White.
What the fuck is wrong with everybody? It's as if they are part of some cult, their hands held up, waving frantically, doing some tree dance with pop music in the background. White, white, pearly sick, frightening white. I had an urge to stain it even with my own blood. They're the ones laughing at me.
“Architecture. Yeah, I kind of like it and my parents gave me approval.” Melvin says with a light chuckle. Giggle. Wait, who the hell's dad, he looks like a talking to fish druggie.
Is that what it is about? Being a fucking good son to have your parents’ approval? How miserable. I eye him, feeling disgusted. How annoying, how foolish, how naïve. His blood would make a proper red instead of the white.
It was the white I was threatened with.
The white pajamas with my hands tied at the back.
The fucking white walls.
The fucking bed with white covers.
The washed to holes white floor.
It was so sick.
That's what the definition of sick is, not some dreams and pictures of fears and back thoughts.
“Yeah, only. I’m not that really into it. Architecture, I mean. I want to be an artist and that’s risky. I agree with my parents on that.” She smiled back at him, not even glancing in my direction. I tilted my head watching her insignificant corpse standing there.
Parents’ approval?
What the fuck was good in that?
They'll die anyway and there's nothing we'll ever be able to do, but then we die as well with no one to look after the grave and maybe our ashes won't ever be scattered even if asked, as then everything we ever had will be burned or thrown away, as the thoughts will be stashed away to the last moments, as someone would wish they knew what death is like and maybe then they'd summon the pile of ashes stuck to a crab or a rotten skeleton taken out of the grave with one rotten eye in the mouth.
Life is short, without any risk there is no champagne. Who wants to spend their life being stuck in middle class just because of that plain denial that your parents gave you with a pat on the head, just to never get ill of winning something, that you started breaking everything anyone has ever achieved, your name sparkling in your head and you'd say it's enough, smile and keep going.
But then, wasn’t that when I broke loose, to actually give something to burn for the flames to try and get someone who shall be sitting in the front row, our names never exchanged. When I had tears streaming down my cheeks?
When I shoved my paintings towards them? When I screwed school, my girlfriend, who I did not love, I kept breaking loose, like an overdose of drugs, drawing maniacally, sending everything ever possible to universities and contests, which I wanted and what did I get?
“That’s weak. That’s what it means? I am not dating until I’m thirty because my parents think that is unacceptable for a lady? Screw it.” I snap, flopping myself onto the desk, bringing my legs with me, my gaze piercing her essence, trying to at least, never failing, life rule. C'mon. Melvin’s head quickly turns to look at me. His eyes look at me in shock, trying to cope with what I said, no mate, I don't care about you or your attempt. Hah.
“What’s the point in sacrificing your existence, the lonely years of sanity into something your parents approve? What is the point of that, love? If you'll turn into a parent someday, a misunderstanding towards the new generation, which might actually try to do something.” I stand up and lean towards her, her breath on my own. I glance towards her lips then back to her piercing blue eyes.
“Coward.” I say and turn towards her future boyfriend, maybe even husband despite on how much they were zombiefied. Melvin stands frozen, I think that's his name I wonder if Roman stood up from his coma with a megaphone and fell back down, stay there, whispering my name before losing all belief. Oh, he is so wrong. I so am not the kid. I'm not as foolish as he is. “And you? An architect? What art is that? Sleeping with a freaking ruler drawing plain lines screaming about your dullness which creeps in your soul? Let it out to let people live in it? Useless. Let it devour you, let it eat you, if you even have it in the first place there's enough to feast on!" I throw my arms, exaggerating, but I feel it inside me, so I let it out. "Of course, why risk? Why let my parents down? No freaking guts to tell them what you feel! Let them live in what their son created!"
I raise my voice at the end of the sentence, smirking at them. Fools.
Then I look at them again.
Those two insignificant corpuses, standing there dumbly, despite their animal attraction, try to be my friends. I used to grab the first skirt I see and barely talked to any geeks, whoch Roman spent his time with, closing his eyes and describing Lola. I glance at them feeling myself ease. This is new. Should I play with it?
Maybe there was a point in tying me up. To make me relax, to look at the numb white which people reach out for, trying to lose, only to gain in a while, when they can or maybe to lose once more.
Maybe there was a point in letting me die, letting myself die, as my last moments consisted of staring into that numb white. I feel my eyes dry out and then something wet moisturizes them, not going deep inside but screaming to get out.
Those two, stare at me, their heads tilted towards each other, their eyes looking through me, as if reading me.
Maybe I should let him go.
Maybe I should let him live.
“I’m sorry.”
“You want to be an artist? Devote your whole life into an endless risk? That’s…” She seems to ignore my curses, accuses, as her eyes sparkle in pride for me, not pity is it, love and I trace no sarcasm. Ok, I am tired if I do not see it. “…brilliant!”
Melvin nods, wrapping his arm stronger around me, he is the wrapper now, I feel like Roman the need to lean my head against someone else's to feel the blinding echo, the smile not holding a flirting characteristic in it. Instead it is warm, soft, welcoming, just like Jill’s piercing blue eyes.
Maybe I am the fool.
“I think you’re amazing, mate. Not anybody can take that risk.” Melvin says it, means it, ruffling my dyed blonde hair, pulling me closer to him. Jill throws her own arms around me, blushing at the light contact with Melvin through my body between them. Orgy?
Maybe I really am.
Maybe that’s why I let myself cry, just in front of them, letting the white classroom walls swallow me. Or maybe it's all in my head, a dream and I'm still stuck with no popcorn left and the books read or maybe there never was any popcorn.
But I'm between them, both of them, holding me unlike those pajamas with love bursting from both of them, protecting me, from the sick white. Or did I want to go back or did I want a numb corner to lay on the lukewarm water resembling floor with cut dyed blonde hair? From the white which could be my death. Which was my death. I lean my chin against their shoulders brushing against each other. I bite my lip, feeling Melvin’s hoodie go wet as well as Jill shirt’s white fabric go wet as well with my thoughts.
Then in that perfect relaxed feeling, I feel a small tingle in my right arm, go up and upper. My body is going numb, I am losing balance, I feel my eyes blur out and fall out. The images in front of me out, the white taking over.
Is this it?
No, then, there, it is her.
“Kayleen.”
I whisper, but it doesn’t go loud, my lips move, before my face goes numb.
I don’t die.
I don’t faint.
I just let him take over.
For a while.
No longer.
For I have something to fight for.
Chapter 17
What the fuck is wrong with everybody? It's as if they are part of some cult, their hands held up, waving frantically, doing some tree dance with pop music in the background. White, white, pearly sick, frightening white. I had an urge to stain it even with my own blood. They're the ones laughing at me.
“Architecture. Yeah, I kind of like it and my parents gave me approval.” Melvin says with a light chuckle. Giggle. Wait, who the hell's dad, he looks like a talking to fish druggie.
Is that what it is about? Being a fucking good son to have your parents’ approval? How miserable. I eye him, feeling disgusted. How annoying, how foolish, how naïve. His blood would make a proper red instead of the white.
It was the white I was threatened with.
The white pajamas with my hands tied at the back.
The fucking white walls.
The fucking bed with white covers.
The washed to holes white floor.
It was so sick.
That's what the definition of sick is, not some dreams and pictures of fears and back thoughts.
“Yeah, only. I’m not that really into it. Architecture, I mean. I want to be an artist and that’s risky. I agree with my parents on that.” She smiled back at him, not even glancing in my direction. I tilted my head watching her insignificant corpse standing there.
Parents’ approval?
What the fuck was good in that?
They'll die anyway and there's nothing we'll ever be able to do, but then we die as well with no one to look after the grave and maybe our ashes won't ever be scattered even if asked, as then everything we ever had will be burned or thrown away, as the thoughts will be stashed away to the last moments, as someone would wish they knew what death is like and maybe then they'd summon the pile of ashes stuck to a crab or a rotten skeleton taken out of the grave with one rotten eye in the mouth.
Life is short, without any risk there is no champagne. Who wants to spend their life being stuck in middle class just because of that plain denial that your parents gave you with a pat on the head, just to never get ill of winning something, that you started breaking everything anyone has ever achieved, your name sparkling in your head and you'd say it's enough, smile and keep going.
But then, wasn’t that when I broke loose, to actually give something to burn for the flames to try and get someone who shall be sitting in the front row, our names never exchanged. When I had tears streaming down my cheeks?
When I shoved my paintings towards them? When I screwed school, my girlfriend, who I did not love, I kept breaking loose, like an overdose of drugs, drawing maniacally, sending everything ever possible to universities and contests, which I wanted and what did I get?
“That’s weak. That’s what it means? I am not dating until I’m thirty because my parents think that is unacceptable for a lady? Screw it.” I snap, flopping myself onto the desk, bringing my legs with me, my gaze piercing her essence, trying to at least, never failing, life rule. C'mon. Melvin’s head quickly turns to look at me. His eyes look at me in shock, trying to cope with what I said, no mate, I don't care about you or your attempt. Hah.
“What’s the point in sacrificing your existence, the lonely years of sanity into something your parents approve? What is the point of that, love? If you'll turn into a parent someday, a misunderstanding towards the new generation, which might actually try to do something.” I stand up and lean towards her, her breath on my own. I glance towards her lips then back to her piercing blue eyes.
“Coward.” I say and turn towards her future boyfriend, maybe even husband despite on how much they were zombiefied. Melvin stands frozen, I think that's his name I wonder if Roman stood up from his coma with a megaphone and fell back down, stay there, whispering my name before losing all belief. Oh, he is so wrong. I so am not the kid. I'm not as foolish as he is. “And you? An architect? What art is that? Sleeping with a freaking ruler drawing plain lines screaming about your dullness which creeps in your soul? Let it out to let people live in it? Useless. Let it devour you, let it eat you, if you even have it in the first place there's enough to feast on!" I throw my arms, exaggerating, but I feel it inside me, so I let it out. "Of course, why risk? Why let my parents down? No freaking guts to tell them what you feel! Let them live in what their son created!"
I raise my voice at the end of the sentence, smirking at them. Fools.
Then I look at them again.
Those two insignificant corpuses, standing there dumbly, despite their animal attraction, try to be my friends. I used to grab the first skirt I see and barely talked to any geeks, whoch Roman spent his time with, closing his eyes and describing Lola. I glance at them feeling myself ease. This is new. Should I play with it?
Maybe there was a point in tying me up. To make me relax, to look at the numb white which people reach out for, trying to lose, only to gain in a while, when they can or maybe to lose once more.
Maybe there was a point in letting me die, letting myself die, as my last moments consisted of staring into that numb white. I feel my eyes dry out and then something wet moisturizes them, not going deep inside but screaming to get out.
Those two, stare at me, their heads tilted towards each other, their eyes looking through me, as if reading me.
Maybe I should let him go.
Maybe I should let him live.
“I’m sorry.”
“You want to be an artist? Devote your whole life into an endless risk? That’s…” She seems to ignore my curses, accuses, as her eyes sparkle in pride for me, not pity is it, love and I trace no sarcasm. Ok, I am tired if I do not see it. “…brilliant!”
Melvin nods, wrapping his arm stronger around me, he is the wrapper now, I feel like Roman the need to lean my head against someone else's to feel the blinding echo, the smile not holding a flirting characteristic in it. Instead it is warm, soft, welcoming, just like Jill’s piercing blue eyes.
Maybe I am the fool.
“I think you’re amazing, mate. Not anybody can take that risk.” Melvin says it, means it, ruffling my dyed blonde hair, pulling me closer to him. Jill throws her own arms around me, blushing at the light contact with Melvin through my body between them. Orgy?
Maybe I really am.
Maybe that’s why I let myself cry, just in front of them, letting the white classroom walls swallow me. Or maybe it's all in my head, a dream and I'm still stuck with no popcorn left and the books read or maybe there never was any popcorn.
But I'm between them, both of them, holding me unlike those pajamas with love bursting from both of them, protecting me, from the sick white. Or did I want to go back or did I want a numb corner to lay on the lukewarm water resembling floor with cut dyed blonde hair? From the white which could be my death. Which was my death. I lean my chin against their shoulders brushing against each other. I bite my lip, feeling Melvin’s hoodie go wet as well as Jill shirt’s white fabric go wet as well with my thoughts.
Then in that perfect relaxed feeling, I feel a small tingle in my right arm, go up and upper. My body is going numb, I am losing balance, I feel my eyes blur out and fall out. The images in front of me out, the white taking over.
Is this it?
No, then, there, it is her.
“Kayleen.”
I whisper, but it doesn’t go loud, my lips move, before my face goes numb.
I don’t die.
I don’t faint.
I just let him take over.
For a while.
No longer.
For I have something to fight for.
Chapter 17
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