Relief

two

Listen to "Experience" by Ludovico Einaudi

I am nothing more than a pair of abstract eyes walking around. For this reason, my identity may be of no interest to the boy you're reading of, but for you, I'm your storyteller, your narrative voice, who's teaching you how to walk properly towards the very end. However, we've just started, so take a seat, it will take some time.

Thursday, 5:41 p.m.

There he was, on his unmade bed, where even one small move would cause the old springs to squeak. It's nothing that bad you think? You clearly haven't heard that sound at 2 a.m., but don't get me wrong, he loved that mattress covered with soft sheets, probably because it stayed by his side longer than anyone else did, probably because it never judge him when, as a child, he always cried himself to sleep, with both hands over his mouth, begging himself to stop.

So he never replaced it, perhaps, he should've.

"The other kids always pick on me. I just want to play with them, what am I doing wrong?"

The high-pitched voice of the child appearing on TV reached his ears like a bullet, making him wonder if he lost his hearing. His body instantly froze, chills traveled all over him, especially on his back. It made him tremble a little, not because he was cold, nor because he was afraid, it was...different.

Ever felt naked? The kind of naked worse than someone seeing you without any clothes on? Let me describe it to you: you feel like your whole body vanished, leaving by just your miserable skeleton, your lips drain all the saliva on them, you think that your heart missed a few bits and your skin becomes as pale as snow.

That's it.

He was reduced to nothing but an absent gaze.

Why am I crying now?

He thought, as his downturned eyes became pools for his pupils, preventing him to see plainly until his salty tears raced towards his chin.

He cried. He didn't know why but he did. He didn't stop the tears though, he used them to let go of everything he kept to himself. His hands covered his mouth, just in case, so that his mom sitting in the other room wouldn't hear him sobbing.

The ironic part was what was hidden under his hands. A smile. Not sincere, but desperate. What gave him away was the look in his eyes screaming distress, the letters were carefully carved in them.

It was an over-accumulation of emotions, that kid simply set fire to the fuse of the bomb.

It may seem bizarre, but in that exact moment, all of his childhood memories hit him back again, making him understand how horrible it really was, as if someone dragged him out from under the water and forced his eyes open to make him finally see. He realized aspects he was unaware of, maybe because he didn't want to face them, or maybe because, in his head, he created a different image of himself: a happy, cheerful one.

He saw himself in that child.

Don't you ever lay in bed and realize how not ok you are?

I wasn't really friends with anyone.

I was their clown, except I didn't want to be.

"Look at Satori's hair, it's ridiculous"

"Lizard!"

"I bet your chin is pointy enough to pop a balloon"

"Why are you keeping your eyes half-closed? They're too big anyways"

"He looks like a fucking monster, no wonder he's isolated all the time"

"I'd kill myself if I had a child like that"

"We don't care weirdo. Just shut up already"

"Quit trying to be included so hard, no one wants you, or ever will"

Mh, it's no big surprise I turned out this way.

I only had one...I don't even know if I can call him a friend actually. Ours wasn't a healthy friendship at all now that I think about it. We were left out, made fun of and we found each other. The only difference was that he took his anger out by playing with me and my emotions, like a puppet.

I never stood up to him, or else, I would've stayed alone, and nothing scared me more.

He knew this, didn't he?

He took advantage of me and got me wrapped up around his little finger like a ring.

All this time I thought he was one of the kindest people I had ever met, how could I?

Seriously, what's wrong with me?

"Fucking idiot" He whispered. Legs crossed, eyes closed and hands running through his dirty hair as the air in the room gradually became heavier.

He lacked the will to do anything. His stomach rumbled a few times, sending him signals, but the kitchen seemed miles away. Just the thought of having to get up forced the hunger to disappear.

I can't talk to the others about this.

I've always worn this stupid mask, and still, I don't wanna take it off. I don't want to break down in front of anyone.

I'll just forget about my problems.

But now, something is starting to change.

I can feel it.

Soon I'll be choking, and I won't be able to stop it.

It's a frightening thought, isn't it?

Why am I not scared then? Why do I crave that feeling?

He slowly raised his head, only for the dear night to welcome him with open arms.

It hurt a lot, but it was needed, otherwise, he would've lived a life full of lies, in a body he didn't truly know.

This could've been the start of his self-improvement, or maybe, it was him plotting his own downfall.