Personal Narrative-Screechy-Original Writing

“Daphne Kintish!” Mrs. Malarkey’s sharp voice cut shrilly through the air, piercing my intense focus on the complicated doodle that slowly spread across my notebook page. I squared my jaw and tried to block her out and delay the inevitable for at least another few seconds. Carefully, my pen continued to fill in small black triangles and extend lopsided circles and flower petals across the blue bars meant to confine my writing. The day was hot as hell, it being already late May, and while I didn’t mind talking back to the occasional teacher, I had been planning to spend this period finishing my ballpoint masterpiece. The slightly uncomfortable girls behind me tittered weakly as I finally raised my defiant face from the desk. Mrs. Malarkey sighed. “I don’t suppose you could tell us the answer to the problem.”
“No, I don’t suppose I can,” I answered nasally, raising my voice to a high screechy pitch, not unlike the teacher’s. A few kids laughed, but most kept their heads determinedly on their pages, frozen in anticipation. Laughing was probably unwise in this case. While I liked to put on a good show for the class, and quite appreciated the audience response, Mrs. Malarkey was definitely the queen bitch when
I had never been a runner in school, or anywhere in the outside world. I didn’t find it particularly exhilarating or rewarding, and the exercise wasn’t really my thing. However running in Gone was a completely different experience. The flat even ground provided the perfect surface, and there were no sounds or sights, or bumps in the sidewalk to serve as distractions. As soon as you picked up speed, an odd wind would begin blowing past you, cooling, but not disturbing, speeding, but not making any noise at all. In Gone, running didn't even have to come with the hard panting, sweat, and leg cramps, that all too often accompanied it in the real world. The long runs gave me time to think, scheme, plan and