Emo Meets Slap-Happy

I was greeted by the sound of soggy black converse squishing on the blue carpet squares. His over-sized headphones hung on his neck, and I could hear the faintest sound of badly-layed guitar and screaming. His dark blue eyes were covered by dyed black hair which hung limply over his right eye, and dark guyliner with the slightest hint of sparkles. He wore a band T-shirt, a black skull-print jacket, and jeans which were also, surprisingly, black. He said nothing, only sighed, took a sip of his Monster energy drink, and took his seat in the back of the class. Everyone sat silently, staring in awe at the sad little man.

"You, uh, you new?" A pair of unfocused, droopy eyes caught the new student's eyes. I smiled a lopsided grin, which he greeted with an apathetic glare. He flipped his shiny emo-cut locks and scowled.

"Yeah, so?"

My cat-like grin only increased and I laughed the kind of laughter that can only be achieved by someone who stayed up until four in the morning watching bad television. I knew I wasn't quite in my right mind that day, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have liked me even if I was.

"Oh. Hi."

"… Hi."

"I like your eyeliner. It's sparkly."

He pouted and turned away. I guess he was sensitive about his choice of makeup.



* * *

Dear Diary,
Mood: Sad, with a 75% chance of grief-ridden angst.

I could feel the black hole that is my heart break into a thousand jagged pieces with every pair of unforgiving eyes that stared cruelly into my naked being. Shedding a single tear, I sat in the back of the class and brooded. No one understands me.

After class, another student who sat in the center of the room greeted me. Her hair was a cheery orange, and her eyes, though sleepy, radiated happiness. It was disgusting. She wore a Charlie the Unicorn T-shirt I recognized from my weekly trip to Hot Topic, matched with blue jeans and a horrifically ugly teal-and-purple argyle sweater that did not match her top. The combination made my soul bleed.

She then further broke my sensitive aching heart by insulting my makeup. She called it "sparkly". How dare she insult my style? She doesn't understand. No one does, except you, diary.