English Coursework
Any comments are appreciated! It's 2384 words.
1
I hate this school. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I’m not smart, I’m certainly not pretty, I’ve got no talent, and I don’t even have any parents or friends to write to, to express how I feel. No, instead I write poetry that everyone laughs at, and draw artwork that everyone says is “Way too morbid! Go kill yourself!” Not that I care, of course, about what they think.
Sometimes I lay awake at night, with a picture of my family when we were young, and I wish they were here. In the picture, that’s now all folded up and has a tea stain across a tree in the background, we’re all sat on my favourite bench. My parents are smiling, and my twin brother and I are giggling due to the last minute race back to the bench before the timer runs out and we get a rubbish picture. I’m about 4 with bright blonde hair. It’s the best picture I have.
My family died in a car accident not long after the picture was taken. I sometimes wish I could go back to that day and change everything. I wonder what they’ll look like now; I wonder what my brother would look like. Would he look the same as me? I was the only survivor in the crash, and I got sent off to boarding school. Why me? I’m nothing special, so why did I survive?
And I hate it here. The bitchy, popular girls think they are the best things since sliced bread, and the guys think they are God’s Gift. They all lost their virginity when they were about 12 in a skip somewhere in Leeds and they’re probably crawling with disease.
It’s not so bad, I suppose. They all sort of leave me alone because they find me slightly weird. Creative writing about crashes and death sort of wards people off you, can’t figure out why.
My teachers think that due to my quietness and possible eccentricity, I have a certain amount of brains hiding and that is a load of rubbish. I just want to keep to myself; just blend in with the wallpaper.
In my English class I got to listen to Tom Orsino moaning about his recent break up with Olivia. It used to be my favourite subject, and now all I get to listen to for an hour, is gossip on what’s happening in Tom Orsino’s social life. It is hardly riveting!
“It was love at first sight… our eyes met across a crowded room… the air got thinner as I gazed at her… oh…” He flung himself around dramatically, and I prayed the teacher would arrive before I lost an eye. He carried on for a bit, sighing about how wonderful she was.
Meanwhile, Olivia is walking around preaching about women’s liberation, and making an example, or something. Why would she take him back? Not that I care.
“Mate, your obsession is strange,” one of his thick friends started, and I had to agree with him.
With a wail Orsino threw himself on to the desk and shouted, “What do I do now? The most popular guy just HAS to be with the most popular girl at the Christmas Ball!”
With this all the girls perked up at the promise of what they perceive as the most gorgeous date at the most prestigious ceremony in Hampshire, which I scoffed at. He wasn’t even remotely good looking, just annoying. He was rolling around on the desk trying to be the centre of attention. They’re always like this, the drama lot; they think the world revolves around them.
“Oi you,” Orsino turned to me, for the first time in 3 years and I tried to look busy. Unfortunately, my blank sheet of paper proved I was not. He may like to be the centre of attention but I don’t. All the girls scowled at me. “Oi, what’s your name… whatever. You write poetry, init?”
I nodded, feeling my face flush. A million girls wanted to kill me right now, and it was unnecessary, I’m not even going to the ball, let alone with an idiot like him. Let them fight; I’m not getting involved.
“Well… write me something I can send to her. That’s romantic isn’t it?” He looked around at the class, and they all nodded, girls trying to look like they were more enthusiastic and so he should take THEM to the ball instead. They just looked like nodding dogs, their precariously styled hair flopping around.
Everyone was staring at me intently, and I struggled to come up with something. Instead, I quoted from Shakespeare.
“If music be the food of love, play on…” I started, shakily, “Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting…”
“Speak up, stop mumbling,” one of the brainwashed idiots called out.
I coughed, but it did nothing to stop the lump in my throat. I felt sick, would everyone stop looking at me? I tried to carry on, “the appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again… it had a dying fall…”
“What the bloody hell?” Orsino stared at me as if I had three heads, as the teacher walked into the room.
“Thomas, sit down on a chair. Girls, are you paying attention? Mr Orsino, I suggest you wipe that smile off your face. Do you think smiling is funny?” he demanded, and so began another patronizing English lesson.
2
“Cesario…” I heard a voice call out to me as I left the classroom.
Why they were calling my last name, I have no idea. But, I suppose it was an improvement on my first name. Viola? It’s ridiculous; I’m not a precious, little flower. I tried to shuffle away, but a hand on my shoulder pulled me back to face them.
“Cesario, didn’t think you’d heard me there.” It was that Orsino.
He was back to hassle me more, would one lesson’s embarrassment not be enough?
“What do you want Orsino?” I used his last name in retaliation, but it seemed to please him more.
He didn’t see my jab and grinned and said, “You’re in some of Olivia’s classes, aren’t you?” He studied my face of horror and mistook it for incomprehension, “Long, dark hair, tall, big brown eyes… most popular girl in the school… you must know her!” He exasperated with wide eyes. He looked like a fish.
“Yes, I am, in art.” I replied shortly.
“Well, walk with me,” He put his arm around my shoulders and steered me through the crowd. Jealous girls glared at me, and I tried to look as small as possible. “Listen, kid. I figured you would be the perfect messenger for me!” He paused, steered me round a corner, and then pulled out a slip of folded paper. ‘Olivia’ was written on the front, surrounded by hearts. “Give her this love poem I wrote, I’d really appreciate it.”
He didn’t even say please! One of his many friends called him over and he thrust the paper into my hand. Putting both his hands on my arms he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Thanks, mate.”
He walked up to his friends, leaving me in the corridor bright pink and feeling like a complete idiot. As I turned to go I heard a snippet of the conversation over the quietening hum of the crowd.
“Mate, why did you chose-”
“Because there’s no chance Olivia will fall for him. She’ll just come running back to me,” Orsino replied.
Feeling my face heat up I pushed the door open and it slammed against the wall. I ran so hard my feet thudded against the pavement, my heart pounding in my chest. The tears didn’t fall until I’d gotten inside the dorm, where I pressed my back against the door and sobbed.
How could they possibly mistake me for a boy? Admittedly, I have short hair and wear baggy clothes… but apart from that I’m obviously a girl. Just because I don’t wear a thick wad of makeup on my face doesn’t make me any less female. I just want to be comfortable, and that’s how I am. Why do I even care about their judgements?
I pummelled my fists into a wall as I cried, thanking God no one was there at the time; they would have thought I was the weirdest “boy” they’d ever met.
I wailed and flung myself into the bed, diving under a pillow. I hate this school, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!
3.
After I had finished screaming, and reduced to snivelling, I released my fist that had the screwed up letter for Olivia in it.
I decided that the best thing to do was to just wait this thing out. Hand Olivia the letter and be done with it, at least I could be left alone to my self pitying loathing.
Staring at it for a bit, I slowly opened it and read what was written, and was horrified. Everything was spelt incorrectly and so hard to read, the gist of it was:
‘Olivia, you are my honey
You’re worth all my money
Oh you’re so fine
Please be mine
Or it’ll be so sad it’s not funny.
P.S. Sorry I cheated on you, I was very drunk.’
I know that it shouldn’t have concerned me, why didn’t I just hand it over? Why did I have to read it?
It was a limerick gone wrong, a cruel twisted joke and if Orsino thought that Olivia was going to roll over backwards for his insult to poetry he was clearly mistaken. This horror that swore it was literature poked poetry, bit its head off and then kicked it in the groin! This piece of rubbish on a bit of paper torn from his English book didn’t touch literature with a 10ft barge pole.
I was so incensed by the whole thing, I drafted my very own poem for her, one that captured Elizabeth Barrett-Browning and John Donne in something unique, that did NOT resemble that awful limerick at all.
I figured that if they got back together Orsino would stop wailing and throwing himself around the classroom, and Olivia would stop preaching “Female Liberation! This is like, Feminism!” which annoyed me immensely.
After it was done, the day had definitely ended, and darkness settled on the boarding school. As it was winter, it didn’t take long for it to get dark. I shuffled down to the common room where a fire was pumping out heat, and couples cuddled together like they were attached at the hip. It makes me feel ill, I swear.
I found Olivia and her group huddled in the corner talking about God knows what… probably make-up or boys or… I don’t know. Gritting my teeth, I forced my heavy legs to shuffle closer to the group and Olivia and her friends shut up and stared at me.
The familiar lump was beginning to return, and my hand that clutched the poem was shaking.
They looked on, disapproving at my casual attire and obvious masculinity. Olivia raised an eyebrow, which is a movement that makes me want to rip it off her pretty little bimbo head.
“Hey kid, what do you want?” One of her stupid friends said, flicking her hair over her shoulder, where it promptly returned to its original state.
“A letter from Orsino… to… Olivia…” My voice was failing me, as it seemed like everyone in the common room had turned to look at me. I suddenly felt my stomach drop, and I tried to thrust the paper at them so that I could scuttle away unnoticed.
“Are you kidding?” she said sceptically, and her huge earrings shook. Her face was partly shrouded by shadow, making it hard to see her expression.
“No… No… Olivia?” I tried to speak, but it came out more like a hiss.
“Yeah, it’s me. What’s this message all about?” she asked, tutting, her friends giggled.
“It’s… it’s a poem…” I had barely any voice left, and my legs were shaking due to rising panic.
Olivia burst out laughing, and so making her friends join in. “Poem? Tom doesn’t write poems, he writes limericks that he thinks are hilarious.” She paused, and then looked at her friends. Flicking her hand she said loudly, “Give us this place alone, I will hear this divinity”. Needless to say, the last bit sounded very sarcastic.
Her friends grumbled then got up to leave, Olivia motioned for me to sit and continue; I slowly found my way down.
I looked at her as if she was mad. Read it out? Ok, so she thought Orsino had written it, but did she expect me to say my words in front of everyone?
“Go.” She said firmly, looking at me, her eyes flaming with the reflection of the fire.
With shaky hands I slowly opened the page. Coughing, I started, “Most sweet Lady…”
“Stop! This isn’t Orsino’s poem is it?” She crossed her arms tight on her chest. Moving forward slightly, she rested her chin on her arm, staring at me. She had moved out of the shadow and I could see her face. She seemed confused, almost as if she didn’t know how to react. “Orsino doesn’t love me.”
“He does. Have you not seen how he pines after you?”
“I cannot love him. He cheated on me! You may not understand, but a girl has to stand up for female power! What would you do if you wanted me? You wouldn’t cheat would you?”
I rolled my eyes and said shakily, “If I loved you as much as Orsino does, I would write reams of poetry and sing to you,” I frowned as she stared, “I would call out your name to the night and not rest until you took me back.”
“Well I can’t see Orsino doing something like that. Are you gay?” She asked, as if it was the most normal conversation to be having, then proceeded to wave and smile at her friend, as if forgetting I was even there.
I spluttered and coughed, and backed out of the room as fast as I could. Thank God that ordeal was over.
1
I hate this school. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I’m not smart, I’m certainly not pretty, I’ve got no talent, and I don’t even have any parents or friends to write to, to express how I feel. No, instead I write poetry that everyone laughs at, and draw artwork that everyone says is “Way too morbid! Go kill yourself!” Not that I care, of course, about what they think.
Sometimes I lay awake at night, with a picture of my family when we were young, and I wish they were here. In the picture, that’s now all folded up and has a tea stain across a tree in the background, we’re all sat on my favourite bench. My parents are smiling, and my twin brother and I are giggling due to the last minute race back to the bench before the timer runs out and we get a rubbish picture. I’m about 4 with bright blonde hair. It’s the best picture I have.
My family died in a car accident not long after the picture was taken. I sometimes wish I could go back to that day and change everything. I wonder what they’ll look like now; I wonder what my brother would look like. Would he look the same as me? I was the only survivor in the crash, and I got sent off to boarding school. Why me? I’m nothing special, so why did I survive?
And I hate it here. The bitchy, popular girls think they are the best things since sliced bread, and the guys think they are God’s Gift. They all lost their virginity when they were about 12 in a skip somewhere in Leeds and they’re probably crawling with disease.
It’s not so bad, I suppose. They all sort of leave me alone because they find me slightly weird. Creative writing about crashes and death sort of wards people off you, can’t figure out why.
My teachers think that due to my quietness and possible eccentricity, I have a certain amount of brains hiding and that is a load of rubbish. I just want to keep to myself; just blend in with the wallpaper.
In my English class I got to listen to Tom Orsino moaning about his recent break up with Olivia. It used to be my favourite subject, and now all I get to listen to for an hour, is gossip on what’s happening in Tom Orsino’s social life. It is hardly riveting!
“It was love at first sight… our eyes met across a crowded room… the air got thinner as I gazed at her… oh…” He flung himself around dramatically, and I prayed the teacher would arrive before I lost an eye. He carried on for a bit, sighing about how wonderful she was.
Meanwhile, Olivia is walking around preaching about women’s liberation, and making an example, or something. Why would she take him back? Not that I care.
“Mate, your obsession is strange,” one of his thick friends started, and I had to agree with him.
With a wail Orsino threw himself on to the desk and shouted, “What do I do now? The most popular guy just HAS to be with the most popular girl at the Christmas Ball!”
With this all the girls perked up at the promise of what they perceive as the most gorgeous date at the most prestigious ceremony in Hampshire, which I scoffed at. He wasn’t even remotely good looking, just annoying. He was rolling around on the desk trying to be the centre of attention. They’re always like this, the drama lot; they think the world revolves around them.
“Oi you,” Orsino turned to me, for the first time in 3 years and I tried to look busy. Unfortunately, my blank sheet of paper proved I was not. He may like to be the centre of attention but I don’t. All the girls scowled at me. “Oi, what’s your name… whatever. You write poetry, init?”
I nodded, feeling my face flush. A million girls wanted to kill me right now, and it was unnecessary, I’m not even going to the ball, let alone with an idiot like him. Let them fight; I’m not getting involved.
“Well… write me something I can send to her. That’s romantic isn’t it?” He looked around at the class, and they all nodded, girls trying to look like they were more enthusiastic and so he should take THEM to the ball instead. They just looked like nodding dogs, their precariously styled hair flopping around.
Everyone was staring at me intently, and I struggled to come up with something. Instead, I quoted from Shakespeare.
“If music be the food of love, play on…” I started, shakily, “Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting…”
“Speak up, stop mumbling,” one of the brainwashed idiots called out.
I coughed, but it did nothing to stop the lump in my throat. I felt sick, would everyone stop looking at me? I tried to carry on, “the appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again… it had a dying fall…”
“What the bloody hell?” Orsino stared at me as if I had three heads, as the teacher walked into the room.
“Thomas, sit down on a chair. Girls, are you paying attention? Mr Orsino, I suggest you wipe that smile off your face. Do you think smiling is funny?” he demanded, and so began another patronizing English lesson.
2
“Cesario…” I heard a voice call out to me as I left the classroom.
Why they were calling my last name, I have no idea. But, I suppose it was an improvement on my first name. Viola? It’s ridiculous; I’m not a precious, little flower. I tried to shuffle away, but a hand on my shoulder pulled me back to face them.
“Cesario, didn’t think you’d heard me there.” It was that Orsino.
He was back to hassle me more, would one lesson’s embarrassment not be enough?
“What do you want Orsino?” I used his last name in retaliation, but it seemed to please him more.
He didn’t see my jab and grinned and said, “You’re in some of Olivia’s classes, aren’t you?” He studied my face of horror and mistook it for incomprehension, “Long, dark hair, tall, big brown eyes… most popular girl in the school… you must know her!” He exasperated with wide eyes. He looked like a fish.
“Yes, I am, in art.” I replied shortly.
“Well, walk with me,” He put his arm around my shoulders and steered me through the crowd. Jealous girls glared at me, and I tried to look as small as possible. “Listen, kid. I figured you would be the perfect messenger for me!” He paused, steered me round a corner, and then pulled out a slip of folded paper. ‘Olivia’ was written on the front, surrounded by hearts. “Give her this love poem I wrote, I’d really appreciate it.”
He didn’t even say please! One of his many friends called him over and he thrust the paper into my hand. Putting both his hands on my arms he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Thanks, mate.”
He walked up to his friends, leaving me in the corridor bright pink and feeling like a complete idiot. As I turned to go I heard a snippet of the conversation over the quietening hum of the crowd.
“Mate, why did you chose-”
“Because there’s no chance Olivia will fall for him. She’ll just come running back to me,” Orsino replied.
Feeling my face heat up I pushed the door open and it slammed against the wall. I ran so hard my feet thudded against the pavement, my heart pounding in my chest. The tears didn’t fall until I’d gotten inside the dorm, where I pressed my back against the door and sobbed.
How could they possibly mistake me for a boy? Admittedly, I have short hair and wear baggy clothes… but apart from that I’m obviously a girl. Just because I don’t wear a thick wad of makeup on my face doesn’t make me any less female. I just want to be comfortable, and that’s how I am. Why do I even care about their judgements?
I pummelled my fists into a wall as I cried, thanking God no one was there at the time; they would have thought I was the weirdest “boy” they’d ever met.
I wailed and flung myself into the bed, diving under a pillow. I hate this school, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!
3.
After I had finished screaming, and reduced to snivelling, I released my fist that had the screwed up letter for Olivia in it.
I decided that the best thing to do was to just wait this thing out. Hand Olivia the letter and be done with it, at least I could be left alone to my self pitying loathing.
Staring at it for a bit, I slowly opened it and read what was written, and was horrified. Everything was spelt incorrectly and so hard to read, the gist of it was:
‘Olivia, you are my honey
You’re worth all my money
Oh you’re so fine
Please be mine
Or it’ll be so sad it’s not funny.
P.S. Sorry I cheated on you, I was very drunk.’
I know that it shouldn’t have concerned me, why didn’t I just hand it over? Why did I have to read it?
It was a limerick gone wrong, a cruel twisted joke and if Orsino thought that Olivia was going to roll over backwards for his insult to poetry he was clearly mistaken. This horror that swore it was literature poked poetry, bit its head off and then kicked it in the groin! This piece of rubbish on a bit of paper torn from his English book didn’t touch literature with a 10ft barge pole.
I was so incensed by the whole thing, I drafted my very own poem for her, one that captured Elizabeth Barrett-Browning and John Donne in something unique, that did NOT resemble that awful limerick at all.
I figured that if they got back together Orsino would stop wailing and throwing himself around the classroom, and Olivia would stop preaching “Female Liberation! This is like, Feminism!” which annoyed me immensely.
After it was done, the day had definitely ended, and darkness settled on the boarding school. As it was winter, it didn’t take long for it to get dark. I shuffled down to the common room where a fire was pumping out heat, and couples cuddled together like they were attached at the hip. It makes me feel ill, I swear.
I found Olivia and her group huddled in the corner talking about God knows what… probably make-up or boys or… I don’t know. Gritting my teeth, I forced my heavy legs to shuffle closer to the group and Olivia and her friends shut up and stared at me.
The familiar lump was beginning to return, and my hand that clutched the poem was shaking.
They looked on, disapproving at my casual attire and obvious masculinity. Olivia raised an eyebrow, which is a movement that makes me want to rip it off her pretty little bimbo head.
“Hey kid, what do you want?” One of her stupid friends said, flicking her hair over her shoulder, where it promptly returned to its original state.
“A letter from Orsino… to… Olivia…” My voice was failing me, as it seemed like everyone in the common room had turned to look at me. I suddenly felt my stomach drop, and I tried to thrust the paper at them so that I could scuttle away unnoticed.
“Are you kidding?” she said sceptically, and her huge earrings shook. Her face was partly shrouded by shadow, making it hard to see her expression.
“No… No… Olivia?” I tried to speak, but it came out more like a hiss.
“Yeah, it’s me. What’s this message all about?” she asked, tutting, her friends giggled.
“It’s… it’s a poem…” I had barely any voice left, and my legs were shaking due to rising panic.
Olivia burst out laughing, and so making her friends join in. “Poem? Tom doesn’t write poems, he writes limericks that he thinks are hilarious.” She paused, and then looked at her friends. Flicking her hand she said loudly, “Give us this place alone, I will hear this divinity”. Needless to say, the last bit sounded very sarcastic.
Her friends grumbled then got up to leave, Olivia motioned for me to sit and continue; I slowly found my way down.
I looked at her as if she was mad. Read it out? Ok, so she thought Orsino had written it, but did she expect me to say my words in front of everyone?
“Go.” She said firmly, looking at me, her eyes flaming with the reflection of the fire.
With shaky hands I slowly opened the page. Coughing, I started, “Most sweet Lady…”
“Stop! This isn’t Orsino’s poem is it?” She crossed her arms tight on her chest. Moving forward slightly, she rested her chin on her arm, staring at me. She had moved out of the shadow and I could see her face. She seemed confused, almost as if she didn’t know how to react. “Orsino doesn’t love me.”
“He does. Have you not seen how he pines after you?”
“I cannot love him. He cheated on me! You may not understand, but a girl has to stand up for female power! What would you do if you wanted me? You wouldn’t cheat would you?”
I rolled my eyes and said shakily, “If I loved you as much as Orsino does, I would write reams of poetry and sing to you,” I frowned as she stared, “I would call out your name to the night and not rest until you took me back.”
“Well I can’t see Orsino doing something like that. Are you gay?” She asked, as if it was the most normal conversation to be having, then proceeded to wave and smile at her friend, as if forgetting I was even there.
I spluttered and coughed, and backed out of the room as fast as I could. Thank God that ordeal was over.