notes to my writer self about that character in that novel this morning

[dinahprincedaly]

 imagine you are walking down a hall lined with lockers and maybe its dark like a video game, like the one you have been stuck on the same level now for way too long and that same sinister music is playing if only in your own head and you are just walking to your next class, trying to get there and you don't have your sword, you've lost it, or maybe its that you haven't figured out how to use it... you are still between bells and the classroom is around the corner three doors down... and then it happens, laughter, the sound of laughter, the sound of human joy is making you cringe, becoming its opposite every freakin time for you... becoming the sound of your-young-soul-shaking-in-its-boots humiliation... because now you imagine it even if it isn't really anything to do with you, some other victim... even if those kids don't even know you exist... you are only eleven and this is the way it is every day... sometimes you are smited* and sometimes not, but you lost your breath either way...  and you won't tell anyone, because if you don't maybe it is not really happening, maybe you are imagining the whispers and laughing........ yup, i can use that, right where i already have some of it, but didn't go far enough... layering the child's experience over the mother's 
from whence this came: the whole video goes on a bit tho, piratey and reverse snobbish in your face, even if it IS well meant

*(smited... it ought to be a word and totally unrelated to smitten and piratey too)