YannaIsInsane
The sound plastic makes when it falls onto the ground suddenly filled the quietness of the room and disturbed the concentrating and dull-eyed college students in university sweatshirts from their studies. Everyone turned simulatiously and were greeted by the sight of a dark haired girl with bright blue highlights stubbornly sitting on the floor while her companion, a tall blonde guy, desprately tried to get her to stand.
"NO!" She yelled, once more causing the students around her to become even more frustrated. Stencils of all kind surrounded her as well as papers she must have dropped when she decided to plop onto the floor. "Pick up my goddamn book and fix it, asshole!" This caused the guy to say something lowly into her ear. "Overreacting? I'M NOT OVERREACTING!"
It had been ten years since the oil had began to disperse until finally there was none at all. Everyone had went into panic for the first three years or so. Rich owners of oil companies were soon bankrupt, wars broke out for what was left and black markets opened with promises of things needed for hygiene, cosmetics, and everyday use. Until there wasn't anything.
"You think it was true?" Will asked me while we were digging in the dry, red dust for roots to eat tonight.
"Do I think what was true?" I responded, too caught up in thinking of how to ration this that I didn't notice the look on his face.
"Before. When everyone had oil in containers and all over their homes?"
I sat quietly for a moment. "No." I finally answered.
The stereotype for me is usually simple. Slut, emo, or whore. But if they had known why I was the way I was then maybe they wouldn't call me those names. They'd lower their false lashes to the floor and maybe even balk like fishes do. Mouth open, mouth closed, mouth open. But what does it matter? I'm still the slut, emo, or whore to them.