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Hi my name is Devin Williams, and i love to read in fact reading is why i am here. If i hadn't started reading at the young age of four i would have never had a knack for writing stories. When i read story's i feel like the character so when i write a story i hope people feel the same way about it. I go to a community college and work at a auction house. when i am bored and don't have school or work i would wither play video games or hang out with my friends that i still keep in contact with.
Writing contest
Sep 06, 2019 5 years agoIt was a Thursday morning. I had recently come home from a horrible unwanted vacation and already missed my first day of school. School, oh the dread of school, that word tore holes into my skin, flashbacks to wars with teacher that I wish to never remember. School was never a bright part of my life, but life's life. No time to complain, I had missed my first day at school and now it was time to get ready to go to my first day at my new school. Lazy, drowsy, unmotivated, all the emotions that can define my willingness to get out of bed in the morning. I opened my eyes to a mess like no other, it was as if I had lived in a hotel for two weeks and didn't get room service at all. Looking at the time was even more dreadful than the sight of my room; I had woken up a whole hour early with just a few minutes to spare. I groaned inwardly and outwardly, I wanted to go back to bed but I just couldn't. It was like trying to take down an elephant with one single tranquilizer dart, it was not happening. So I did what any average teenager would do, pop a breakfast bowl into the microwave and take a shower. The first nice hot shower I'd taken in weeks. I didn't care that I would be taking the longest shower in existence, but my dad had other plans banging on the door 25 minutes into my nice, perfect little shower, breaking me out of my day dream as he yelled, “It's time to go!” The race to the door was a frantic rush. I didn't want to be late, but I didn't want to come unprepared. Shoes, pants, shirt, hair combed and gelled, backpack on my back, I was ready to go and I jumped into the car, forgetting the most important part of the day, my breakfast. As we drove to school, my dad was trying to make small talk with me but I just ignored him. I was not in the mood. I was feeling sick with butterflies flying everywhere in my stomach, as if a wasp was chasing the butterflies. As we drove into the parking lot, I looked at the buildings I'd passed so many times to play baseball. This was a strange place for me, some place I needed to get accustomed to, some place I needed to call home. The sound of the car door opening and closing as I stepped outside felt unnatural; already I was feeling uneasy about this whole ordeal. I started walking up the stairs to the meeting with my counselor, compulsively thinking the whole way: Why was I going to a new school? What's stopping me from walking home? Will I be able to make friends? All questions that would be answered in a few days time. The meeting was nonchalant and rather boring; she was really nice but what she had gone over, the rules, the curriculum, the schedules were all things I've heard before. But I was respectful and listened. And as if the bell knew I needed a break from my counselor, it rang with such gusto I was surprised. As she took me to my third period class, I looked around and observed the campus. The buildings were super separated and the numbered buildings felt odd. Unlike my old school, all cooped together and crammed, it seemed open and I enjoyed the scenery, lots of grass, something my old school lacked. As I was looking around while walking to class, I had the feeling of being watched, which I guess would be normal as I was walking around with a counselor. That added with the fact that I looked out of place, I reeked of a new student. Unlike a freshman I didn't have a shoulder to lean on; I was a junior. As school passed by it felt like a flash from one class to another; I sat down, blinked and went to the next class. But from class to class, I met all kinds of people. Some sought out to look tough. Others were polite, which made me uneasy. I was unable to read the people that I talked to, unable to see through their masks. Schools will deny it but there are cliques; my classmates have known each other for two years at least, but they've known me for 30 minutes. I was in no man's land, nobody to talk to. The first day was rough, and as I walked home I tried to remember the classmates I talked to and their names, but most of them were forgotten in the nervous state I was in. The only good thing I could remember was seeing some faces from elementary school all those years ago. I didn't talk to them but mentally noted that I should make an effort to. And as I neared my house, I was very optimistic but knew the torture would start again early the next morning.
