Portrait of Scat: Night

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Scat lived in the time when we scarred the most. She was a mixture of impressions from the beginning to the end, and yet indefinable, always. To this day I have little idea who she really is.
This portrait is honest in the worst way, honest to a fault- a lil’ like Scat. And biased and skewed and partial, and tilted and twisted. It’s full of black slimey vitriol, dripping venom, and plenty of meanness for everyone. You have been warned.
Now, Scat, she wasn’t a viper, but she did have viperish qualities.
If you are into snakes, you may know that they have a passionate and colorful side to them that is charming and warm and pulls you in like a magnet, and holds you still with its dreamlike loveliness. Scat was like that too.
The first time I remember, there was a tall girl with a rather square-ish build and uncertain catches in her voice, and next to her, super confident, was Scat. Pale pointy face, slanted eyes, a colored wrap around, and a short white dress, with the latest in skinny jeans. She looked wonderful laughing- loud and high with her head tilted back- I think she even trilled a bit- and talking about some crazy exploits with other wonderful non-present people- her dark eyes looked at peace.
She seemed all the things my 16 year old self just couldn’t be, she seemed cool and accepted, un-clumsy with non-banana-like skinny fingers, fashionable, and lots of actual friends who cared. It was a low part of my life of monsters/fire in my head, so those things seemed kind of appealing and out of reach.
Carefully, in tandem, planned, underneath which was what?
Scat’s portrait, in my world, would be incomplete without my story. I do apologize in advance for any over autobiographical-ness, cuz I do find that annoying in blogs, and here I am doing that too.
Learning to hide my burning mind was hard- coming as a new A-level kid to Scat’s school, it showed all over myself. In my clothes, the way my curly hair would stick out everywhere, the food stains on my white uniform-bright Indian subcontinent spice yellow & ketchup red- the crumpled ripped up sneakers, the way my socks stank, the way my hair stank, the way I sat alone.
Of course all of that didn’t happen on the first day. I was just a new kid then, which makes you stand out. And then I stood out more. My fame grew and grew, and my stink did too, HUGER. The food stains on my dress became numerous, and bigger portions of my hair refused to stick down. And I was quieter. QUIET.
A lot of people somehow seemed to know me. They thought I wasn’t within the practices, that I was too weird to be forgotten and so it began, rolling and roiling, and boiling into clouds, with lightning and thunder- the school began to talk, from the teachers to the students. Scat and her friends too. That look- that sideways smirk when people have been talking about you, or that guilty flush, and sudden over-niceness, or “hey, H*****- people have been talking about you…you should change…” Poorly disguised disgust with fake smiles. A few polite niceties for appearances’ sake and WHAM a smirk and turning away. Sadly, I don’t know if I’d have behaved differently if I’d met myself then. I was a mess.
I just didn’t care. I honestly didn’t give a crap. Seriously. If they were that bitchy, that was their problem. Whatever. Of course that not caring didn’t last, because it’s not really allowed to last in this world. Stinks and food stains aren’t really allowed.
Scat was in my class, so she and her friends had a lot of fun talking and laughing about my weirdness, when I couldn’t hear. “Should we tell her that she really stinks?” “Gross..” “She’s really weird” “UGH.” “Hahahahaha.” Or in more subtler ways…

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~END OF PART 1~

*Scat is not her real name. Although the general facts are true, some small parts of it are fiction. H***** is my name.

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About theshadowsofthenight

An amateur writer and amateur artist :)
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