Читать книгу: «Lone soul»

Rule #0: a book must be written in a language of a soul (Introduction)

It is so hard to create something new for the world. Especially when you’re living in 21st century, 21 centuries after our lord. But each time you see some kind of art in your hands or in front of your eyes, you realize this particular item is unique. It has no clones or something at least close to this particular item. This particular item is one of a kind.

I have always dreamt of bringing something brand-new into our realm. Something that doesn’t just take a talent and hard work, but also contains a piece of a soul, mine one. I know for sure my soul is voluminous, probably more than anyone else’s I know or even don’t. Because if it was not that big, would I be able to experience such hard, strong feelings? To be that empathetically attached to every person I meet? To mourn for things that aren’t related to me by any means? I don’t think so.

That’s why I desire to share a piece of my soul with people. It’s not a wish, but a need.

My greatest idea of all was a song. Not just one, of course. I think, I am really good at songwriting at this point, even though I have never published any of those. But how is it good to post lyrics of a song that people won’t even read with a proper melody? It must be sung. Not any way around. And here a problem appears: my voice isn’t exactly vocal material. I can hear and hit the notes, but the sound of my voice is far from beautiful melodic sound I want it to be. So, singing is not my choice, at least not yet.

Second greatest idea visited me at the age of 15. I lit up with the thought of writing my own book. A story that represents my character, my personality, my feelings – my soul. I have had many attempts, but it never actually worked out. Maybe, I was not prepared? Or was my soul not considerable enough to be shared yet? I don’t exactly have an answer for this question, well, do I really need it? If to be fair, I already have an opportunity to write this book, since you’re reading it at this particular moment, which means my soul has grown to the size of “ready-to-be-shared”. It’s ready, so am I.

Firstly I wanted it to be a fiction, then I changed my mind and decided to make it a memoir. Now I changed my mind again. I want it to be based on my reality and experience, yet to be filled with my deepest thoughts and dreams. It feels right.

Yet the story begins, I have to warn you. This book’s author, or just Me, isn’t a native English speaker. That’s why you probably won’t see a variety of clever-used words in this memoir as you could notice some grammatical mistakes. At least on this level of my writing journey, until I don’t have a team of editors, designers, publishers and so on. Unless it doesn’t bother you, you’re free to keep going.

You probably wonder, why I wouldn’t write it in my native language. But I refuse to create a book of my life in a language I don’t feel. Do not take it wrong – I love my country and its language as well, but I don’t feel its structure. And yet I understand English – feel it. It is almost as I experience the waves of its existence. If my soul could speak, I’m pretty sure it would speak English. It is a sizable reason.

Rule #0: a book must be written in a language of a soul.

Thank you for finishing my introduction, I couldn’t appreciate it more.

Welcome to the story of my life, told by My Soul.

Part I.

Rule #1: don’t try to fit in anybody else’s expectations

Prologue

My life is consistent.

I know what to expect from tomorrow, next week, next month and next year. It’s always the same routine: going to school – more of a boarding school – on Monday, spending the whole week around deeply hated teachers and classmates, getting my not exactly deserved A’s, having some after-school activities as dance and vocal classes, tripping into several arguments with our homeroom teacher, then finally going back home on Saturday (three years ago we left on Friday, but in the middle school they made us study on Saturdays as well). At home I keep myself busy with homework and social media. Then there comes Monday again and the story repeats itself.

Until recently I have never looked on my life from this angle – everything was worked out so perfectly, I was clearly used to it that much so I didn’t even catch an idea if something isn’t right or isn’t the way I wanted it to be. Such thoughts have never even popped out in my mind, I was doing okay in this routine.

But now it makes me uncomfortable, as days go by as stronger this feeling gets. Of course, I don’t say my life is miserable, but it is obviously meaningless. What do I get from each day for my own good existence? Nothing, really. It's just an ordinary life I have been trapped in for years. Even though I’m just a student, what change does it make? I’m at the age of building my inner self, something that would identify me as a person. But I’m not sure if I have built anything so far. My inner self doesn’t exist, I’m completely empty inside. I’m not sure what I want or need or like or feel. I am a blank component of our universe.

The endless flow of questions haunts me. What do I get from my life? Do I want anything to be gotten? Do I want to pursue any goals? Do I have those? Do I want to set any? Do I need to?

Maybe, with years going by I will realize that it is a part of growing up, growing out of the circumstances I’m captured in right now. But this moment hasn’t come yet so I must deal with it in the ways I’m unacquainted with yet.

Chapter 1: Disequilibrium

First class begins in two minutes. I’m late, as usual. I don’t know if it’s because of my last name that happens to mean “late” or it is just a coincidence or I just disrespect time of mine and others. If the last one, I sure do not do this on purpose.

I drop my belongings in the room, also notice that Laura hasn’t come yet. This fact makes me feel relieved, yet I’m not supposed to feel this way since she is my best friend. Sort of. At least everyone – including me – considers us inseparable.

The bell rings and I rush to the third floor where our classrooms are located. The second floor is only for living, all studying takes place on the third.

Greeting a new elementary teacher (those are constantly changing so you can never remember the name of each newbie) I walk in our art classroom. Strange situation, since we don’t have art classes anymore, we’re too old for those now (I am being sarcastic, but it actually is what our headmistress and head teacher say).

My sight catches the teacher. Oh no. This day couldn’t become any worse than it already is. Mrs. Marinée was in the middle of her speech when I rushed in so now she is finally looking at me. “Wow, who do we have here? Thank you for honoring us with your appearance, your majesty. Lateson, how do you happen to be an A-grader with such an awful attitude towards the time management? Our teachers should lower the grades for your constant tardinesses. Don’t bother, you sit next to me”.

Humiliation. How predictable, Mrs. Marinée.

Everyone in class, if not to say in the whole school, knows how much we hate each other. This mutual hatred has begun since she came back after a huge recovery of the surgery she had when we were in the second grade. She used to be our homeroom teacher at that time, I even liked her and she liked me. By the time she returned to school everything has changed. First of all, we have got a new homeroom teacher. “So, you found a replacement for me”, – she would always say, even though we weren’t in charge of such things since we were just children. She would always pretend to be offended by this fact, yet we tried to assure her we still love her and missed her a lot. Second of all, over time I have become the most famous girl in the school since I have good grades and am partaking in every school activity. I dance, sing, work on science projects, read poems and so on. Our new homeroom teacher is getting extra paid for all of my achievements in studying and school and non-school engagements. I guess, Mrs. Marinée is jealous she hasn’t got such student in her new class (once she returned, she was put in charge of the 6th class, while we were in the 7th). She tried to persuade our head teacher and principal that I could be replaced on some events, but it didn’t actually work. I remained the local “star”.

Well, this is the reason of her hatred towards me. Mine is simpler: I hate her just in response.

I sat where she pointed me to. I look around the classroom: Laura isn’t here, but the rest of us is. Almost perfect attendance. I tried to focus on what Mrs. Marinée was saying and find out why we are even here.

– …So, you have to decide on which of you will take a part in this competition. Any suggestions?

– Do we really have to discuss this? It’s going to be Valerie, obviously, – Kio said. As I remember, he had a crush on me once. But now he’s into Laura.

– Well, I think we have to give a chance someone else as well. Valerie is not the only talented one, you all are. I think she has had enough, it’s a chance for one of you, – I can feel it in Mrs. Marinée’s voice how great she felt saying this.

– Excuse me, but what competition are we taking about exactly? – I ask.

– Oh, you finally woke up, I see. Should not have to be late. You wouldn’t ask this question if you were here in time, – the witch has spoken. – Back to what I was saying, there is a competition “The best student of the year” in our school, if you remember. This year is special: we are having guests from other schools. That’s why we have to start all the preparations earlier.

– And why do you think I can’t participate? – I asked, confused and irritated by her tone.

– You’re so narcissistic! The world doesn’t revolve around you. You have classmates, who would also love to show what they are capable of.

I looked at my classmates again. I grew up with these people, so I actually know them. Most of them couldn’t care less about this and other school activities. I wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t sure about it. The only person who would really love to participate, just to make me jealous, is not here now, so…

– I think you’re right, of course. I just don’t understand: why am I forbidden from participating in advance? Everyone can take a part in this competition but me, isn’t it unfair? – I finally say after a pause, trying my best to stay or, at least, sound calm.

Everyone in the class is silent. Or silenced by Mrs. Marinée’s freezing gaze, which is now directed straight at me.

– Don’t you sass me, little girl. I said what I said. This year I was chosen to be the head of this event. So, I am responsible for all the preparations, as well as for all the participants. You are not one of them and will not be.

Silence almost became tangible. I look at this childishly behaved woman and realize: this time I lost. If she is not stopping me, then Laura is.

– To be clear, I wasn’t being impertinent. There was nothing in my speech that could be considered as “sassing”. Anyway, since you insist, of course I will step aside and let my classmates try their best in this competition. Even though I have never stopped them from performing and never showed off.

I feel proud of what I just said. My only chance of not losing this battle is to retreat. Act as it was my choice to ignore this competition although the perfectionist inside of me was running wild.

– Thank you, your majesty, for this opportunity, we are so honored! – she exclaims with fake servility.

I smirk. She is never going to grow up.

Funny how I, the 8th grade student, feel more mature than a woman, almost four times my age, sitting in front of me. I don’t know why, but it bothers me so much.

Turned out, we had a whole lesson freed for this discussion about an upcoming competition. In this school they do anything but actually teach us. Everyone is okay with this, but in fact it does irritate me. I feel more and more sick of this school each day.

The next day my best friend Laura arrives. This week became even worse than I expected.