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Just so y'all don't get freaked out or anything that this is fictional, after the part that anybody knows. It's just a little twist on reality. There is very little signifigant truth in this story.
How did my life come to this? It's so pathetic, really . My first kiss ever is going to be with someone that I don't know that well, don't particularly like, and for a play, that'll have to be rehearsed over and over and over again. My father dropped me off at my friends house. I walked in, and most of the other people that were in the play were already there. It wasn't even a real play, just a presentation for my drama class. Scott, the guy I have to kiss was sitting in the chair. He didn't even look at me. This is so appallingly horrible.
After a bit of talking, in our own teenage language about things that would be totally insignificant and irrelevant to anyone over 18, we finally get down to rehearsing. We start off with the scene that Scott and I have already rehearsed. I was really uncomfortable with it at first, but now I guess I'm sorta familiar with it and I can manage to do it in front of my friends. Who knows about the actual class presentation. After that, we go into my friends bedroom to practice the kiss. I'm totally awkward about it at first. Neither of us knows what to do, so we call in one of my friends to come and choreograph the whole essence of the kiss. She leaves, and we get to it. After the first run through of the scene, I was totally freaking, but not really. I just told him how strange I thought it was. We ran through it a few more times and then went out and showed everyone. They seemed really impressed that I was doing it at all. Our little fake love scene was nothing compared to my friend and her boyfriend groping each other at every possible opportunity. I thought it was cute at first, but after awhile, it got annoying.
The rehearsal went on for a few more hours, but we started to run low on creative juices, and any energy of any kind after getting all of the scenes worked out. The only one that we hadn't really worked out was the one with a cat-fight between me and Scott's play wife, Jenn, who is also a friend of mine. I was starting to get tired, because I hadn't been sleeping recently, so I told everyone that after we finished the last scene, I was going to go home. They seemed okay with that. They all know how I can get a little out of it when I haven't been sleeping. I said good-bye to everyone there and left my friends house.
I was walking down Meadowvale when I started to hear the footsteps behind me. It was still fairly light out, so it didn't bother me too much. I glanced behind me and saw a rather tall man, about 20 years old, black hair. I actually though that he was sorta cute. I was in no hurry, and low on energy, so I was sauntering down the road at a moderate pace. I started to wonder about the guy behind me when I knew I was slowing down a little, but every time that I slowed down, so did he. I was going slow, and I wondered why he didn't just walk around me. There aren't sidewalks on that part of Meadowvale, so why didn't he just go by? I kept slowing down, a little more, and a little more, until I was barely moving. I turned around and looked up at the guy. I hadn't realized that he was so closely following me. I nearly walked right into him. Before I knew what was happening, the man had turned me around and had his hand over my mouth. It was fairly dark by then, and nobody was driving by. He pulled me off the road and across a parking lot, into a thin strip of forest beside a soccer field that I used to play in. I could feel my heart stopping beating, yet going as fast as it possibly could without jumping out of my chest. All I could think was that this guy was going to kill me. I know that I complain about my life a lot and I've always said that I don't value being alive very much, but recently, I've found I've just been saying that out of habit. . . I didn't really want it to end quite yet. My life was finally okay, and there I was, about to die. He threw me down on the ground, and then he was on top of me. He was kissing me, so much that I couldn't breath. I don't have much luck with kissing, do I. Before I knew it, I was being raped. I always said that things like that never happen to real people, myself being the ultimate real person, and there I was. I started to cry. My friends are always saying that I'm such a neutral person, nothing really upsets me, and none of them have ever seen me cry. If only they could have seen me then. I don't remember much now, just crying at this man to let me go, to end this now, to let me live. I asked him why. I was a sobbing mess by the time he finally left me. I curled up into a tiny ball and cried, asking myself, "Why me? Why me?" over and over again. I had no reason. After what felt like a few minutes, but was probably a few hours, judging by how dark it was, I composed myself enough to sit up and lean against a tree. All I could think of was how ironic this all was. It was supposed to be the day of my first kiss, which I was sorta being forced into for the good of my drama mark, and here I was, forced into having sex with some low-life bastard for the good of his sick mind.
I looked at the watch that was in my coat pocket. 8:00. My parents would be expecting me soon. I got up, pulled myself together, and walked home.
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