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"Why am I here?"

Summary:
The girl walked into the small classroom completely unnoticed—the residents of Forks had long learned to ignore her. She didn’t look right; her long brown hair was straggly—not from going unwashed but from the rain outside. Her hood remained unused. Her glazed over eyes were sunken into her chalky looking face. The invisible girl was silently screaming for help. No emotion whatsoever on her whole form added to the effect.


Notes:
I was in the shower when this babble came to me--go figure *shruggs*


1. Chapter 1

Rating 3.5/5   Word Count 748   Review this Chapter

The girl walked into the small classroom completely unnoticed—the residents of Forks had long learned to ignore her. She didn’t look right; her long brown hair was straggly—not from going unwashed but from the rain outside. Her hood remained unused. Her glazed over eyes were sunken into her chalky looking face. The invisible girl was silently screaming for help. No emotion whatsoever on her whole form added to the effect.

The empty woman—girl didn’t seem like an appropriate labeling—slid into her seat, no one bothering to notice or speak to her. She sat deathly still, arms wrapped tightly around her perfectly organized books tightly; she didn’t even notice the corner of her hard binger gouging into her palm. Her eyes, still very empty and desolate, watched the gray desk in front of her, even those still.

When the teacher—a man wearing a too small shirt and shorts—entered he scowled at the rowdy class and rapped his fist on his desk, calling for order. His sweaty brow smoothed out when the class sat quickly.

A girl with short blond hair sat down carefully next to the unnoticing woman like she was a plague—there was only so much time before it spread somehow to the shallow girl.

Still sweating profusely, the man started a boring lecture which most of the class blanked out immediately upon the start. A few started talking in hushed voices and another started doodling on his notebook.

The teacher was a history teacher, intently babbling about Christopher Columbus, barely keeping the facts straight as he told the class to get out their notes. Three people obeyed, one of which the distant woman, eyes still staring out at something unfathomable to the rest of the world.

And then, so very slowly that it was a very long movement, she raised her hand. Something sparked into her eyes, something small but hardly qualified for life.

The still sweating man was irritated. Why was the mute like child raising her hand? His paused mid lecture and reluctantly called on the slightly dazed looking girl—what on earth was wrong with her? Teenagers could be so dramatic sometimes.

“Why am I here?” Her voice was rough from lack of use and hardly above a whisper. The class silenced in complete shock.

The man was surprised just as much as the rest. He sputtered for a second, fumbling around for an answer. The girl waited impatiently, knowing, deep eyes making him uncomfortable. Finally, he cleared his throat, “You are here to learn,”

The woman’s hand fell down slowly. “Oh,” She breathed, still looking absolutely lost in herself.

Spit flying from his chubby mouth, the history teacher continued on, the class silently groaning, already forgetting the sudden out speaking of the usually silent freak.

No one noticed but the woman’s brow was now quirked in thought, eyes distant from thought now instead of pure blanching.

Her hand rose again, still so slow.

The teacher ground his teeth, “Yes?”

“Why do I need to learn?”

The man could answer this question easier; teachers drilled students on this daily. It was their job, after all. “So you can get a good job; to start a chosen profession; to start a life of your own.”

“Oh,” was again her only response. Her eyes were changing from blank curiosity to a twisted, burning pain.

The man continued, ignoring the completely off subject question. The rest of the class followed suit.

This time young woman didn’t even bother to raise her hand. “But what if we don’t have a life to live?” She blurted, voice strangled. The words were coming up from her throat without her permission, almost burning their way out until her lips parted.

He was now fuming, face flustered. Why couldn’t this ignorant child be quiet and just keep her pointless comments to herself? “Everyone has a life! Everyone has someone!” He chided a bit too loudly to be talking to someone only a few feet away.

He turned to the chalk board and started to scribble something away.

Images of the woman’s father—smiles and curly thinning hair—flashed through her mind; her mother, too, laugh carefree and eyes sparkling. Yes, they mattered to her, definitely, but they were nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to—

The woman was suddenly a very hurt child and bowed her head to her desk and sobbed. Isabella Swan had no one.

Someone laughed softly at something their partner had said; the teacher rambled on; the rain battered at the window, dark clouds thundering loudly over head. There was a loud pop as someone popped their gum.