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    Skylights
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

A Day in a Life of Misery - 1. Chapter 1

There hasn’t been a nice day in a while.

Today isn’t an exception. I get up in the morning and cover my body with clothing so I don’t die of hypothermia in this winter crappy-land of sorts. Also so I don’t offend others’ sensibilities. Of course, even that doesn’t bother me so much. Everyone can go to hell for all I care. You know…that place where you’re supposed to go when you die—if you’ve been really naughty. Popularly consisting of Hellfire, eternal damnation and all? Yeah, that place. That’s probably where you’ll find me.

--And my Mother. This morning she looks at me hesitantly. I pretend I don’t notice and chug down orange juice straight from the bottle, uncaring about the fact that she hates when I do that.

She says my name. I don’t look at her but let her know I’m listening. I stopped giving a flying crap about her when she cheated on my father with her boss and he left us. I stopped answering his phone calls completely last month when I heard the voice of some whore in the background. They should all just leave me alone, I think. I’m never going to love them again.

“I’ll be home late this evening,” She says in her quiet voice, like she’s all sorry and stuff. I hate when she sounds like that. It makes me angrier and I wish she’d just get angry for once.

Leaving without saying goodbye, I slam the door behind me. I can feel her gaze on me as I walk away from the house. She’s probably standing by the window, eyes all sad and lonesome.

The weather this morning is the usual sort. Snow lies on the ground, snow covers the trees—it’s everywhere. Parts of it are muddy. Those are the bits I avoid as I walk to school. Others from the neighbourhood are walking too but I avoid their glances and aborted smiles.

My school is one of those really nice and newly built ones. The ones everyone transfers to as soon as they’re finished building. Everything is white, clean and shiny. It makes it obvious that antiquity isn’t appreciated in buildings like these. The pristine quality of it probably results in me feeling somewhat satisfied as I leave a light trail of wet footprints behind me in the halls.

Jack waits for me by my locker as usual. He smiles at me as I approach but when I don’t smile back he’s not offended. I know this because Jack never gets offended by me. He’s the only person who can stand to be around me for longer than ten minutes without suffering a nervous break-down or entertaining thoughts of homicide and suicide. In that order.

He’s also the only person who realizes I won’t shoot him even though I might look like I want to. Everyone else stopped trying to talk to me ages ago.

It isn’t because of my recent problems I’m like this. I’ve always been so intense that sometimes it scares me. Just kidding. But hey, at least I was only mocking before. Now I sound downright cynical. Jack tells me I’m a sorry-sight, but I don’t care. It’s not like he’s full of rainbows and damned kitties himself. In fact, he’s probably the most sarcastic person I know. That’s probably why he doesn’t mind me so much.

Maybe if I rub him the right way, he’ll become cynical, I think for a second. Then I banish the thought because I would hate to have to spend time with me outside of my mind—in the flesh.

Jack says my name, then a quick, “Hey.”

“Hey,” I tell him. “You sound sleepy.” Yes, I actually bother to speak to Jack. We’re both gay so there’s something in common. Whoopdie-doo. Jack is totally not my type but he tells me I’m definitely his. I ignore this usually, because the last thing I want is a boyfriend who wants to make-out and hold hands in public. No thank-you. I know Jack probably isn’t the sort to do something like that but affection sickens me in general.

“I am tired,” Jack replies, naming a video game he stayed up all night playing. I’m surprised he even made it to school, that’s how tired he looks this morning. “I know you don’t like playing but you should come over and try it.”

“All that violence and boom-boom, bang-bang? Sign me up now, please.” I say with no particular inflection in my voice.

“You should love that sort of thing, you freak.” Jack says, grinning widely.

I agree with him. I probably should. “Yeah, but I make up for it voodoo dolls I stick pins into every night.”

“Of your Mother?”

“She’s pinned down.”

Jack shakes his head slowly at me, disapproving. Whatever. “You need a shrink.”

“For sure,” I say.

Jack stares at me in this lazy sort of way. Partly because his eyes hurt and he’s trying to squint to keep seeing me, and partly because he’s doing that thing where he looks into my soul. Or at least it feels like he is.

The bell rings but we make no moves to get away. People around us are rushing to get to class. Jack keeps staring at me as he leans against my locker, blocking my way.

“What are you staring at me for this time? I swear, you’re in love with me,” I say, only kidding a bit.

Jack smiles ruefully. “Probably.”

“I’m not going out with you.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“I know,” I say lightly, “Not since that first time you found out I was gay at least.”

Jack says my name slowly, sounding it out, then says, “You are so freaking hot but you’re also hopeless.”

“True say. Thanks by the way, you’re not bad yourself. Shall we get to class?”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know...I kind of have to say something”

“So kind of say it, will you?”

“I’m dating Jason,” Jack says quickly, rushing to get it out. I blink. Ah, Jason, the new guy from California or something. His nice tan is getting everyone’s attention. How typical. I didn’t know he was gay.

“Okay,” I say. “Cool.” Though some inexplicable part of me feels pain. I’m surprised by this pain. I guess I sort of figured Jack would stick around. Foolish. And why should he? I’m a fucking mess.

“That’s it?” Jack says, a little surprised.

“What else should I say?” I reply coolly.

Jack shakes his head at me yet again. “I don’t know why I expect anything?” He says wryly. “Although I think you like me.”

“Probably,” I say, much the same way he had minutes before. “Whatever.”

“You’re hopeless,” Jack says again. I wonder when he’ll stop using that line on me. “I can’t wait around for you anymore. I thought you might warm up a bit, that maybe you could get past your issues and get to know me a little but truth be told I don’t think you ever will.”

A teacher passes by and gives us both curious stares. I ignore him and stare directly at Jack, trying to fight the pounding of my heart and the sudden tightening of my chest. I want to say something, do something, maybe grab on to him. But I don’t.

I’m hopeless. What he said.

“Okay,” I say, shrugging as if it’s nothing. “Although you sound like you’re saying goodbye.”

“Maybe I am,” Jack says quietly.

I’m even more surprised by this. I don’t seem to be able to believe it. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“Why are you being so melodramatic?” I ask him, fighting panic. Jack is the only one…the only one who ever comes back to me.

“I’m not,” Jack says sadly. A flash of pain hits his face as if he’s been given a blow, scrunching it up for a second.

Then he leaves me. He doesn’t come back.

I stand there for several minutes, contemplating nothing, simply absorbing all the pain. Who knew something could hurt this much? I feel like a mostly empty ketchup bottle that you keep squeezing to get the last little bit out of. Sometimes you have to resort to leaving it sitting on its mouth so the ketchup will ease to the bottom. Yet, when you squeeze, besides the squelching sound of air, nothing comes out. Giving up, you finally throw it away.

Well that’s kind of funny, I think, wanting to laugh a little crazily. A chuckle escapes my lips and a girl nearby glances at me before quickly looking away. I didn’t know I cared so much till he left. How god-damned clichéd.

I throw it all away as soon as I can. I don’t need it. Jack is gone and he probably won’t be waiting for me by my locker tomorrow. Somehow, though I used to do it before without him, the thought of facing tomorrow alone scares me.

It doesn’t take long before I convince myself it’s better this way. I’m fine. I’m okay. There’s nothing to worry about, nothing to care about. I’m alone and that’s the way I like it. Jack can go to hell, Mother and Father can go to hell. Damn, no, I don’t want to meet them there. I adjust that in my mind. Yes, I’ll let them into heaven. Free entry! All your sins washed away. Yes, I am assuming the role of God.

Of course this heaven and hell only exist in my mind. It makes me feel a little better—my own form of voodoo.

That evening I actually wait for my mom. I feel like I should say something to her. Maybe something mean, something horrible, something…anything? I’m not doing it to make her feel better, I assure myself. It’s just that I can’t ignore her forever. She too seems to be giving up on me. I don’t care, I tell myself.

Walking into the kitchen for something to eat, a brown paper bag grabs my attention. Oh, she made me lunch. I probably ran out before she had a chance to give it to me. Peering inside, I grin to myself. Peanut butter. Nice. She didn’t forget.

The doorbell rings so I place the food down and walk over to answer it. I don’t look in the peephole before I do so and then instantly wish I had. It’s my father but he doesn’t look like he’s about to plead with me. He looks grave. His eyes are ringed with deep shadows and his body language looks weary, almost as if he’s been run over by a truck.

I say nothing but move aside to let him in. We stay standing in the doorway and I can tell he’s trying to think of a way to say something.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you that your mother is in the hospital--.”

“-What?” I say, interrupting him. Maybe she hurt herself at work, I think. “Why?”

He’s patient with me. He tries to smooth the interruption over. “She got into a car accident. I’m sorry to say she didn’t make it.” His voice breaks a little at the end. He coughs to cover it up.

“Oh,” I breathe, feeling a little crazy. I take in several deep breaths. Maybe it’s not real, maybe it’s a dream. She’s alright! No, no, no, no! She can’t be…dead. Dead? My mother!

“I’m sorry, son.” Dad says.

I don’t hear him. I don’t look at him. As far as I know, he doesn’t exist. The only thing I can think of is the brown paper bag that rests on the counter in the kitchen. The peanut butter sandwich she never got to give me because I never let her.

Her life snuffed out. Never seeing her face again, never making amends. Yes, I would do anything now to be able to do so!

Everything is done. It’s all a mess around me. Nothing seems to exist. I look at it from a distance, like they do in movies. It looks like a ball of tangled yarn. Except it’s snipped in several places and try as I might I cannot piece it together.

Futile though it seems, I cry.

I suppose this is the sort of moment where you contemplate suicide. I, however, seem to be stretching out existence as far as I can, no matter whether it’s worth living or not. Jack is gone, Dad is so near but far away, Mother has faded into oblivion. I am left. The lone fool who let it shatter to the ground and then stepped on the glass, crushing it underfoot.

Later, I see the alternative. I’m living aren’t I? Though desolation may confine me to my dreary thoughts, I haven’t killed myself. Though perhaps with such an onslaught, I might have. Maybe even should have.

Maybe tomorrow will even seem nice, though I know it will be another sort of misery. After all, there’ll never be a day as bad as today.

~*~

Copyright © 2010 Skylights; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

I love how it is written in present tense. It gives so much more to the whole thing.

Third story today, and i just keep losing it with the endings.

I thought this one was going to have a different ending.

Nice story, nonetheless.

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On 12/27/2010 09:24 AM, AleMaho said:
I love how it is written in present tense. It gives so much more to the whole thing.

Third story today, and i just keep losing it with the endings.

I thought this one was going to have a different ending.

Nice story, nonetheless.

;) sorrry :P
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Teenagers! Can't live with them. Can't live with themselves. It zips along nicely, perhaps a bit too nicely - or perhaps a bit too zippy, not sure which, but it's really very well written. It has a naturalness too it that's very translucent. I wonder about this car accident, though. Was that laziness, or a two fingered salute to tired tropes, ironic stylee? :D

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