I sit here, on the edge of things. Because I’m edgy. I’m different. I’m me. I doodle in my notebook, watching the cheerleaders flirt with guys who’ll never look at me, watching the nerds ignore me. I used to be one of them. But now I’m different. I’m finally being myself. True to myself. I sit back from my doodling, aloof.

“Oh, honey,” my only friend says, stooping beside me. “What is that?”

“What do you mean?”

“That,” she says, pointing at my face.

“Um…” I stammer, not following her.

“You look like you’re going to cry. That’s the saddest face I’ve ever seen.”

“Not sad. Mysterious,” I say emphatically. “I’m an enigma. These other freaks,” I gesture across the cafeteria, “they just don’t get me.”

“No, honey,” she says, “they do. They just don’t care.” She puts her arm around me and sighs. They don’t care about her either.


Trifecta‘s prompt: enig·ma noun \i-ˈnig-mə, e-\
3: an inscrutable or mysterious person


14 thoughts on “(M)Enigma

  1. Ouch! Isn’t that just what high school is like — trying to be true to yourself and not always being sure what that is? You caught the ambivalence of the experience really well.

  2. this is a piece many can relate to, especially myself. i was always quiet, never talked, i was always afraid to let myself out. now i never shut up! as long as you are happy with who you are, who gives a dern about the rest.

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