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A Cyclical Destruction by Jonnah D.

A Cyclical Destruction by Jonnah D.

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Published by Jonnah Dayuta
It's the story of a girl, a boy, and the two worlds they live in and how they're all the same in the end. It's hello, the goodbye, and everything that happens in between.
It's the story of a girl, a boy, and the two worlds they live in and how they're all the same in the end. It's hello, the goodbye, and everything that happens in between.

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Published by: Jonnah Dayuta on Jan 06, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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01/06/2012

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A Cyclical Destruction
 Jonnah Dayuta
The small room was painted with a green of the palest hue. It was a colour that wasstationary, plain, and sickeningly bland. The same rusty desk-chair abominations that seemed tofollow her around faced the same blackboard, which was not even black in the first place.It was her first day in a new school, although nothing about it was new at all. The nameof the school perhaps, or even the people; but, it was just like any of the others. She was stillsurrounded by the unadorned and undistinguished four walls that served as her prison for twohours every Monday until she would move on to another prison that looked exactly like the onebefore it.New people started turning up eventually but none of them captured her attention. Theywere all fleeting, passing people who would become memories she once knew and once knewher. She sat at the farthest corner of the room, sketching characters hastily in places that couldhave been but never would. Once in a while, she would glance up at the door and look at thepeople who just so happened to come in; it was a hobby of hers. She would label people themoment she laid eyes on them and usually, she was right.There was the big guy who was seated three rows from the front. She pinned him as thequiet one and it was the quiet ones that almost always caused the most damage. If he splashedonto the ocean floor, he would probably create a tidal wave so massive that it could take outwhole continents in mere seconds. She penned him as Delphin, so seemingly harmless and yet,so physically destructive. There was the girl who was clad in complete pink, probably plottingthe demasculinization of society with the aid of her trusty minions, probably the girls orbitingaround her like she was the Sun. She dubbed the pink girl as Asmodai. It seemed appropriateenough.Her vision was blocked when a boy sat directly in front of her. He was wearing a ball capand he was relatively tall, obscuring her view of her prospective new characters. He wasautomatically her new villain. He called out to someone and Delphin looked over. The big wavesauntered over
 – 
clumsily, at that
 – 
to the available seat next to the boy. She could see the profile
 
of his face when he turned his head to talk to his friend. She could see that his face was quiteaesthetically pleasing, which made her believe him to be the bad guy almost immediately. Shealways had distrusted the good looking.She was about to resume her sketching when a petite woman came storming in. Thewoman reminded her of a rabbit
 – 
small, fluffy, and bouncing with energy. The woman also hadthe most inhumane of haircuts
 – 
short and shaped like a bowl with a cruel fringe just below hereyebrows, just enough to show her miniscule, chinky eyes. She had smile lines at the corner of her eyes (wherever they were) and her feet were shuffling incessantly, as if it was difficult tokeep still for more than a few seconds. She was the perfect picture of energy and physical fitness
 – 
everything she wished away from every educational prison she had found herself in.The woman introduced hersel
f as “
Ms.
Ling” and as expected, the attendance waschecked before anything else. “Abba, Edward?” “Alvarez, Kristal?” “Cruz, Dianna?” “Cruz,Martin?” She never liked paying attention to the names of people since so many other people
shared the same name. It made everything so much more confusing. No one person could look at
 – 
say, a girl named Mary
 – 
without thinking of every other Mary that that person knew. She wasstaring at the door with such fierce concentration that she almost jolted upward in her seat whenthe teacher called out another name.
“Dalita, Lena?”
 Ms. Ling pronounced her name in such a manner that
 Lena
rhymed with
kadena
, whichshe had no choice but to accept since that was how most people said her name anyway. Sheraised her hand and set it down just as quickly, cracking her knuckles before she poised toresume her sketching.She was finishing up the details on her character, adding more details of debris anddespair (the usual aftermaths of explosions), when the villain boy in front of her turned his headto face her. His eyes were the warmest colour of brown and he smiled at her, flashing his teeth as
he did so. “Excuse me, are you related to a Mr. Kevin Dalita?”
 It was not a question she was asked regularly. In fact, she almost never had to answer the
“are you related to” question since her last name was not dominant in the yellow pages. As far as
 
she knew, she came from a lineage of ordinary people - a family of nobodies. Her eyes narrowedas she answered him with the only truthful a
nswer she could think of. “Maybe. I don‟t know.”
 
The villain boy pursed his lips together and nodded. “Oh, okay. He was my teacher in myold school.” She tucked in her lips and nodded at him before creating a barricade from herself 
and the boy by ducking her head so low on the desk, her dark hair created a wall that covered herface.
She didn‟t speak to that boy for the rest of the class and she kept to herself for the rest of 
the week. She was in her classes but her eyes always darted to the horizon outside, thinking of allthe people who were busy living while she was stuck in her prisons
 – 
busy dying.The routine of school and home went on. Her educators assigned homework that wasnever done at home and her family heard only the things they wanted to hear. In turn, Lena atethe food she needed to eat, read the books she wanted to read, and drew the lives she could neverlive.Monday rolled by and Lena found herself in the same pale green prison as before. Shestared at the blank page of her sketchpad, doodling and erasing the same lines over and overagain. She was sketching the same character over and over again from different angles. She wasin deep concentration when Ms. Ling made Lena push down on her pencil a little too hard on thepaper, breaking the lead.
“You will a
ll be working with partners for rest of term-
 
“Partners?” said a loud voice that she realized was her own. Several heads turned to the
back of the room where Lena was, making her duck her head; her fingers unconsciously reachingand twirling the ends of her hair. She could feel herself flushing as she forced back the tears thatwere threatening to burst out.
“Yes, Miss Dalita. Partners, considering that
the
activity for class is ballroom dancing…”
 Lena stared at the surface of her desk-chair, blocking out the incoherent mutterings of theteacher up front. She never liked the idea of partners, the idea of giving someone responsibilityover something that could affect herself. The idea of partners seemed something like giving

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