The Clawed Beast Rises

Have you ever been in a situation that turned you into a clawed monster? Where you had to do everything it took to protect yourself from inevitable harm? Yeah, that was me yesterday. You can probably guess where this happened, that class that I've always been whining about. Truth here? It's seminary. I went because I thought it's where God wanted me to be, now I'm not so sure.
Want the story in gritty details? Here it is.
I spent most of the weekend dreading the return to seminary. The first class had passed and I could already tell it was going to be a hard year. My claws got ready to rise, and by that I mean I was preparing for war. It was like the men of Minas Tirith (yes, you knew a LOTR reference was coming) preparing for the Witch King's advances on them. I'd been hurt so many times, I wasn't willing to let anyone past the thick walls. My claws grew.
I sat in the front where I could easily pretend that the rest of the class didn't exist. First signs were good. A boy introduced himself to me. (it wasn't Steve. I wouldn't be having this freak out session if it was) and I became aware of a possible ally.
Then things turned sour. You know those loud people that are in every class, the ones that run on never-ending chatter boxes of evil? I had one of them, she seemed to exist on the groveling of others at her perfect feet. She couldn't shut up, even though the teacher had politely (in these exact words) to "shut her pie hole." She yammered on and on. I don't have tolerance for people like that, especially when the rest of the class seems to adore her.
then the unimaginable happened. The teacher chose seating arrangements and he was callous and unfeeling enough to put me right behind this girl. I was horrified! It was like being told that I had dive into shark infested waters while I was bleeding through an artery. Either by shark or loss of blood, I was dead.
This girl wouldn't shut it! She didn't acknowledge my presence, I was a chair to her. A chair whose desk she could comfortably rest her elbow without any retribution. My tolerance point had been reached. She was touching my things and not paying any attention to that fact. She had popped my bubble with her large, protrusive elbow.
Of course she missed all the warning signs. I was ready to stab her in the elbow with my pencil.
And as you know, because things couldn't get any better, the teacher had students introduce themselves. It went like this.
1. Your full name.
2. Favorite desert.
3. The cutest person in the class.
4. A face that describes you.
One at a time people rose, stated their names, favorite calorie hole, and almost every single person claimed that this wonderful, bubble-popping, arrogant girl was the cutest person in the class. She was lapping it up! I was stunned. My walled heart was throbbing. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that no one would name me as the cutest person in the class. It hurt so bad to see that stupid girl getting what I yearned for.
The teacher's attention was coming towards me, one student at a time. This girl proclaimed each person's name as adorable, or not worth her mention. I had to get out of there! Either that or I was going to stand up and proclaim for the world to hear, "My name is Tayla Breanna Durham, I like cheesecake and the cutest person in this class is not her! And my face is disgusted. Thank you."
That would have won me some brownie points don't you think? It was time to vacate.
Another girl stood up, announced her name, (don't ask me what it is) and once again this bubble-popping girl got proclaimed as the cutest person in the class. I snapped. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran for the bathroom with the anger and determination of a rhino intent on running down a tree. I couldn't stop angry tears from forming. I kicked the wall, but it did nothing to ease the throbbing hurt.
I stayed in the bathroom for about a minute and a half. According to the clock, class was over. I risked everything and left the safe premise. My sword was ready, as another teacher left the office of the seminary building, he said hi and I could barely force out the word in return.
I was walking like a fugitive. Slow, careful, knowing that every move could be my last. I'm sure my true form at this point was something like the Nazgul. Cloaked, hidden, faceless. A being tormented by anger and hate.
That girl stood at the front of the room offering the final prayer. I stood outside the door simmering. Once the other students' heads came up I made a beeline for my desk. It was crowded and I was stuffing in my scriptures, pencils, etc. a sudden desperation for freedom seized me. The girl stood to the side hugging her diligent servants and saying "You're in my seminary class!" as if she were queen and we were all graciously welcomed in.
Had she tried to approach me she would have ended up on the tip of a sword. I didn't want anything to do with her, especially not to be touched. I ran for the door, but the torment was not over yet. The teacher stood out there shaking hands with the students. I could have torn by, but that wouldn't be polite, though I doubt my thrusting of the hand into his and shaking once without looking at him would win an etiquette award.
I tore out of the building like a Nazgul on fire. I walked with every step booming in my ears to the car where my mom was waiting. I could hear the burbling laughter of the other students leaving, unaware of my silent screams. They were like a river, endlessly rushing on, ignoring my struggles as I tried not to drown.
It was over. I had drowned. I wasn't coming back.
I hurled myself into the car and commanded through angry tears for her to drive. For several long eternal seconds she just stared at me. I was dying, screaming on the inside for Mom to put the peddle to the meddle and get the heck out of there. Returning home, I was so heartsick, I couldn't function. I slept through most of the day and was too exhausted to get much else done. I was also angry. My heart had turned black. The softness that had slowly returned during summer had been hardened after two classes.
Why did that girl bother me so much? I don't know. Maybe it was because I had chosen to sit behind a possible ally and had ended up behind an enemy instead. Maybe it was because she was everything I longed to be. Popular, unafraid to voice her opinions, skinny, pretty, everyone loved her. Instead I'm me. Awkward, silent, less than perfectly bodied, not so pretty, and ignored.
My thoughts turned so viciously in that class, that it scares me now. I was rude to several teachers, ardently armed against the other students, and ready to draw blood if need arose, if I got so desperate to protect myself. In essence, for 24 hours, I turned into the Secret Keeper.
I don't think that going back is an option. It's turned into a living torment for me. I feel confident that dropping this class is the right thing to do. I'm going up to institute. I'm old enough now and I get along better with people who are older than me. I'm not entirely sure why.
My heart is throbbing now. Broken. My body stiffens with dread every time I think about going back. I'm not willing, I'm not able. I think it would be physically unhealthy for me to return. It's time to walk away.
But still. I had hope, and it was dashed.
Now wracked in pain my soul is screaming.
And no one can hear it.