Solivigant

ExuIansis

ExuIansis:
the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it

Ely lay with his head on his desk, ignoring the chaotic classmates flying around the room. He hated it. He hated the loudness, the chatter, even the smiles that they showed each other.

Fakes.

He peered out from underneath one of his hands, groaning internally at how close the clock was to being the end of school. Ely's fingers tapped a familiar pattern rhythmically against the desk. A kind pressure brushed gently against his mind. The bell rang, but Ely did not move, waiting for his classmates to leave before standing and making his way out of school. He sighed as he caught sight of plain brown hair pacing impatiently at the gates.

Ely stopped beside the older boy.

"You slow fuck, I've been here for ages!" The male cuffed Ely harshly over the head, "Mum and Dad are gonna hear about this."

Paying the violent teen no mind, Ely began walking, his brother's whining fading into the background. They rounded the corner, school fading into the background. A glancing blow to his head. Ely tumbled to the ground.

"Don't ignore me!" The brown haired boy yelled, lifting Ely by his collar.

He gave his brother a blank look and seething, the boy dropped him.

"Does an emotionless freak like you think you can get off easily if you don't give a response?" His brother shouted, raining blows down on Ely as he did so, "Don't get cocky, you family leech!"

Leaving him with a kick to the stomach, he turned into their home, running through the open door. Silently, Ely picked himself up, dusting the dirt off his clothes before heading after him. A woman - a chubby lady with mousy brown hair and warm brown eyes - was patting her son, lathering him in a torrent of affection. As soon as Ely stepped through the door, her eyes turned cold.

They regarded each other for a few seconds, then, slipping his shoes off neatly by the door, Ely walked past the display, dashing upstairs and into the safety of his room.

Why...

The pink haired boy sighed, walking into the dismal room and throwing down the rucksack that had started to weight him down even though the weight was nothing for him to carry. He moved to sit down at the desk that was scarred and scratched; mauled to death from the years of frustration that got taken out on the wooden piece of furniture. He was so tired, but he had to keep going.

Just a little longer.

Ely reached down and took out the black and grey notebook, opening it and staring down at the blank lines. Then he started writing. The ink flowed seamlessly from the pen he had previously grabbed as he scribbled down to complete the homework he was assigned.
He kept going for over an hour, noting, jotting, bullet pointing everything he remembered from the lessons he just listened in on. He had to do well. Limbs weak, hands shaking. He couldn't carry on anymore.

Collapsing onto the desk, hands splayed out on the wooden surface and the pen he had been holding, rolling away and then stopping as it tapped against the wall. His cheek pressed against the pages of the notebook that he had been writing on for ages and the last thing he was worried about was smudging the ink that lay on the endless white pages. His thoughts swirled in an endless flurry. They danced, galloped and attacked all at once. On the outside Ely was calm, motionless, tired, but on the inside he was wide awake and panicking. He hated it when his thoughts overwhelmed him and considering he wasn't the best at expressing his emotions, he had no idea what to do with himself or his body. His fingers rummaged through a drawer, pulling a bottle from the bare space. Trembling, he opened the bottle and shook it onto his hand. Nothing. It was empty.