Different colored minds

The freetime killer

MAVERICK POV

I lock myself into my bedroom. My mom is outside of the locked door.
"Are you done cleaning yet?"
She's asked this question on the hour every hour for the past four hours.
The short answer to her question is no but i have to convince her i'm trying.
"getting there," I sound relaxed I hope.
"I'm bringing the give away box to your room in an hour, anything outside of your closet, even a sock stranded on the couch, it's going to the charity down the road,"
I gulp.
"Don't give away my socks! I don't have enough socks to give to the orphans! They don't want my single socks!"
"I don't care," my mother continues through the door. Maybe I should just leave everything on the couch. I don't know how Ill survive.

The swamp feels like it's growing exponentially every time I walk away. I hate cleaning my room. It's such a waste of energy. I take it off. I wash it. I put it on. I take it off. I wash it. I hate the repetitiveness. And yes, I do know that this is an excuse not to improve. I just don't want to improve. I see no need for cleanliness in my life right now, I have enough other things to worry about, and yet here I am cleaning my room to appease my mother. I sigh.

My mother is alone. I never knew my dad. And yes, I do have abandonment issues but that's fine. I'm sure some random chick will dig a clingy guy. My hour is almost up.

I gulp as I shove clothing onto clothing hangers. My mother will be here any minute to sell my organs—I mean my clothing. And by that, I mean she'll be five minutes early. I sigh as I keep shoving things in the corners of my closet where she won't see them.
I have it down to a manageable heap that I hide under my duvet and sheets. I make my bed so it looks unsuspicious and then wait for my mother to enter.
"Oh," I gasp out loud.
I have a good idea!
I jump on top of my bed and pull out my homework. Now I'll look even less suspicious.
My mom knocks on the door. Dread fills me.
"Come in," I smile.
"Looks good maverick," my mother states. "Just get the things from under your duvet in there too," and then she leaves. I'm my defense I did only have an hour—

I spend the next few digging into my homework. The workload has been getting worse for a while now. Finally, it's time.

It's almost midnight. Almost time to start the show. I do a couple of pushups and sit ups then sit down in my chair. I grab my black motorcycling helmet and shove it on my head. The clock by my bedside blares a red 11:11 pm at me. I let my hand rest on my mouse. I'm at my gaming rig now.
On the screen the words "this stream will start momentarily" flash by.
I settle down and take a gulp of water.
"Here we go," I say while turning on my camera.
The screen blazes on.
"Hello! And welcome back to my stream, what's that, you missed me? Or you missed this view," I unzip my nylon black jacket and sit back in my chair.
"I know, this view is immaculate. Now let's go bully some seven year olds."
No one knows this is me. I'll always be __freetimekiller__ to them. Made that up when I was twelve. What can I say, I was equally a genius back then.

I can say my thoughts, and What I feel here. It's unlike any home I've ever known. It's filled with people who listen. It's where I belong. I talk about anything and everything. I even have collaborations with other gamers. I like politics, I like irony, and I love to think about the world. And that's what my audience loves too. And that's why I love them. And I know I could be worrying about how they are going to turn on me and cancel me the first chance that they get when I mess up but at least someone's holding me accountable so it can't be that bad. Failing isn't failure unless you don't get back up afterwards.

Not like I ever want the spotlight I'm hoping I can stay anonymous forever, but I know that it is a futile dream, built on stupidity and a naivety. And one day when I have the guts to show my face to the world, I'll be ready to show my face to the world cause it'll be the right time right now is not that time, and I am very grateful for it. Right now I can sit back and have people look at me like a human is my every day to day life even if they don't look at me like a human at all.

The night bleeds into early morning before I know it.
"Well boys and girls, I must bid you adieu." And with that I end the stream, get up and release a huge yawn.
I look over at the clock. Looks like I'm only getting two hours of sleep but I've gotten less.
I walk over to the light switch on the other side of my room and flick it off--then watch the ceiling.

If only it was this easy to talk to people in my every day life. If only people saw past my exterior. If only someone could see me as I am and not as they want me to be but I know, just like I wish to stay anonymous, some hopes are futile. The world is a cold place filled with people who don't want to understand each other, and yet our dependent on each other I live in a world with people who don't want to need each other, surrounded by people who can't meet their needs and yet for some unknown universal reason I can't do it alone. They say, solitary confinement can be considered an unnatural and cruel form of punishment, and thus the need for human interaction is a staple necessity of the soul. I like some tattoo scrawled across my skin I crawl and beg to be known. Why can't I just do it on my own?