A Day In The Life Of Andrea
by Salamander
Note: I'm sorry if this sucks. I really am. This is my first Daria fic, so please be kind.
I got my daily caffeine fix from Java Time and then went to the building of child labor. It is the hell that is sometimes refered to as school.
The hall is lined with teens ready for the slaughter. Their souls are nothing but jumbles of pop culture. They don't see me. They just stare. The Fashion Gestapo points out the flaws of my 'fashion sense.' Screw them! They don't care! They don't matter! They aren't real. Am I real? . . .
DeMartino's eye rivals that from the one Poe wrote about in the "Tell Tale Heart." I find myself staring at it the whole of class. Damn my caffeine fix! I'm too alert! Need a drink . . . vodka? . . . . . . . . Much better.
Barch is angry. Men are to blame for everthing to her. She's wrong. Everything is everyone's fault. I am their fault. Do they care? Do they see me? Do they hear me? Do I hear me? . . .
Bennet tries to make sense of our culture through money. How evil must one be to take a job that teaches the use of capital and it's position in society and pop culture to people of my age? Does she care of the future? Will there be a future for us? For me? . . .
Lunch is a blur of thoughts and hate. Some stare, others ignore. But nobody's there! Nobody sees! Everybody's blind with hate and stupidity!
O'Neill's annoying. There's nothing about him that can be picked apart, really. He just is fundamentally evil. Always trying to make everything fun and exciting. I hate that. What if I don't want to have fun or be excited? Doesn't matter. I'm still passing. . . .
I have a meeting with Manson. Her last name fits her. Money, greed, evil, Satan, Manson. All these words go together. She doesn't see me. She's just like everybody else.
Screw my other classes. My day is full. I return home. Have a drink. Put Placebo on. Whatch the "Crow." Go to bed. Tomorrow, I'll start it over again.
Wanna go back to the The 'Other' Fic Page?
Or wanna go back home?