There are things about religion here that will probably piss you off.
I'm trying to write from the perspective of one who's grown up with the Devil his whole life, and has been feed lies or truths, depending on your beliefs, by his father.
I'll keep my own religion a secret. But just try to keep your mind open and don't hate on me, yeah? ;D
There are so many things I want to say, but they're caught in my throat. Why is that? I want to slap this girl next to me, this Massie, and I wanted to kiss her too. This passion, this overwhelming emotion was too much for me to handle. Why was I tolerating this? I stood there, wondering, waiting. For what?
To win this stupid competition.
For the stupid subway.
For this stupid girl to get away from me and stop making me feel retarded. I could wrap her around my finger in a week tops. This girl should be at her knees after one conversation, really. Hell, just because she's beautiful doesn't mean she should be a challenge to earn. I didn't want anything to do with her, for fear of failing in my attempts to win her favor. But… What kind of guy denies a challenge? Especially when you're the Devil's son and you've inherited his love of mischief, games, and anything you can't have.
Yeah, that's me. Derrick Harrington, son of Lucifer and… Well, I don't know who my mother is, actually. He kept it a secret from both me and my bitch of a sister Alicia. All I know is that she died after giving birth to us. That's what my dad said, and even though my dad may be the Devil, he would never lie to us about our mom.
At least, I hoped not.
The thing is, you can never trust my dad 100% on what he says. He's not all that bad, he's just eager to play a fun game with death as the punishment for losing. He's cruel and he doesn't give a shit about much, but he's still my dad, so don't you dare go off talking crap about him. Try it, and see what I'll do to you.
That's why I don't get along with religious people so much. If they're a genuine whatever they are, then they'll notice something off about Alicia and me right away. Why? I don't know. God is real, he's just a stuck up, conceited jerk who's way too clingy about humans and demands their whole life. My dad? He's not that bad. He lets you live life the way you want it, and God says the punishment is hell.
Hell isn't that bad, honestly! I'm not allowed to tell you much, but you're going to have to take my word for it. Would a devil's son lie to you?
Don't answer that.
"First period, English Honors… What the hell, Honor classes? I'm really not that smart," I complained to my sister as I walked towards our first class. First period was the only class we shared, we soon learned when we scanned the schedules we got from a sweet old lady who really seemed to care about how we were going to get by during our school year. After all, we "transferred" to this school in "the middle of the school year!" How were we ever going to make friends?
Easily, I answered my own question as I waltzed into the classroom with enough charm to suffocate Prince Charming and saw Massie Block. I liked her, no doubt. I don't know about love, but she was extremely charming in her own awkward, timid way. I could see myself loving her. The negative feelings were gone now, after beating myself up over feeling so overwhelmed around her.
All that was left was attraction and chemistry and an electric shock that I felt coursing through my body as I took the nearest empty seat in the back.
Right next to Massie Block.
"Hey there," I whispered, leaning towards her and smiling, "You're in English Honors too?"
She looked at me with something close to disdain but not quite. Irritation was the word I'm looking for.
"Stop talking, she's explaining the assignment. You came in super late," she snapped at me in hushed tones, turning her head back to the front of the room as she spoke. She didn't even look at me! I wanted to snap at her, tell her to look me in the eye and tell me off again, because I'm Derrick Harrington. Just look at me, and you'll fall in love with me.
"Your assignment is to write a poem. A poem to express your feelings, anything. I'm giving you freedom on this one assignment, and I expect above and beyond my usual standards. You have the rest of the class to work on it. Go."
A poem? Easy enough. My rhymes were frail and my vocabulary simple, but I had much to say. I started writing immediately.
Some people think they know me
But in reality, they don't.
They haven't seen the best of me,
The me nobody knows.
The side that wants to beat you up,
the side trustworthy and true.
The side that actually gives a damn,
the side that will listen to you.
The side that shines with brilliance,
the side that comforts and weeps.
The side painted with unknown colors,
the side who isn't a creep.
The side that longs for love,
the side that longs for you.
The side that nobody knows about
Is hoping you feel that way too.
You see, the world's a game,
And I play the game to win.
And I pray that you will forgive me
For loving you is a sin.
I read it over and over again, satisfied with my work. I liked it.
"Can I read yours? And you read mine. I need someone to edit," Massie whispered over to me. I turned to look her in the eye, smiled, and nodded. What else could I do? Of course I wanted to see the depths of her heart, the creation she's made.
This world is all a lie.
The lie all but a game.
Some play the game to win,
some play the game for fame.
Some play the game to be entertained
some play the game, cheat, and regret.
Some play the game to remember.
But I? I play to forget.
I play to run away from my heart
I play to run away from my past.
I play to focus on nothing
I play for what I can't grasp.
You may read this and laugh
or maybe you've felt what I feel.
But tell me, oh tell me, I beg you,
Is a real love really for real?
I stared down at this, the piece of her heart she'd just shown to me. We'd written about similar things, our writing even similar. Is this just a coincidence? I stared at her, and she stared back. I wondered what she was thinking. She blinked at me, wide-eyed, and began to write down her commentary on the piece of paper.
I did the same.
I loved your poem, I wrote, and I know exactly how you feel.
Oh, by the way… Real love is really for real.
I handed my piece of paper to her and got my paper back from her. Hands touch. Eyes meet. Sudden silence… Oh, God, wasn't that a song from Wicked? I looked away quickly, and so did she. This was too corny, too much like a movie.
I'd like to get to know that side of you.
My eyes became glued to my paper. Yes. I'd like it if she got to know that side of me too. I shifted my gaze towards her, shyly even, and found that she was still gazing at me, her eyes intense and deep. We were caught, caught in the fire of our gazes and caught in the trap of attraction.
Was it just me who felt this way? I found my answer when she looked away quickly, her eyebrows furrowed in an angry expression. Obviously, she felt differently. She was good at resisting my charms, my attempts to win her heart…
Oh, dammit, why didn't it work? What was it about her? She was just another girl, no one remarkable. She was beautiful, but that didn't matter. She was still another girl, and I knew plenty of beauties. The only love I know is the physical one, right? This feeling in my stomach means nothing. For the Devil's sake, I'm Derrick Harrington.
Cocky.
Gorgeous.
And a heartbreaker at all times.
And again, I desperately ask you: What is it about her?
Guys. It's getting hard to write in first point of view, /:
Would you guys be TERRIBLY ANGRY if I started writing in third point of view?
Sorry it's so shooort, I promise I'll make it up to you guys.
The poems are MINE, guys. I wrote them. I know I'm not good, but that still doesn't mean you can use them on a school assignment and claim it as your own, (:
Ahah, just kidding, :D
How would you guys feel about me writing a little series of poems for each character of Clique? I got one of Massie done, and a comedy of Alicia. But Alicia's is likee.. PG-13, sooo. Any suggestions? Should I just rate it T? /;