Gray Lace - Chapter 1

Grayson trudged through the halls of St. Agatha's, arms drawn up to her chest in a nervous shield.  She slides through the crowded hallways, slipping narrowly through throngs of tired, caffeine ridden adolecents. 



Flicking a wisp of brown hair away from terrified eyes, her fingers clutched anxiously at a beige forearm, tiny white crescent moons leaving trails of small, flushed indents.



Don't notice me.  DON'T notice me.  Don't NOTICE me.



The silent mantra simmered nicely in her apprehensive thoughts, and karma began it's merciless cycle again.



Or so Grayson had come to believe; what goes around comes around, and all that jazz.  What she had done to have brought the horror of public highschool upon herself, she had no idea.  Weighed down by the daunting shackles of chemistry and co-ed physical education, she had begun to work up quite a thick skin.  No longer a main target of arrogant tarts and sharks, having stopped crying ages ago.  With a poker face that would put a statue to shame,  she had managed to suffieciently cut herself off from the rest of the school's populace.  The sturdy wall she had built around herself soon morphed into an overwhelming numbness, until nothing was all she could feel.  Her heart beat for the unidentifiable loneliness, and with that, she tumbled head first into the end.



The only company she kept being her black Sharpie, she would meander carelessely through the days of velvet afternoons and eggshell mornings, notating what she wanted wherever she could, from the typical; journals, scrap pieces of paper. To the lonely artist hot spots; napkins (new or used) and book margins.  All the way to the down right strange (and slightly illegal), bookshelves in IKEA, and school walls.



In her script, she she didn't move mountains (though she managed to move herself to the Dean's office, awfully fast), she didn't change the world - but that in itself was perhaps one of her biggest accomplishments.



In her elegant fine print; she made her own.