I.D.

Untitled Part 10

I arrived at school. Slowly walking down the hall, it all felt too real. All the messy students at school whom I didn't fuck with would all talk shit. I had to mentally prepare myself. I got dirty and odd looks, non-stop snickers and incoherent chatter filled the halls surrounding me.

Bruce and Sam strolled down the hall no longer holding hands.

"You look like shit!!" Bruce chuckled.

"Don't fuck with me!" I shoved him into a locker. Thud.

A wave of silence rushed over the hoarding students.

"What happened?" Sam inquired.

I tried to kill myself last night: I kept contained within me. I looked at all my peers, and just shook my head, "Nothing."

Sitting at the lunch table with the best mystery meat lasagna money can buy staring at me: "Luke you haven't touched your food."

"I'm not really that hungry," I said monotonously.

a few minutes pass by. It was strange having Bruce and Sam in the same vicinity nevertheless the same room. I could feel the tension. A gloomy rain cloud lingered over Bruce, it was in his aura, the atmosphere surrounding him. He was still recovering from the breakup with Sam, as for her she seemed to be handling things better.

Ignoring Bruce, Sam started, "So are you excited for Fest?"

"Who's performing again?" I asked.

"Does it matter? It's always a good lineup." Bruce spruced up. Sam shot him a glance disapproval. "What bitch?" he stiffened up his lip,

A couple of students gave a sidelong glance.

He crossed the line that was evident. I was teetering on the edge, I didn't want to interject in fear of escalating the situation (was it even my business anyway?).

"I didn't say anything!" Sam retorted.

 I wasn't necessarily afraid of Bruce as much as I was afraid of confrontation, but I know something must be said."

"Listen both of you, your both my friends could we just pretend like we're friends still?"

This seemed to quell the situation and bring it to a dead-stop.

I shifted my focus on Fest. Whenever it came to events, I would always devise a plan, a sort of pre-game ritual, that consisted of consuming alcohol or smoking marijuana-both alleviating my anxiety. I would do neither of these two tonight. Instead, I would divulge myself in one of the acid tabs I obtained from the shady man, but by the same reasoning: I was wary of trying the substance again because the validity was so uncertain... Acid is typically a slow drug to affect you, and last night hit me fast and hard like a freight train. I knew I just had a bad trip but I had ecstasy which guaranteed I would be alright.

The eternal flame of the sun was extinguishing in the western sky, on the horizon the moon was creeping upwards. When the sun goes down it's like the youth are stricken, like any last lingering bit of sanity is stripped from within. I know, I feel the urge from times. Fiending for a feeling. Starting in your legs the feeling manifests: you pace around contemplating what to do. What to post? Where to go? These thoughts come in like a barrage of heat seeking missiles. Immobilized, paralyzed, trapped by your very freedom. It's too late you have succumb.

Who was at fault for this fear? Was the full moon to blame?

F.O.M.O was the least of my concerns honestly.

I needed to finish my poem; that was first thing I had to do. Poetry was like swimming in a cold pool, at first your hesitant to jump in, after a while; once the feelings of cold dissipated, you didn't want to exit. I could dip my toes, or jump headfirst in. The drug was starting to bring up memories I had long locked away, never assessing them as they were compartmentalized. I was deathly afraid of swimming, deathly scared of drowning. It didn't help that I barely possessed the skill to stay afloat. I thought about a childhood friend whom I lost so early in my life.