Sequel: The Nephew of a Dead Artist ›
Six Feet Underground
The Tourtured Student Pt. 1
He stood in the front of the class, his long black hair in his face, covering his true feelings about the world like a warm blanket covers a sleeping child.
He just wanted to be out of here, out of this hell they call school. He couldn't stand it here, no one understood him, excepted him for who he was. No, they all rejected him like a dull crayon in a sea of sharp new ones.
He shifted his weight to his other foot, as the teacher's boring voice dronned on. She had called him up here, to stand, ashamed, like a lab rat because of his past.
She was talking about some incident that involved death. That's why he was standing here, because he had experience it and was a great peice of flesh to make fun of.
Th mindless words slipped in and out of his head before he could comprehend them. The word death alone seemed to his him like a brick dropped from a fifty foot tall bridge into the icy depths of the ocean.
He flinched as she said it again, the painful memories of his beloved brother swam into his vision. The tears stinging the edge of his eye, but he forced them back, accumulation behing his eyes.
That horible night that seemed like yesterday, but in reality was years ago. He woundered how he made it so far, how he survived the constant tourture.
"...And death is a natural thing that happens to all of us..." She droned.
He wished she would shut up so he could go home. He wanted to sit in his room alone, reminiscing all of the times he had shared with him. All of those times that would never happen again.
All of the students were staring intently at the lost boy, driving the daggers deeper as they stared. They all knew about his brother, they all knew but did nothing to make it better. They all did nothing but make it worse.
All sat there not saying a thing, the imense silence that hung in the air was so think it was almost hard to breath. None of them stoped the teacher from humilulating their classmate. No one stopped her from digging the six foot hole for their classmates casket.
His eyes scanned the room nervously, trying to find another pair to save him from his impending doom. To find someone who could help him, help him heal. His glazed eyes rested on each face. Every single one could never feel his pain. He wished that there was someone out there that was going through that same thing as him, or had gone through it and would be able to help him in ways no one else could even think of.
But he knew that that was all in his dreams. He knew his dreams would never come true, he would never amount to anything in his life. He would always be 'that social reject from high school that was self-contained, on drugs, an achohalic, and depressed all the time' to every one in this god damned school. He had no future. He would just end up like his brother....
Six feet underground
He just wanted to be out of here, out of this hell they call school. He couldn't stand it here, no one understood him, excepted him for who he was. No, they all rejected him like a dull crayon in a sea of sharp new ones.
He shifted his weight to his other foot, as the teacher's boring voice dronned on. She had called him up here, to stand, ashamed, like a lab rat because of his past.
She was talking about some incident that involved death. That's why he was standing here, because he had experience it and was a great peice of flesh to make fun of.
Th mindless words slipped in and out of his head before he could comprehend them. The word death alone seemed to his him like a brick dropped from a fifty foot tall bridge into the icy depths of the ocean.
He flinched as she said it again, the painful memories of his beloved brother swam into his vision. The tears stinging the edge of his eye, but he forced them back, accumulation behing his eyes.
That horible night that seemed like yesterday, but in reality was years ago. He woundered how he made it so far, how he survived the constant tourture.
"...And death is a natural thing that happens to all of us..." She droned.
He wished she would shut up so he could go home. He wanted to sit in his room alone, reminiscing all of the times he had shared with him. All of those times that would never happen again.
All of the students were staring intently at the lost boy, driving the daggers deeper as they stared. They all knew about his brother, they all knew but did nothing to make it better. They all did nothing but make it worse.
All sat there not saying a thing, the imense silence that hung in the air was so think it was almost hard to breath. None of them stoped the teacher from humilulating their classmate. No one stopped her from digging the six foot hole for their classmates casket.
His eyes scanned the room nervously, trying to find another pair to save him from his impending doom. To find someone who could help him, help him heal. His glazed eyes rested on each face. Every single one could never feel his pain. He wished that there was someone out there that was going through that same thing as him, or had gone through it and would be able to help him in ways no one else could even think of.
But he knew that that was all in his dreams. He knew his dreams would never come true, he would never amount to anything in his life. He would always be 'that social reject from high school that was self-contained, on drugs, an achohalic, and depressed all the time' to every one in this god damned school. He had no future. He would just end up like his brother....
Six feet underground