Chapter 1
A subdued dark grunting, came from the 15 year boy’s bed, as he slowly opened his eyes to be welcomed by another too-hot morning. The silence that caged the boy’s closed room, which was stained with a smell of sweat and old food, filled the air with a feeling of despair. He slowly got up from his cotton coffin, as he looked towards the window covered with the white curtains. He walked up to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The fresh summer breeze, blew in through the little window, with a smell of fresh air, and the sound of children laughing. The blond haired sighed, as his hand strokes through his greasy hair. His face cracked into a smile of overly joy, as if it was filled with some kind of happy madness. He turned around and walked into the kitchen, where a little note covered part of the fridge; remember the dishes! Thanks!
The boy grinned over the little note, that was written with aspirations and hopes, of the 15 year old son, to bend under to the parents control. He slowly went back to the room that had grown so familiar to him, that it had almost become a part of him himself.
He threw himself down in his old office chair, and turned on his laptop, as he would usually do as an everyday routine. It was 3 weeks into summer break, and he still haven’t seen his friends that much. For some reason, he felt like it would be for “the greater good”, if he didn’t. As a result he had become very caught up in doing nothing.
By nothing, that would mean nothing that did any good. He would get up in the morning, turn on his laptop (without eating any breakfast), scroll through his facebook, and then continue on watching a show, or some movie. There he would lay in his bed whole day, until his parents forced him to do other, such as “participating in the family life”.
That one sentence he felt a little uneasy about. He didn’t see the reason to show any compassion in this little community of theirs. To be honest he would feel so much better if he could just be alone. So much more happiness would come from that, he thought. But what would what he thought, even mean to them. They only cared about the recent stereotype, of what were the happy child. Anyways. There he laid throughout a long period of the summer, just watching different shows, and developing an identity that he didn’t in particular feel comfort about. He thought that he had been enlightened, but also thought that these thoughts of his could become too much of a burden for him.
Or so he would come to think. Click. He started another episode, of this new series he had taken a liking to the other day. It usually didn’t take more than 1 or two days for him to finish a series or two, but as he watched it he felt like it was longer. Every second of the characters movement, felt like minutes, minutes like hours, hours like days. His parents didn’t bother him very much that day. They both came home late, prepared dinner, went through their daily routine, and then went to bed. Click. another episode. It was midnight.
Even though it felt like it was still afternoon, after all those hours and hours of minutes of this show. Time stood still, as his lungs slowly got filled up by despair. Silently, and Slowly, a tear suddenly started to form in his supposedly wet eyes.
The soundtrack of piano and strings, complemented the moment in an almost frightening manor. The tear dropped down onto his cheeks. He quickly took his hand to the outskirts of his right eye. He look changed to one filled with confusion, as a few questions popped up in his head. Why? I don’t have any reason for this? I’m happy aren’t i? Why now? This can’t be because of the show, can it? With the questions keeping him away from any more tears started to take over, he slowly got up and went to his window. The stars were out. He smiled to them, as if there were of person, and slowly raised his right hand towards the skies. So close. He could almost reach them. He grinned over what he had just done. It felt like he tried to mimic some show he couldn’t name, and quickly pulled his hand to himself.
He felt ashamed of the tears that had dropped from his eyes a bit ago. His best friend always told him toughen up, or stop being such a bitch. So he did. Or at least he did his best, at not being that big of a pussy. He threw his skinny body back into the sweat reeking bed. you shouldn’t cry. “Why?”, the boy said.
because you’re not a pussy. Who are you? He thought to himself. I’m you. “Then who am I!?”, the boy confusedly yelled at the you. He was and is every we, you, and i will become. “If you’re me, and i’m you, then who’s the one with influence?”, the me said to the I. the I is you, and i’m the first. “Oh shut up..” He whispered into the nothing in front of himself. You shut up! You’re the one who’s always wasting tears. you’re nothing but a fucking bitch, who cries over nothing more, but a fucking feeling of envy. The tears started to collect in the boy’s eyes. Admit that you’ve lost. He smiled. What a ridiculous bunch of nonsense. Never had he heard anything like that.
By admitting that, wouldn’t it too just mean that you’ve given up? Doesn’t it mean the same as you can’t go on. That you won’t be able to support anyone anymore.
“You make a lot of sense”
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