Lucy's Not Alive: Chapter 3The next day after school, Lucy sat hugging her knees on the bleachers of a baseball field. Lucy and her friends often congregated there, for it was only a short walk from North Central, and an inconspicuous place for teen agers to be. It was late afternoon, and clouds hung heavy in the sky with the promise of rain. Cold wind whirled up between Kenneth and Lucy, as they stared in silence. Fall was coming, a time of year Lucy was usually grateful for. It was something about the smell in the air that she loved. All the world was cold and still, as if waiting for just the right moment to spring back to life. Lucy felt herself detaching a little more every day. She was like a snowflake falling to the ground, feeling the icy sting of death encroaching as hope left her delicate body; Inevitable doom before her.“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Kenneth questioned while emptying smoke from his lungs.“You don’t want to hear it,” Lucy replied, chasing
Lucy's Not Alive: Chapter 2. Lucy was perplexed to say the least. Her hands were shaky, and droplets of sweat began to form on her upper lip; she was barely even able to open the cardboard spout of her chocolate milk. All throughout science class that day, Lucy was inattentive. She fiddled with her yellow pencil, rolling it back and forth across the desk, noticing spots where the paint was chipping. Lucy was dying. She was dying to know where her brothers went; she was dying to find out why they never told her, and most of all, she just plain felt like she was dying. The bell rang and Lucy gathered her books from the desk. She had just exited the classroom when a tall boy with dark hair approached her. “Hey there Lucy,” The boy said. “Oh hi Kenneth,” Lucy replied. “How are you feeling?” He wondered “, you look sorta down.” “Oh do I?” Lucy said sardonically “, there’s just no way.” “Hey now,
Lucy's Not Alive: Chapter 1. Lucy sat with her hands folded in her lap, and stared into a crowd of blurring faces. She was tired. She had been up late the night before stapling together bullshit pamphlets about God. Lucy only referred to religion as “bullshit” when it kept her from sleeping. She glanced down at her dainty seventeen year old fingers, and thought they looked old. Lucy was waiting for Jane, her mother, who was in the room across the hall, screaming at Lucy’s principal. Jane was upset that “the father, the son, and the holy spirit” wasn’t more prevalent in the school’s teachings. Lucy went to a public school. Lucy twirled several strands of dark hair around one of her “old” fingers, when Jane exploded through the door to the principal’s office. “Honey we are leaving,” Jane said tight lipped “, and you are never coming back to this school.” Lucy often wondered why her mother had ever let her attend tha
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