the vessel | Alyssa Sanders

You make me sick. You walk down the halls of our high school like you own them, and why shouldn't you, you've left your legacy in gold on the plaques and tropheys that line our halls. You constantly make fun of the show choir and the table-tennis team, but after all, you are better than them. You have grown up hating the chess club, and make a mockary of the sterling scholars, unless of course you need to use them to cheat off of during the next test. You have no respect. When a pretty girl follows you into a class, you make sure to be courteous and while flexing you hold the door open for her. If it is some other girl you leave her to fend for herself. You are absorped in you. You will live in this same little town forever, you will marry your high school whore head-cheerleader, even though you knocked-up her best friend on homecoming night. You will live in your glory days, never letting the opportunity slip of telling anyone how you carried the football team all the way to the state championships in 89, and you would have won too, only if you hadn't been injured in the third quarter. You will live vicariously through your children, and force upon them the same beliefs that you and your father maintained.