Tommyinnit Oneshots

You Wallow Away In Things You Can't Change

A beautiful, fantastical dream runs away from his grasp, darting from shadow to shadow to escape his reaching hands. The ambition that had once illuminated his face had become a shadow that chained him to the what-ifs. Where he would once look for inspiration, he found himself overwhelmed by the success- the happiness- of these people that he admired and resented. These people were born with skill, determination, and the courage to put themselves out there, and he simply wasn't. All he had was a stupid dream that would never come true.

He sits on the bench. His hand lays limp on top of the white keys of the grand piano. The light above him is reflected in the pristinely cleaned top of the piano. He stares at that singular spot, where the light fixture is reflected, watching the world around that spot devolve into gray colored blobs that waxed and waned in size and shape. It didn't matter what happened around him. He didn't care.

A tear dropped onto the keys. Another followed. After that, nothing else came. His face was starting to feel funny having two tear-tracks that were quickly disappearing, but he couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. A part of him was scared that if he did, the sadness that coated him would disappear. That didn't sound all that bad until he remembered that he had nothing to fill that sadness. He wasn't happy or angry or disappointed or confused. He was hopeless. He was useless.

His fingers curled into fists, shaking with a rage that wouldn't form. The piano played a few notes together that created immediate disharmony. He didn't lift his fingers, letting the chaotic noise fill the room. The broken song was a mirror to his feelings. He couldn't even stop himself as his knees buckled, hitting the ground between the bench and the piano. His head slammed against the edge, but he couldn't even wail out as that pain began throbbing in his mind like his persistent, spiraling thoughts did.

What did it matter? People told him he was good and amazing and great- perfect, even. He knew himself that he had some skills. There was work to be done, of course, as there was always room for improvement. No one knew more than him that he wasn't this shining image of perfection most people believed him to be. He was more shallow than he lead on. He was more of an attention seeker than he would care to admit. He had flaws, he made poor decisions, but at the end of the day, he wasn't a horrible person. He was redeemable. He had a dream that he would do anything for.

But what was that anything? How did he do anything? Where did he learn, where will he be accepted?

His beautiful dream was nothing more than a sham. It would never come true. It was a fact that would dance around the edges of his mind, but it decided to sink in that night. He was in a happy place. He made a small mistake, nothing that wasn't unforgivable, nobody even cared anymore, and suddenly he was spiraling. He felt like a hollow husk whose mind was invaded by the parasite that was horrid thoughts about the inevitably of his failure. Some dreams just weren't realistic, and no amount of hoping, perfecting skills, or learning to overcome inner pain could make someone hear his songs and look at him like he was worth something.

He took the classes. He researched the topic. He made the resume, and talked to people who knew how things worked. He did everything right, but that didn't mean his odds were any better. He was reaching for the stars, beautiful but too far away to actually experience. He didn't know what else he would do. He would have settled into mediocrity, but did he even have the skill for some smalltime job? Could he make ends meet with those side hustles? He didn't know.

It was all snowballing, wasn't it? All he did was make a tiny mistake that everyone but him had forgotten about. He was trapped in that moment. He was trapped in the thoughts that no matter what he did, nothing would change. None of it would matter. His dreams were unattainable, and he was the last to know it. Everyone around him thought he had such a bright future, but as what? What did they see him as? What did his high school grades matter in the grand scheme of things? Putting on a play for some 100 people? Writing and reading and playing this damned piano and for what? How was any of this getting him closer to his dream? It would be better to give up, but what else could he do that would pay the bills?

His head fell back against the bench towards the ceiling. His limbs unfolded, falling limp as they unfurled against the ground. He would never achieve that dream. That small spark that had set his heart ablaze, making his eyes light up, and taking his breath away, was nothing more than a candle in a hurricane. And where did that led him?

To shedding two tears on the floor of the room that once held his greatest memories with one thought circulating from his brain through his veins: you're useless.