It’s been a while since I wrote a stand-alone story. It’s made from something that happened to me recently, yes, I’m a dick but I’ve learned my lesson and so should the reader. Things aren’t always what they seem. There is no good and bad, just appropriate and inappropriate. It’s unedited, so beware the typos.
Dirt and mud particles floating around, rushing past his face, dragging along enough debris to strike him; he wondered if he would die. He couldn’t breathe anymore, what’s wrong with him? Knee-deep in mud, head covered in water; someone was standing on his shoulder. He tried to look, at the human who’d do such a thing to him. A tin veil of murky water still covered his vision, but he could see something: two slender creamy legs, a skirt and a face looking down on him, still smiling.
He woke up, dazed and scared. Checking his pulse, he wiped away the sweat on his forehead. It was all a dream. Choking up on his own saliva, he struggled to the kitchen. A glass of water, crystalline and pure, unlike that within his dream; his heart was beating faster and faster as agitation sank in. He didn’t know who she was but he had an idea. Sliding unto the checkered floor of his three-room apartment, he gazed at the darkened ceiling. Strange, he’d usually cry or beg for some supernatural power to guide him. No, he couldn’t… not after publicly bashing said ideas. He’d be a hypocrite.
Light’s turn on and off, the outside world was a dangerous place. Hearts are broken, spirits are damaged beyond repair… he knew what this was all about. Staring at his hands, he could picture them covered in blood; his blood. No, he looked around, such a stupid idea for such a stupid situation. Nobody was worth anybody’s life, except for his parents. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, it was surprisingly long. He had promised himself to get his hair as long as he could possibly bear it. Staring at the front door, he hoped someone would ring the doorbell. A keg of beer, some rum, maybe tequila – that’s all he hoped for. Should he even get drunk at a time like this? Didn’t seem possible or reasonable, making drunk phone calls didn’t seem like a bright idea to him.
Struggling to his feet, he shuffled to his room. Slamming, no, he didn’t have enough anger to exhort said emotions on a door. He jumped unto his bed, slamming with the bed sheets, pillows jumping around like tiny marbles on a stretchy fabric. Watching from the edge of his eyes, the door was slightly opened as darkness poured in. He was sleepy, very sleepy but his heart was beating faster. No, it wasn’t a demon or a spirit… it was his conscience. It was black, murky, and bottled up within his sad existence. How he longed for things to go back to the simplicity of everyday life. They couldn’t, it was too late, he was alone now and that was what hurt the most.
The alarm clock was beeping, or should he call it his cellphone? Nobody was calling, of course. He swiped the screen with his finger and clumsily walked to the bathroom. He stared long and hard at his face, it was a mess. Hair all-over the place, eyes sunken with sleep deprivation, a half-broken, half-assed smile; something wasn’t right. As he closed the front door, he sighed. Another day, another side of the ugly world he’d have to see. Running past pedestrians, he caught the bus. Right in the nick of time, he wondered how many had been left behind or arrived too late. What had happened if he had arrived too late? A bloody sickening day or that should have been the right answer.
He checked his phone: 6:00a.m and right on schedule. He wasn’t too fond of arriving late nor was he fond of being so crammed inside a vehicle. Looking around, staring at the faces of individuals who might or might not be having a better life. Oh, shit, there it goes again… depression was sinking in. The outside world was passing by but to him everything was rewinding to that one event. He messed up, real bad.
Leaning on one leg, he looked over to the other classroom. Just as he had expected, there she was, smiling away with everybody. Was he the only one who felt pathetic? She should show some hint of sorrow or something, after all, they were close. He sighed again, looking at her one more time. He swore that she did a double take on him, but he couldn’t be sure. Why would she? She’s got plenty of friends will to take her side, he, on the other hand, had a handful of friends who were a few kilometers away. No real support there. Students and professors walking by, some running down the stairs, other going up; it all seemed parallel to him. Shit.
She peeked from a window on the door of the classroom. His heart skipped a beat. Why would she be here? Did she come to apologize? Nah, he was the one at fault, not her. Still, the way he treated him, he was hoping for something along the lines of a hug or a ‘good morning’ to cheer him up. Nothing, she waved at the guy next to him, as he awkwardly lowered his hand. Why did he think she’d wave at him? He still remembers her hazel eyes as he said that their friendship should that… Was she happy or was she depressed? He couldn’t quite catch it though he really wanted to believe that she was depressed. Running half-way through the campus, he found her and thoroughly apologized. He promised it was all a misunderstanding and that his brain had essentially stopped working. Apology accepted, or so he thought.
The nightmares wouldn’t stop, the fears would sink in, and the nervous shaking and the dryness of his mouth keep him preoccupied for the last four days. He wanted to salvage their friendship, or did he want something else? He closed his eyes and wondered what had happened to him. Why had he grown so attached to her? It was faint, the feelings that drove him to her were not friendship… it was attraction. A girl like her: charismatic, friendly, intelligent, beautiful, and an untamed spirit of rebellion and chaos. She had it all, he had none. He wanted to be the first to kiss her soft lips, whenever she’d twist them to prove a point, or to hold her side with both arms, whenever he’d poke them to make her tickle. Gripping his right arm, the trembling became unbearable. He got up and walked over to the next classroom.
He wasn’t doing it for those selfless feeling that generate within your heart, he wanted to be the first and no one else should get that privilege. What a fool, he had been. Shaken by this newfound feeling, the guilt was slowly fading away, now all that was left was desire. A shallow, hollow desire that served no purpose; he shook his head, people must have thought he was crazy. No, he wasn’t crazy; he was sick of himself and wanted to change everything. He knew every well that things with her would never be the same, it was crystal clear, no, and it was a sad, painful reality. But, what is a friendship if no two parties are honest? He’d never admit that to her, and she’d never admit that he was his pillar while things were falling around her, that she used him just as he had used her though their aims were different, the selfishness was still there.
She had told her to find the answer himself. That we were all alone in the world and nobody was there to guide us. He had always thought of friends as being beacons of like and support. Was he wrong? Had he envisioned a world so painfully wrong that his whole spirit would have to be converted to this way of thought? The sun was shining brightly, scorching the back of his neck, yet, his shadow was sad and lonely. Cold and emotionless, he wished for revenged, hoping that she’d come crawling back to him and he’d be there to tell her the exact same thing. He couldn’t… he was unable to abandon someone when they needed him the most, even if it was someone who had taken advantage of him in the past or a friend who had left him when he needed her the most.
Mist covered blades of grass, slightly shaken by the coursing breeze. Glittering droplets, a starry memoir to the lights that illuminates the darkness; he still can’t find the answer to it all but he doesn’t have to. Taking his cellphone, he activated his wifi, called on some friends and acquaintances. He knew the time was ripe to strengthen old friendships and form new ones. People don’t change, not if you’re unable to change yourself. Realizing that the hole in his chest was a void for dark, sickening desires and imaginations; he gazed into the sun for new illumination. If he wanted to be happy, he needed to shake off these feelings. Maybe be it will still linger after a week or two, he had, after all, lost something akin to a competition or a hunt.
Swiping his finger on the phone, the screen lit up. He tapped away as a he made a call. “Hey, how are you? Are you still going there this Thursday? Yeah, yeah, change of plans, I’m tagging along!”