Shadeleaf

7/10 ;3 Bit generic, but pretty good!

I like this... so frigin much. Glad to see all the work hath not been in vain

With a groan he leaned back in his chair, hood falling from his head as his eyes traced the speckled patterns of the classroom ceiling. They were going over abusive households... again... for the fifth time that week. Now keep in mind, sophomore year health-and-wellness was usually a thing that most enjoyed; every other day one would get the opportunity to play speedball, or maybe fire arrows at a target, hell even run a few miles if the weather was well. The only downside for most was simply the health portion of this all. For what it was worth, the teacher did an amazing job at getting children to listen, and certainly made the information stick, whether it be through wonderful sound effects or hand gestures, those in his class were usually the cleanest, most relationship fearing kids in that school. He did however, continuously forget that much of the information he spoke of shook a few key kids to the core. “Now class today we'll be talking about ‘cocaine’! Yea that’s right the powdery stuff from Costa Rica, any of you heard of it before?” As if upon instinct the boy sat up a bit straighter and faced the front of the room, retrieving his hood and wrapping it about his face, as to obscure his mouth, nose, and cheeks. “Yes you!” called the teacher, finger brazenly pointing towards one of the girls at the far back of the room, face shocked as she stammered for an answer. ‘Idiots...’ the boy muttered to himself, grip tightening momentarily on the fabric of his hood as a deep red came across his hidden cheeks, ‘teacher knows best, teacher has seen all these things before, teacher can talk about anything he wishes and it always leads back to sex and drugs....’. The boy’s inner monologue stretched out like this for a long while, even as the man in beige cargo shorts and a white polo backed closer and closer to his seat. “Alright, now that we're done with that, let’s talk about smoking.” he began just as he stood behind the boy’s seat, his own eyes never leaving the front of the class, in a form of mental trance as whispers about his mind conversed with each other, a smile even brought to his physical form at a point. “You smoke, you smoke, you smoke, you live in a house with a smoker, you don’t smoke! Good for you!” he said, finally resting his hand about the boy’s shoulder, and in a wave all hell broke loose. “Don't touch me!” the boy snapped, sitting back into his desk instantly, metal bar upon the side digging into his side as his wild eyes darted up towards those of the teacher, red cheeks and nervous smile uncovered from his hood and hand clamped upon the man’s wrist. “Well this is certainly interesting isn't it class...” the teacher muttered as he broke free, whispering a light “Hope you don't mind but you're going to become a conversation point” to the boy, as if he were simply talking about a mundane subject such as the weekend soccer match. “Kids!” he announced, gesturing to the boy, who by now was slumped over upon his desk, hood back up over his face and eyes darting wildly about, “This here is what we call classic anxiety disorder, a mental condition caused namely by childhood abuse and sexual assault.” looking down to the boy a moment, eyes locked he continued. “Now this isn't to say Dante here was abused as a child, far from it infact!” he droned on, but the words hit home nonetheless. Dante’s cheek twitched and his face grew more red than before, ‘did he just...’, ‘yes I do think he did, interesting fellow that one, certainly can analyze’, the voices within sat chatting away as Dante sat stiff as a board. “In all class, I can tell, you may not think it, you may try to hide it, but I can 8 outta’ 10 times see what has happened to a person, sitting right in front of me, I could be wrong! And I admit I have been in the past.” by this point Dante’s gaze flickered to the clock, [9:03] it read... 9:03? Had it really been that long? Hadn't he gotten here at 7 something? Dante questioned himself, only now noticing all the notes written upon the board. Schizophrenia, BPD, Anxiety Disorder, OCD, Depression, Autism... the list went on and on and on, and all the other students seemed to have taken a full sheet of notes. Praying slightly Dante opened his own note book and found, though written in horrible handwriting, there indeed did lay a page worth of notes on all of the subjects presented. A hint of a smile touched his face just as the bell rung, and the girl from earlier brushing past his shoulder, immediately causing him to tense up for but a moment’s time. ‘Be chill... I swear you really need to get over this touch phobia’ one of the higher voices chimed just as Dante stood and gathered his books. He was well aware of what was "wrong" with him, and certainly didn't suffer much for it... in his opinion. All filed out as usual from that point, Dante hugged his textbook close as he began to make haste from the room, a hand, half extended stopping him midway out the door. “Hold on, hold on, hold on...” the voice of the teacher droned before stepping afront the doorway. “I don't wish to talk, I don’t need to talk to you, I’m not going to talk to you, goodbye.” Dante said forcefully as he moved his right arm to shunt away the teacher, bandanna binding Dante’s forearm as to make the pressure less notable. “Whatever you say kid!” the teacher half chuckled as he retreated back into his room, jotting down a few notes within plain view of Dante as he quickly hurried off to Latin class. ‘Chin up little one... maybe you’ll have better luck with archery tomorrow hum? You do seem to be rather stable at the draw back.’ the same deep voice reassured him, ‘shut up... just, shut up for today.’ he thought back weakly, reaching into his pocket and drawing out two red and orange capsules, slamming them back into his mouth, swallowing and exhaling; simple sugar pills he knew... the psychological effect immediate though. “Perhaps gym will be better tomorrow...” Dante mused with a quarter smile, the memories of the class prior fading as he rounded the corner.

Excellent read Wither~ You're able to give perspective and emotion through the eyes of an animal, rare to find anyone who can do that now convincingly ^^

Pale snow and shouts of anger are what christened that early December night. Deep inside the rural borders of a normally sleepy town was the air disturbed by a resounding “Pop! Pop!” , soon after followed by the sound of a metal trimmed door slamming against a rotted wood frame as angry boots marched across the new fallen snow. “Useless b itch...” a man slurred as he advanced towards his beaten up Chevy, whipping the truck door open in a half drunken fury, breathing staggered and still bleeding from the cut through the leather jacket that adorned his slim physique. A shrill cry broke his concentration as he shook his head, “Wha...” he muttered before glancing down to his left hand, halfway inside his car already as he fingered the trigger of the nine-millimeter still tight within his grasp. With a grunt he lethargically tossed it into the deep snow that bordered that unfortunate road, the snow swallowing up the pitch black implement into it’s cold clutches as the man slid fully into his truck, fumbling with his keys a moment before slamming his foot on the gas. The truck's lights flashing to life before its tires spun deeply into the snow beneath, finally catching traction before fishtailing from the driveway, and off into the night. ~~~ Abruptly awoken by the severe sound of gunshots, a small girl, no more than 6 lay besides the her plush animals. Buried beneath the dull purple and dingy comforter draped over her thin mattress and eyes wide in shock did she wait as her gaze wandered about her room, spotting in the cramped space everything as it should have been; her dresser was still partially cracked open from the morning before, her toys neatly shuffled away in a chest, and the family portrait she adored so much sitting upon her night stand. All was well... though, something did bother her, a hole upon her right wall letting a small amount of dirty light into her otherwise dark room.”Mama!” she shouted in a high pitched voice, fists clenched on the fabric of her blankets as she awaited a response... The only one she received was the tearing noise of tires against bare ground, and the whirring of a cold engine that soon faded into the distance. More and more time passed as the girl began to shake, mind wandering in the darkness of her room before reluctantly sliding from her bed; tattered nightgown providing minimal protection from the cold as she paced towards her thinly cracked door. Hinges squealed as her door swung open into the hallway, door knob thumping onto spot it always did as she was greeted by the pungent smell of whiskey and cigar smoke. Trying her hardest to ignore the smell, the little girl wandered timidly across the cold hardwood and into the opening of the living room, hanging light suspended from the neighboring kitchen ceiling sending sickly shadows across the scene. At first nothing stood out, just the average carnage from a night of partying, that which the little girl had long since learned to deal with. Finally, her eyes caught something unfamiliar... a hand. A pale, lax arm laying flat against the ground, the rest of the figure obscured behind a stained beige loveseat. Immediately the girl’s lip began to quiver, eyes widening as she swallowed with some effort, letting out a deep breath as she remembered her mother’s words, ‘Always keep strong...fear is the mind killer love, and don’t you ever forget it.’. With staggered steps she advanced forward towards the couch, hand resting on the back as she leaned over to get a full view of the figure. Tears began to flow at that point... her eyes locking with that of her mother’s corpse, head propped up against the bottom of the couch, and chest marred by two perfect, round, red holes. “Mama...” she whimpered weakly, blood having stained the floor beneath the body and spattering the front of the couch. Turning away and pressing her hands to her face, the girl screamed, screamed her heart out as tears and mucus mixed about her hands. Falling to her knees she continued to wail for hours, even as red and blue lights flashed through the clouded windows. ~~~ Morning came in due time, the girl now curled up upon floor of a local police station; smothered in all the extra blankets that could be mustered along with the coats of the investigating officers, who quietly talked in the next room over. Tear stained cheeks rubbing against the coarse fabric only adding to the girl’s discomfort as she once more awoke from troubled sleep, the light sensation of a hand about her shoulder present. Squinting her eyes shut, the girl once more relaxed fully, letting out a shuddering breath in hope that that who disturbed her would simply walk away thinking her unconscious. In the end, the hand eased from her shoulder, as a light voice filled the room in its place. “My feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping... but you must go on living... live for those of life lost, and for those who hath been robbed of such a gift, farewell my dear...” cooed the soft voice, the room once more fading into a bleak silence as the girl’s tears once more began to soak the fabric. ((In memory of a close friend, a story long since overdue))

8/10

Excellently written and very emotional. Once more you deliver a story that those who can relate to absolutely adore~ Keep writing, and long live House Sillygoose.

Bit unorganized, but I don't deduct /that/ much, hence forth you gain a 6.5/10

No it's supposed to be a rune; get out ((but you keep your 7/10))