Inner Musings of a Teenage Girl: Times

There were times when she didn’t pay attention in class. When her eyes glazed over and her whole body stilled.

The teacher rarely noticed. She wasn’t much of a talker, much of a looker or a doer or a jokester.  His eyes would pass right over her, as if she were made of smoke or air.

Sometimes, it was a pointless thought that carried her away. And she would spin yarns with it, spin and spin until there was just nowhere else to take it. Those were adventures, zigzagging mazes and complex tapestries.

Sometimes, it was a fantasy that put that look in her eyes, that swept her away on fine mist and showers of light. Thoughts of her future. Her friends. Her enemies.

But then the bell would ring or a book would slam shut and her dreams were pulled away, tearing and tattering and fraying until they fell to shreds.

And her chest would ache. Nothing would ever be so perfect. She wasn’t delusional. She knew the world and its games.

Life was never so easy—would never be so easy.

Sometimes, her musings were dark. Thorny and prickly, thoughts that would send chills down her spine and her heart to her throat.

But those were the most captivating.



Because what did it say about her?  That she had such morbidness tucked away in her head?

Every so often, her thoughts would strike her. And then a tightness in her chest jarred her from them. Wide eyes. Sharp breaths.

Those days, she left. Silent, abrupt. She went to the bathroom and sat against the dirty wall and the stained floor and stared at the side of the stall, heart stuttering in her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

There were times when she needed to be alone.

And it was in times like those that she was grateful to be so invisible.

Jamie Ryu

This is part one of a serial fiction piece by Jamie Ryu; stay tuned for more musings.