Pity

Irritably I grabbed my books and shoved them against my chest, securely binding them there. The racing of my heart against my books was irritating me. I always hated how people took pity on me. The last thing I wanted or needed was their pity. Their eyes screamed it when they looked at me. It was saturated in their voice when they spoke to me. Yes, it sucked that my Mom died. Yes, I would give anything to have her back here with me. The things I wanted weren’t happening, and so I got over it. Pity forced the feelings I was trying to suppress back into my mind.