School is Out - Personal Writing
I wasn't keen on the idea from the start. But peer pressure is an
awful thing. I felt as if I had no choice. Considering that I'm an
easily frightened person, I should have guessed straight away that I
would never fully recover from that night. Every time I'm alone in the
dark I become panicky and fearful as I re-live the disturbing events
which took place on the 17th of November, just one week ago. As I sit
here in school, dragging myself through yet another monotonous maths
lesson, with Mrs Webbe steadily scraping along the dilapidated
blackboard with a tiny piece of blue chalk, I can still clearly
picture the disconcerting images which congested this room only last
week. Desperate for something to concentrate on other than algebra or
multiplication, I notice the broken light on the ceiling which is
occasionally flickering, and the memories begin flooding back once
"I bet you couldn't do it. I know you - you're like a cat up a tree.
You're afraid of everything. Bein' such a brain-box, I would've
thought you'd understand that you can't just stroll through life being
too nervous to do somethin' wrong. You have to do this."
I glanced briefly at her smug grin, but only for a second. I knew she
was right. If I didn't bring myself down from my pedestal soon I was
going to grow to be a senescent, sorrowful widow; too terrified to
even step onto the porch.
"Okay." I did not wish to over-compliment her self-satisfaction. "I'll
do it. But that's it! I mean it Jen. No more, 'kay?" For my best
friend, she was certainly pushy. She nudged my arm vigorously and
"This'll be great. You'll see." I glared at her reluctantly. She'd
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I hopped out of bed and slumped onto
the floor. I reached over and knocked the alarm clock to my feet. I
glimpsed at the time and let out a lazy groan - I was late.
"You ready?" I could hear Jen's screaching even though she was waiting
"I know. I'm late. just give me a couple of secs!" I sighed heavily as
I grabbed hold of my coat, carelessly stumbling over a pile of
discarded knickers on the carpet and dived out of the door to meet
Gasping for breath in the bitterly cold air, I spun round and stared
up at my bedroom window, which was constantly becoming further and
further away as I moved at a steady pace down the street. This was it.
The morning of the dare. I had millions of terrible thoughts whisking
around in my head as I remembered what was expected of me on that
chilly November morning. Maybe I didn't have to do it. Would I get
away with it if I were to come home ill? No one would suspect, right?
But although I was petrified with the thought of doing something
daring for once in my life, I knew it had to be done. I was tired of