I am, I am, I am. [Open]
Mar 25, 2016 20:32:51 GMT -5
Post by Cleo Warren on Mar 25, 2016 20:32:51 GMT -5
Oh, Sylvia Plath, could you have possibly written anything more depressing?
Cleo Warren loved reading and literature. She probably would have been all but disowned by her parents if she didn’t. She just didn’t like reading what the school district told her she should be reading. They were so freaking boring.
Not all of them were; there were definitely a few that she’d liked, a couple she’d even loved. Sadly, The Bell Jar was not one of them. She didn’t understand the hype. Cleo had her own problems to deal with; the last thing she wanted was to read about someone else’s. Cleo always opted for books that were jam-packed with action, and then, of course, one or two sappy romantic novels which she would hide underneath all her other books. Those were a secret.
But the curriculum demanded that she read The Bell Jar this year, and Cleo was nothing but theirirritated humble student servant. A quick reader, Cleo finished the book fairly quickly; it wasn’t incredibly long. But she still had to do the assignment on it, which was why she was here. At the library.
Throwing her bag on one of the empty tables, Cleo figured she’d find some new reading material before she started working. She had to get the next book on the syllabus anyway. Moving towards the fiction section, Cleo tucked her iPhone into the back pocket of her jeans, Imagine Dragons playing through her head phones.
She ran her fingers over the spines of the shelved novels, playing with the end of her braid with her other hand. She wasn’t really sure what she was looking for - well, aside from her mandatory reading - but she was hoping it’d jump out at her once she saw it.
Cleo Warren loved reading and literature. She probably would have been all but disowned by her parents if she didn’t. She just didn’t like reading what the school district told her she should be reading. They were so freaking boring.
Not all of them were; there were definitely a few that she’d liked, a couple she’d even loved. Sadly, The Bell Jar was not one of them. She didn’t understand the hype. Cleo had her own problems to deal with; the last thing she wanted was to read about someone else’s. Cleo always opted for books that were jam-packed with action, and then, of course, one or two sappy romantic novels which she would hide underneath all her other books. Those were a secret.
But the curriculum demanded that she read The Bell Jar this year, and Cleo was nothing but their
Throwing her bag on one of the empty tables, Cleo figured she’d find some new reading material before she started working. She had to get the next book on the syllabus anyway. Moving towards the fiction section, Cleo tucked her iPhone into the back pocket of her jeans, Imagine Dragons playing through her head phones.
She ran her fingers over the spines of the shelved novels, playing with the end of her braid with her other hand. She wasn’t really sure what she was looking for - well, aside from her mandatory reading - but she was hoping it’d jump out at her once she saw it.
