‹ Prequel: Skin and Bones
Status: Hiatus
Eat My Heart Out
Small
I stare into the wall above the TV. I threw the remote across the room when it wouldn't work, and though the TV is stuck on some food network showing some delicious chicken, I'm staring at the wall instead.
It all seems so empty. I can hear mom rummaging in the kitchen. The clanks and rattles are sometimes louder than the TV. They're playing some lame song right now.
So lame.
It's all so empty lately. The bottles are full, but everything else is empty. Waking up seems pointless, so I sleep for as long as I can, which is usually until mom gets home. I eat when food is served. I drink when a glass is filled. I shit when the pressure gets too much. I piss when I need to. I fart. I burp. I sit. I sleep.
Everything is empty, and yet the bottles stay full.
I twirl a finger around the smooth, open neck. It's like tying a noose around my neck. I'm just waiting for someone to pull and cut me open like this bottle. I wouldn't care enough to fight the pressure. I'd just let it cut through me.
Over the noisy TV, I hear mom take out plates and place them one by one on the table.
It so big. The table looks huge every time I sit down by it. With every bite, it grows. With every sip, it widens. With every spoken word, it lengthens.
“Boys!”
My own room just grew. In height, length, width, weight. And yet, I stay the same size. I'm still small. I'm still just a minuscule spot in a world filled with people who suffer a lot more than I am, and yet have so much more strength to deal with it. I'm just one in a gazillion. I'm nothing. The world wouldn't end if I gave up, and yet it wouldn't necessarily continue if I kept going. It might all end tomorrow, so why stick around? Why stay and wait for the inevitable?
“Gerard!”
I could leave my family, but they couldn't let me leave. If I went away, they'd be sad. If I died, they'd mourn. They'd hold a funeral. My family would be in the front row. Maybe a few from school would be in the rows behind them. Maybe Frank would show up and sit in the back, shed a tear and leave. 'Good riddance', he'd think and walk away.
Why did he walk away?
“Gerard?”
I should hide the bottle.
“Gerard?”
I should hurry.
“What on...”
Too late.
It all seems so empty. I can hear mom rummaging in the kitchen. The clanks and rattles are sometimes louder than the TV. They're playing some lame song right now.
So lame.
It's all so empty lately. The bottles are full, but everything else is empty. Waking up seems pointless, so I sleep for as long as I can, which is usually until mom gets home. I eat when food is served. I drink when a glass is filled. I shit when the pressure gets too much. I piss when I need to. I fart. I burp. I sit. I sleep.
Everything is empty, and yet the bottles stay full.
I twirl a finger around the smooth, open neck. It's like tying a noose around my neck. I'm just waiting for someone to pull and cut me open like this bottle. I wouldn't care enough to fight the pressure. I'd just let it cut through me.
Over the noisy TV, I hear mom take out plates and place them one by one on the table.
It so big. The table looks huge every time I sit down by it. With every bite, it grows. With every sip, it widens. With every spoken word, it lengthens.
“Boys!”
My own room just grew. In height, length, width, weight. And yet, I stay the same size. I'm still small. I'm still just a minuscule spot in a world filled with people who suffer a lot more than I am, and yet have so much more strength to deal with it. I'm just one in a gazillion. I'm nothing. The world wouldn't end if I gave up, and yet it wouldn't necessarily continue if I kept going. It might all end tomorrow, so why stick around? Why stay and wait for the inevitable?
“Gerard!”
I could leave my family, but they couldn't let me leave. If I went away, they'd be sad. If I died, they'd mourn. They'd hold a funeral. My family would be in the front row. Maybe a few from school would be in the rows behind them. Maybe Frank would show up and sit in the back, shed a tear and leave. 'Good riddance', he'd think and walk away.
Why did he walk away?
“Gerard?”
I should hide the bottle.
“Gerard?”
I should hurry.
“What on...”
Too late.
♠ ♠ ♠
So, I'm feeling pretty lonely lately, which is why I thought: Well, then! Let me write!I'm never lonely when I'm in my stories. =)
I think the reason I'm lonely is because I'm stressed, so when I finally get a moment of peace, I feel lonely. It's quite rediculous, really. But rediculous is good sometimes.
Hope to read you soon!
And congrats to letsplaydoctor for being commenter #200! And thank you for your kind words! She writes Frerards, you know. =D