Status: Active: studying for midterms, but will be back the last week of christmas break
Schrödinger's Cat
Chapter 4
New York City, November 2009
Midnight had fallen on the city and its lights danced on the water below.
Wind berated Wild's face as he stared out onto the water, gazing solemnly at the Statue of Liberty.Hair whipped in front of his face and he felt a knot at the pit of his stomach as he gazed at the void in the skyline where the Twin Towers once stood. He gripped the bridge railing harder , palms tingling, eyes stinging.
He felt a tugging on his heart and an indescribable combination of rage and nostalgia.
He was back in the city that had reached its claws into his consciousness and drained him of his sanity, of his reality, of his hope. This city had destroyed him and here he was with half of his sanity, a drug addiction, and an unhealthy fixation on death.
How auspicious the city had seemed to be, gleaming - no shining - with hope and promises. He wished to believe it, he truly did, but his life and past experiences had dimmed that belief, if not destroying it entirely.
Now the city seemed so dark and foreboding as he gazed onto the waters and seethed at that empty space where they should've been.
Because maybe if they had still been there his whole world would not have seemed so lost in this tumultuous, shroud of darkness and harsh rain that seems to endure even when he cannot.
The cold, biting caress of the wind sends shivers through his body and makes him ache for the warmth of another person. For a home. For another life, another reality.
He just wished he hadn't screwed up his one and only chance at life.
Smoke from the cigarette held loosely by his fingers swirled in front of his eyes, polluting his perspective.
He couldn't sleep. There were these overwhelming thoughts about who he was and his future. How everything he had done up till now had affected his family, him leaving, the depression and drug addiction, all of it.
All of it came to the surface after a single voice mail that night.
His mother had called him last night, begging for him to answer his phone. Begging him to come home. Because she just wanted him home. She wanted her "baby" home.
But he couldn't go home. Not the way he was. Not with the drug addiction or the depression. Definitely not with the drug addiction.
He was trying to spare his family the pain of watching.
He knew though, in his heart, that this was so much worse. But he needed it to be this way. For everyone's sake, for his sake.
After the voice mail he had spent the rest of the night bent over the toilet, brooding and puking.
Vomiting away 15 dollars worth of food out of his bank account of $211.52, and into the porcelain bowl of yellow and bits.
(So much for "lovin' it.")
That was the other thing, money, he was in desperate need of it.
Tuition was paid for already so there was no point in worrying about it. He is only problem was that he was broke, terribly broke.
He could barely pay to eat. He couldn't pay his rent. He couldn't find a decent job, or any job for that matter; the bills were piling up and he was getting awfully tired of being cold at night.
He was also having to cut down on his "habit", which was causing a bad case of anxiety and fatigue. Not to mention the constant waking up in a cold sweat practically every night and almost shitting himself everyday during his American Literature class.
Did he mention the Insomnia?
The lack of numbing agents was starting to make him loosen off the hinges.
He really needed some cash.
He abandoned his dark thoughts as he left the bridge, hoping that maybe some more walking would suffice his insomnia and let him sleep easier tonight.
Too bad he wasn't that lucky.
Midnight had fallen on the city and its lights danced on the water below.
Wind berated Wild's face as he stared out onto the water, gazing solemnly at the Statue of Liberty.Hair whipped in front of his face and he felt a knot at the pit of his stomach as he gazed at the void in the skyline where the Twin Towers once stood. He gripped the bridge railing harder , palms tingling, eyes stinging.
He felt a tugging on his heart and an indescribable combination of rage and nostalgia.
He was back in the city that had reached its claws into his consciousness and drained him of his sanity, of his reality, of his hope. This city had destroyed him and here he was with half of his sanity, a drug addiction, and an unhealthy fixation on death.
How auspicious the city had seemed to be, gleaming - no shining - with hope and promises. He wished to believe it, he truly did, but his life and past experiences had dimmed that belief, if not destroying it entirely.
Now the city seemed so dark and foreboding as he gazed onto the waters and seethed at that empty space where they should've been.
Because maybe if they had still been there his whole world would not have seemed so lost in this tumultuous, shroud of darkness and harsh rain that seems to endure even when he cannot.
The cold, biting caress of the wind sends shivers through his body and makes him ache for the warmth of another person. For a home. For another life, another reality.
He just wished he hadn't screwed up his one and only chance at life.
Smoke from the cigarette held loosely by his fingers swirled in front of his eyes, polluting his perspective.
He couldn't sleep. There were these overwhelming thoughts about who he was and his future. How everything he had done up till now had affected his family, him leaving, the depression and drug addiction, all of it.
All of it came to the surface after a single voice mail that night.
His mother had called him last night, begging for him to answer his phone. Begging him to come home. Because she just wanted him home. She wanted her "baby" home.
But he couldn't go home. Not the way he was. Not with the drug addiction or the depression. Definitely not with the drug addiction.
He was trying to spare his family the pain of watching.
He knew though, in his heart, that this was so much worse. But he needed it to be this way. For everyone's sake, for his sake.
After the voice mail he had spent the rest of the night bent over the toilet, brooding and puking.
Vomiting away 15 dollars worth of food out of his bank account of $211.52, and into the porcelain bowl of yellow and bits.
(So much for "lovin' it.")
That was the other thing, money, he was in desperate need of it.
Tuition was paid for already so there was no point in worrying about it. He is only problem was that he was broke, terribly broke.
He could barely pay to eat. He couldn't pay his rent. He couldn't find a decent job, or any job for that matter; the bills were piling up and he was getting awfully tired of being cold at night.
He was also having to cut down on his "habit", which was causing a bad case of anxiety and fatigue. Not to mention the constant waking up in a cold sweat practically every night and almost shitting himself everyday during his American Literature class.
Did he mention the Insomnia?
The lack of numbing agents was starting to make him loosen off the hinges.
He really needed some cash.
He abandoned his dark thoughts as he left the bridge, hoping that maybe some more walking would suffice his insomnia and let him sleep easier tonight.
Too bad he wasn't that lucky.