson.

I lean back on my bed and wonder if I knew anything then.  No, not then.  I was only five after all.  I slam my head into the soft pillow and keep thinking.

The years flew by.  I remember it all like it was yesterday.  Maybe it was?  Who knew?