Okay, as you can see, I'm trying out a different way to write this thing (using captials, periods, commas, ect.). And I kinda like it. I think it's sorta easier to write like this, you know? But I want your feedback. Do you think I should continue to write like this, or should I revert to my old way? Please, tell me what you think, because I listen. Also, critique is always welcome. And be warned that there are a few cuss words in this chapter, but hey, this isn't rated T for nothing. So, have at it, and review. Please?
Monday, October 12th, 2009
You're not going to be able
to attend 1st and 2nd period
because you're leaning over
Carly's toilet,
listening to the sound
you're making as another load
of vomit shoots up your throat.
It's gonna be alright,
it's gonna be alright,
she says,
it's gonna be alright, Sam,
it's gonna be alright.
She's holding your greasy hair
as you sweat like a pig,
letting out another bout
of shit from your unforgiving stomach.
Again, she's chanting the message
that you've heard so many times
from her this past month:
It's gonna be alright,
it's gonna be alright.
Listen to Carls.
She's really almost
all you have.
After you're all showered up,
and the stench of this morning's session
is gone,
you're sitting on Carly's couch,
watching Girly Cow.
That's when Carly informs you,
from where she sat at the computer,
that morning sickness
doesn't last that long,
just a few months—
just a few months of
complete, utter hell,
you presume.
It's 4th period, lunch time,
by the time you make it to school.
Carly's dragging you by the arm
to the cafeteria.
C'mon, Sam,
don't you want to eat?
And you have to ask yourself,
is she really asking me that?
After I just heaved up all that shit?
But suddenly, you come to find out
that your stomach is growling at you.
Now you're dragging her
to the cafeteria.
Freddie is already sitting
with his food
at the lunch table that
you, him, and Carly
usually occupy
when you and Carly get there.
He perks up at seeing
the two of you,
or at least at seeing Carly.
But whatever, you don't care.
Right?
Carly's bought you lunch,
but you've already woofed that down,
so now you have nothing.
And your stomach is still hungry.
So you inform Carly of this,
but you don't know why,
because the last of her lunch
is now in her mouth;
she's savoring its taste.
And you have no idea why
she's doing that either.
It's cafeteria food,
for Pete's sake!
All you do know,
is that you're still hungry,
and you want food,
now.
The apple's just sitting there.
In front of Freddie,
which is also in front of you
seeing as you're sitting
across from him.
It's his apple.
But you want to make
it yours.
And you do.
When Freddie's turned
to face Carly,
telling her some useless
(as far as you are concerned)
info about tech-stuff,
you snatch the apple,
right from under his nose!
(You still have it in you,
no pregnancy can take that
from you.)
He doesn't even notice,
until he turns to see you
with it in your hand.
But he doesn't try
to win it back
(because he knows
that he can never get it back;
it's yours now).
Licking your lips,
you bite down
into the juicy, bright red apple
in your hand.
The delicious juices gush
from the fruit
and into your mouth.
You've never been a big fan of fruit
but this is just fucking tasty.
You're raiding Carly's fridge,
like you always do.
And right when you're about
to open the container that is filled
with last night's ribs,
Spencer apparently decides
that he wants to shout:
MONKEYS EAT CRANBERRIES
from behind you.
"RAAH!"
You—Sam Puckett—scream,
and drop the container full of ribs
onto the floor.
The top bursts open,
and the ribs splay across
the kitchen floor.
You shoot a look filled with evil
at the Shay, who's staring back
at you with shock and horror
written all over his face.
S-Sam,
he stutters,
I'm—I'm so sorry!
Your eyes leave his face
only to go back to your
poor, now filthy, ribs.
What the hell?
You reach down
and pick up one of the ribs.
You're about to take a bite,
when Carly comes outta nowhere,
and snatches it outta your hand.
You will not,
she growls, throwing the rib away.
You give her a crestfallen look
and she and Spencer end up
buying you ribs from the deli
down town.
Life is (sorta) good.
Freddie's come over.
He's sitting on the couch,
watching Girly Cow
with you and Carly.
Nothing that interesting happens.
You just call'em a dork,
insult his mother,
he tries to argue back,
Carly gets fed up,
and tells the two of you
to shut up,
just the usual.
There was nothing
out of the ordinary when
he accidently brushed his hand against
your knee.
There was nothing
out of the ordinary when
you wanted to punch him
in the face
because of the fact
that he made your body
all tingly when he did it.
It's past midnight,
and you're laying in Carly's bed,
wide awake
while she's fallen into her
peaceful dreamland.
You've just come out of your
own dreamscape,
or perhaps nightmare
would be a better word for it.
But either way, you can't
get back to sleep,
because a question
keeps racking your mind,
like a hammer did to a railroad track
back in the olden days.
It's asking you
if you should tell Freddie
about it.
He is, after all,
the father of your bab—
it, the thing inside of you.
But you quickly push it back
into that silly head of yours,
that so many people have
deemed stupid.
And you're starting
to believe their accusations.