Lost Form Original Story
I had a good night's sleep, all the way until eight in the morning.Rushing downstairs, I grabbed the landline phone and dialed my homeroom teacher."Miss Rachel, I'm Sylvaine. I'd like to take the day off—I have a cold."
Miss Rachel picked up the phone and gently responded to me:"Oh, is that you, Sylvaine? I understand. When you return to school, bring me a leave request and submit it to Supervisor Suzy. I'll make a note of it.""Yes, ma'am," I replied calmly, though my heart felt heavy.Miss Rachel hung up first. I let out a weary sigh—after days of dragging myself through, I could finally take a few days off.I kept my voice polite and soft, thanked her quickly, and hung up.I placed the landline phone back in its original spot, staring at it as if it had just drained the last bit of energy from me. A few days off wouldn't change anything, but at least I could temporarily escape the suffocating atmosphere of the classroom.
Back in my room, I changed into something casual. I had no real plans—I just wanted to go outside for a while. The "cold" was just an excuse to skip school, anyway. I wasn't planning on going back. My provincial student title from first grade didn't mean anything anymore.
Dragging my heavy steps back to my room, I felt the cold seeping through the floor into my bare feet. In the mirror, I looked pale, the dark circles under my eyes more pronounced than ever. I sighed, pulling an old coat from the closet, slipping it on before heading out.Stepping onto the street in the early morning...
There were many different types of pastries there—some were donuts, plain bread, cheesecake... Some of the special ones were ridiculously expensive.As usual, I greeted the owner, Ethan."Good morning, Mr. Ethan. I'll have the cheapest bread as always."I fished a few small coins out of my pocket.Mr. Ethan waved and said, "Sylva, is that you? I've already set aside a portion for you. Not coming with Zane today?"I knew Ethan enjoyed teasing people about personal matters like this. Keeping my annoyance in check, I responded smoothly:"Zane has a girlfriend. I'm not a third wheel."I handed him the money straight away to shut him up. He gave me the bread, and I left quietly.The streets were quieter than usual, the morning air crisp and indifferent. I wandered aimlessly, my hands tucked into my pockets, feeling the few remaining coins I had left. I should have felt guilty about taking that money, but I didn't. Or maybe I did, just a little. Either way, survival mattered more.At the park nearby, I found an empty bench and sat down, watching pigeons peck at crumbs near my feet. I had nowhere to be, no one expecting me. School was a joke. My classmates treated me like I didn't belong, and my teachers barely noticed when I was there.I chewed on another bite of bread and thought about my mother. It had been nearly two years since she passed, and yet, I still felt stuck in that same moment, unable to move forward. If she were here, would she scold me for skipping school? Tell me to stop stealing? Or would she just sit beside me and let me lean on her shoulder, like she used to?I shook my head and exhaled sharply. What was the point of thinking about things that would never happen?Maybe I should write another poem. Something for myself, for my upcoming birthday. Not that anyone would care. Not that I even cared.I pulled out a small, crumpled notebook from my bag and flipped through the pages. Scribbled words, half-finished thoughts, lines of poetry that never quite became what I wanted them to be.
"The Path of PetalsShe danced upon a golden thread,
where petals bloomed and shadows bled.
A song of laughter, light, and glee,
yet laced with silent elegy.The sky was pink, the grass was white,
a world untouched by grief or blight.
A mother's call, a friend's embrace,
all waiting in that distant place.She twirled, she leaped, the air so sweet,
yet thorns still brushed against her feet.
The flowers sang, the river gleamed,
but whispers curled beneath the stream.One step, two steps—she swayed, she sighed,
the sun still shone, though something died.
The wind held tight, the world stood still,
as dawn kissed her—a final thrill."
Suddenly, someone approached—it was Lucas Williams. That annoying guy—my so-called best friend. He lived in the apartment upstairs, and every single day, he blasted rock music loud enough to shake the entire building.Now, here he was, standing in front of me, greeting me like he actually wanted to start a conversation. I considered pretending not to notice him, but it was pointless. He wouldn't leave so easily.With a casual smirk, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up without a care. The sharp scent of smoke filled the air, making my lungs tighten. I coughed, feeling a wave of irritation wash over me."Seriously, Lucas?" I shot him a glare. "Do you have to do that right next to me?"He exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking amused. "Relax, Sylva. You act like it's the end of the world."I waved my hand, trying to clear the air between us. "It might as well be if I choke to death because of you."He laughed, leaning against the wall as if he had all the time in the world. I knew that look—he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.Great. Just what I needed.
"Who did you write for? The Shitty Zane?" - Lucas asked.
I answered angrily:
"NO. WHAT THE F-CK DO YOU THINK I AM?"
He laughed disgustingly:
"Damn. That's sharp, gurl. I don't think so."
I deliberately walked away, pretending not to notice that he was following me. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulder and asked a strange question:"Want a cigarette? Come on, girl.""No. I'm tired enough already," I replied calmly."I think my mother wouldn't like me getting into bad habits like this. Especially not with someone like you, young man."I answered boldly, with a hint of defiance, though I felt it was more of an excuse than anything else. I tucked my notebook and pen into my old handbag, the familiar weight comforting in my hands.Lucas let out a dry laugh, taking another drag from his cigarette. The tip glowed faintly in the dim light."You always talk like that, Sylvaine. Like you're better than me."I turned away, adjusting the strap of my bag. "I don't think I'm better than you. I just don't want to be like you."He smirked, exhaling smoke into the cool evening air. "Yeah? And what exactly are you trying to be?"I hesitated. The truth was, I didn't know. The past few months had felt like wandering through a maze with no exit, no direction. But I wouldn't tell him that."Someone different," I finally said. "Someone my mother wouldn't be ashamed of."Lucas fell silent. For once, he didn't have a sarcastic remark ready."Must be nice," he muttered, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. "To still care what someone dead thinks."I clenched my fists, swallowing down the anger that flared in my chest. "Must be nice," I echoed, "to not care about anything at all."We stood there in silence, the streetlights humming above us. Then, without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving him and the lingering scent of smoke behind.
As I walked away, I could still feel Lucas's gaze on my back, like a weight pressing against my shoulders. But I didn't turn around. I had nothing more to say to him.The streets were quiet at this hour, only the occasional car passing by. I reached the stairwell of my apartment building and climbed up, each step creaking under my weight. The hallway lights flickered, buzzing like trapped insects.
"The street lights are broken today, why are they on?" - I thought to myself.
When I reached my door, I hesitated.
Inside, there was nothing but silence waiting for me. Silence, and the weight of my own thoughts.I exhaled and unlocked the door. The room was just as I had left it—dim, cluttered, untouched by anything except time. I dropped my bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.Somewhere, in a drawer or between the pages of an old notebook, I had a list. A list of things I wanted to do before I turned eighteen.Most of them were small, insignificant things. Eat ice cream at the beach. Ride a train to nowhere. See the stars from the top of a mountain.But one thing stood out at the bottom of the list. The only thing I had written in shaky, uneven letters.Find a reason to stay.I reached for my pen, my fingers hovering over the page.But in the end, I didn't write anything.
Miss Rachel picked up the phone and gently responded to me:"Oh, is that you, Sylvaine? I understand. When you return to school, bring me a leave request and submit it to Supervisor Suzy. I'll make a note of it.""Yes, ma'am," I replied calmly, though my heart felt heavy.Miss Rachel hung up first. I let out a weary sigh—after days of dragging myself through, I could finally take a few days off.I kept my voice polite and soft, thanked her quickly, and hung up.I placed the landline phone back in its original spot, staring at it as if it had just drained the last bit of energy from me. A few days off wouldn't change anything, but at least I could temporarily escape the suffocating atmosphere of the classroom.
Back in my room, I changed into something casual. I had no real plans—I just wanted to go outside for a while. The "cold" was just an excuse to skip school, anyway. I wasn't planning on going back. My provincial student title from first grade didn't mean anything anymore.
Dragging my heavy steps back to my room, I felt the cold seeping through the floor into my bare feet. In the mirror, I looked pale, the dark circles under my eyes more pronounced than ever. I sighed, pulling an old coat from the closet, slipping it on before heading out.Stepping onto the street in the early morning...
I headed to the small convenience store next to my apartment complex—Ethan's Bakery. I grabbed a few cheap loaves of bread. The food here was terrible, but at least it was cheap.
Yesterday, I managed to lift some money from a stranger on the street. They never even noticed.There were many different types of pastries there—some were donuts, plain bread, cheesecake... Some of the special ones were ridiculously expensive.As usual, I greeted the owner, Ethan."Good morning, Mr. Ethan. I'll have the cheapest bread as always."I fished a few small coins out of my pocket.Mr. Ethan waved and said, "Sylva, is that you? I've already set aside a portion for you. Not coming with Zane today?"I knew Ethan enjoyed teasing people about personal matters like this. Keeping my annoyance in check, I responded smoothly:"Zane has a girlfriend. I'm not a third wheel."I handed him the money straight away to shut him up. He gave me the bread, and I left quietly.The streets were quieter than usual, the morning air crisp and indifferent. I wandered aimlessly, my hands tucked into my pockets, feeling the few remaining coins I had left. I should have felt guilty about taking that money, but I didn't. Or maybe I did, just a little. Either way, survival mattered more.At the park nearby, I found an empty bench and sat down, watching pigeons peck at crumbs near my feet. I had nowhere to be, no one expecting me. School was a joke. My classmates treated me like I didn't belong, and my teachers barely noticed when I was there.I chewed on another bite of bread and thought about my mother. It had been nearly two years since she passed, and yet, I still felt stuck in that same moment, unable to move forward. If she were here, would she scold me for skipping school? Tell me to stop stealing? Or would she just sit beside me and let me lean on her shoulder, like she used to?I shook my head and exhaled sharply. What was the point of thinking about things that would never happen?Maybe I should write another poem. Something for myself, for my upcoming birthday. Not that anyone would care. Not that I even cared.I pulled out a small, crumpled notebook from my bag and flipped through the pages. Scribbled words, half-finished thoughts, lines of poetry that never quite became what I wanted them to be.
"The Path of PetalsShe danced upon a golden thread,
where petals bloomed and shadows bled.
A song of laughter, light, and glee,
yet laced with silent elegy.The sky was pink, the grass was white,
a world untouched by grief or blight.
A mother's call, a friend's embrace,
all waiting in that distant place.She twirled, she leaped, the air so sweet,
yet thorns still brushed against her feet.
The flowers sang, the river gleamed,
but whispers curled beneath the stream.One step, two steps—she swayed, she sighed,
the sun still shone, though something died.
The wind held tight, the world stood still,
as dawn kissed her—a final thrill."
Suddenly, someone approached—it was Lucas Williams. That annoying guy—my so-called best friend. He lived in the apartment upstairs, and every single day, he blasted rock music loud enough to shake the entire building.Now, here he was, standing in front of me, greeting me like he actually wanted to start a conversation. I considered pretending not to notice him, but it was pointless. He wouldn't leave so easily.With a casual smirk, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up without a care. The sharp scent of smoke filled the air, making my lungs tighten. I coughed, feeling a wave of irritation wash over me."Seriously, Lucas?" I shot him a glare. "Do you have to do that right next to me?"He exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking amused. "Relax, Sylva. You act like it's the end of the world."I waved my hand, trying to clear the air between us. "It might as well be if I choke to death because of you."He laughed, leaning against the wall as if he had all the time in the world. I knew that look—he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.Great. Just what I needed.
"Who did you write for? The Shitty Zane?" - Lucas asked.
I answered angrily:
"NO. WHAT THE F-CK DO YOU THINK I AM?"
He laughed disgustingly:
"Damn. That's sharp, gurl. I don't think so."
I deliberately walked away, pretending not to notice that he was following me. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulder and asked a strange question:"Want a cigarette? Come on, girl.""No. I'm tired enough already," I replied calmly."I think my mother wouldn't like me getting into bad habits like this. Especially not with someone like you, young man."I answered boldly, with a hint of defiance, though I felt it was more of an excuse than anything else. I tucked my notebook and pen into my old handbag, the familiar weight comforting in my hands.Lucas let out a dry laugh, taking another drag from his cigarette. The tip glowed faintly in the dim light."You always talk like that, Sylvaine. Like you're better than me."I turned away, adjusting the strap of my bag. "I don't think I'm better than you. I just don't want to be like you."He smirked, exhaling smoke into the cool evening air. "Yeah? And what exactly are you trying to be?"I hesitated. The truth was, I didn't know. The past few months had felt like wandering through a maze with no exit, no direction. But I wouldn't tell him that."Someone different," I finally said. "Someone my mother wouldn't be ashamed of."Lucas fell silent. For once, he didn't have a sarcastic remark ready."Must be nice," he muttered, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. "To still care what someone dead thinks."I clenched my fists, swallowing down the anger that flared in my chest. "Must be nice," I echoed, "to not care about anything at all."We stood there in silence, the streetlights humming above us. Then, without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving him and the lingering scent of smoke behind.
As I walked away, I could still feel Lucas's gaze on my back, like a weight pressing against my shoulders. But I didn't turn around. I had nothing more to say to him.The streets were quiet at this hour, only the occasional car passing by. I reached the stairwell of my apartment building and climbed up, each step creaking under my weight. The hallway lights flickered, buzzing like trapped insects.
"The street lights are broken today, why are they on?" - I thought to myself.
When I reached my door, I hesitated.
Inside, there was nothing but silence waiting for me. Silence, and the weight of my own thoughts.I exhaled and unlocked the door. The room was just as I had left it—dim, cluttered, untouched by anything except time. I dropped my bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.Somewhere, in a drawer or between the pages of an old notebook, I had a list. A list of things I wanted to do before I turned eighteen.Most of them were small, insignificant things. Eat ice cream at the beach. Ride a train to nowhere. See the stars from the top of a mountain.But one thing stood out at the bottom of the list. The only thing I had written in shaky, uneven letters.Find a reason to stay.I reached for my pen, my fingers hovering over the page.But in the end, I didn't write anything.
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