hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

good effort

tw:// suicidal thoughts, mention of death

george had just crawled back through his bedroom window, tears now dried up after his long walk. his head was like a warzone, with conflicting thoughts all battling against each other, filling his head with an annoying static that was driving him to insanity.

he looked around his lackluster childhood bedroom at all the old posters and pictures he had pinned up years ago. they were meant to bring warmth to his room and a smile to his face, but now he found himself feeling emptier than ever. the naive young boy in those pictures was long gone. smile not as bright anymore, eyes not so full of innocence. the room felt colder than usual. darker. like his vision had been drained of color now.

he drags his feet over to his bed and flops down to stare up at the ceiling. he wonders what his mom would think of him right now. he wonders if she watches over him and is disappointed, or if there's even an afterlife that she's exists in right now. he misses her warm hugs and the way she could look into her son's eyes and just immediately read his thoughts. she always knew exactly what to say. when to talk to george or when to just let him have alone time. she always said that she was just like george as a little girl; that she saw her younger self in george's eyes.

'well look what happened to your little boy mom...'

george brushed the thoughts from his head, knowing that thinking of his mom too much led to pain he couldn't handle at the moment.

he averted his eyes from the ceiling in hopes of providing a distraction for his brain, but his eyes ended up landing on his previously written suicide note that was tacked to the wall.

george let out a broken scoff at the sight and his misfortune. 'nice distraction' he thought. he scanned the letter to the best of his ability from his awkward laying down position until his gaze faltered on the words "goodbye to the pretty face that i'll lastly interact with".

dream.

the pretty face.

the pretty face that george made a promise to less than an hour ago. a promise that he'd stick around. if only dream knew how deep that promise ran.

george mustered up everything he had in himself and slowly sat up on his bed, eyes still locked with the letter. he was so ready. so ready to leave the earth and his (what felt like) meaningless existence. he didn't have anyone to really stick around for. he was an only child with no one to call his friends. sure his dad was still alive and no, he's not inherently a bad dude...he tries and george knows that. but he never pays george much attention and it seems he's never been able to move on from his dead wife. seems that during his eternal grieving phase, he's forgotten about his son. his son who could really do with a listening ear right now.

but george doesn't have that. all he has as a listening ear is his own mind, and perhaps his dead mother if that counts.

george's eyes are torn away from the walls as he takes notice to a growing discomfort on his underside. he lets out a huff and a roll of his eyes as he stands up and aggressively scratches at whatever was poking him from underneath his body, before flopping back down again in a dramatic heap.

he stares at the item that made him so aggravated in his hand.

a cream soda lollipop.

george gives an exhausted raise of his eyebrows in amusement that he made such a big scene over a tiny object.

he stares at the aged wrapper for a bit, studying it as if it's the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. then, with lollipop still in hand, he leans over his bed and rips the note from off the wall. giving it one last look over before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it across his already messy room.

he looks up to see where the wad of paper landed.

by his charging phone.

george continues to look for a bit, pondering what to do now, before deciding to get up and let his legs carry him to his phone. he lets out a pitiful whine as he's met with a blank screen showcasing zero notifications other than one from his school gradebook, which is letting him know that he failed his most recent test.

he opens up his phone and decides to try out the smudged number scrawled across his wrist. he figures he has nothing to lose at this point and dream just so happens to be the sole reason he's even still able to be standing up right now. he's meant to be dead on the floor somewhere, yet here is nervously typing out a text to a pretty boy, as if he's a middle school girl.

with a deep inhale he hits send on the message.

////////////////////////////////////////

msg: dream

hey.

it's george.

/////////////////////////////// delivered.

he impatiently taps his foot against the carpet, biting on his nails in anticipation for the typing bubble to show up.

seconds later, it did.

///////////////////////////////////////

msg: dream

hello. it's dream.

////////////////////////////////////////

george rolls his eyes at the stupid message.

////////////////////////////////////////

msg: dream

well obviously

right. sorry.

do you not have school tmrw or smth?

no, i do.

oh... well then when can we see each other again? i go to brents hs up the street. maybe we could meet there sometime

what? i go there and have never seen you before

what?

well tbf i did say that i don't really go. im hardly ever there so maybe that's why. i would've remembered someone like you.

the hell's that supposed to mean?

you're a lot more talkative over text.

pointing that out doesn't persuade me to talk to you much

and you ignored my question.

i'm sorry. was just an observation. but going back to the school thinggg... if we both go there then lets meet up tmrw morning at the front tables outside.

...

ok.

////////////////////////  read at 5:04 am.

now he was committed to showing up somewhere when he felt like absolute shit. he let out a long sigh before bending down to pick up the crumpled paper letter, and walking over to the trash can.

however, his fingers wouldn't seem to unravel themselves from it. he found himself staring back in forth between the letter and the trash can, before deciding to back away and retract his hand. instead of the trash, the letter was placed inside george's desk drawer for if he ever went back to it. that wasn't healthy and he knew it, but he also couldn't find it within himself to care.

should he ever need the letter, or to go about his plan again, it would be there within arm's reach looming over him.

always.

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(1167 words)