You Can't Hurt Me

Youse freckless friggin disappointment

Race blew rings of smoke in the air, allowing them to fade off with the mist in the humidity and dissipate into a memory only he had. The sky was a deep dark blue, the stars making it shimmy like silk.

Race supposed the sky looked like a glossy new world, they shimmered and sparkles, going across the world like wrinkles.

The red tip of his cigar looked like a star, if he squinted enough, it's dark red hue provided little light, but was almost like Race's mini fireplace. It hung on his lips, and was a companion to his lungs.

Yes he had read the many many essays on not smoking, having been forced to write one himself on occasion, but to him a nicely lit cigar was the champagne to a wedding. It added to every evening, gave him something to do with his hands, and called him down mentally. Sometimes when his hands shook he lit and cigarette and then they would stop shaking.

He remembered when someone asked him if he could quit, Race had at the time turned his head and shot them a confused look. Why would he want to quit? The words often passed his thoughts when he smoked, yet now he still didn't have an answer, Race liked smoking so why would he bother trying to quit. A box of cigarettes could last him half a week, but a cigar could last him 3 days so he tended to air on cigars since he liked the feeling of a used one.

It was rolling into his fourth hour on the roof, a feet he wouldn't have been able to accomplish without his cigar and the sky to welcome him. It was a full moon, casting its dulled light over him.

Race often felt like he was the moon, and the dad was the sun. He was there, smaller, acknowledged, but people didn't awaken to the moon. He was forgotten to the bright light the sun provided and what little light he had came from the sun.

Race had also spent his time up, counting the stars. They vastly filled the night and took over his eyes, but he smiled greedily and went through each one, giving it a number to call it's own.

3,078.

He counted 3,078 stars when his dad called him down. He jumped down and jotted it inside his notebook, marking down the constellations he could find, including the ones he made up.

Today he saw the Little Dipper and Frank.

He ran down and opened his mouth to tell his father of the beautiful skies, when he was roughly shoved into the kitchen.

"Dinner?" His dad asked, well-aware of the answer.

Race's eyes squeezed shut and his heart sped up, rushing to spread his blood everywhere and quicker, his adrenaline running up with it.

"I-" Race swallows, "I forgot."

"You forgot."

"I'm sorry."

His dad scoffed and pointed over the couch, "read number three?"

Race tilted his head up and mumbled, "if a task is assigned it will be done."

"I told you to make dinner today, and you foolishly sat up in your room."

Race didn't say anything, his hands curled into his palms and his mouth was parted slightly, his throat dry from the dry heaving he was doing.

"You know the punishment."

There it was.

Race swallowed and scratched his arms, ants crawling up them, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again. P-please I will do better."

"The corner Race."

Race tilted his head to look at the corner. His eyes watered immediately and he reached up to wipe them.

"I'm sorry-"

"Now."

He slowly walked towards it. The walls were bland and beige, spider webs no one bothered to clean lined up and down. The only personality being an old stain from a bottle of beer.

He lined his face up with the corner, and stared. He dug his nails into his palms, and itched down his legs. Over and over again, he was feeling antsy already. The world around him was collapsing on itself.

"How long."

"An hour."

"An hour?" Race repeated, tears swelling his eyes.

"I'll make it longer."

"I'm sorry." He said again, feeling like a broken record. He felt like a broken record, the same hateful, regretful thoughts flashing over again.

He was so stupid, so fricken stupid to forget dinner, who forgets dinner. It was a foolish mistake he was an idiot to take. He was given one task and because he can't complete the simplest of things, now has to sit here.

He closed his eyes, anything to rid the stupid beige wall with the smelly brown stain.

The more the horrible smell filled his nose, replacing the lavender ghost he preferred to fill his memory with, the more he cried. Wet, sticky, salty, tears fell down his face in waves. He discretely wiped his face, along with the small trickle of snot coming down his nose.

He could hear his father sigh.

"You know I hate punishing you bud, but you'll never learn."

"I know." Race whispered, shutting his eyes tighter.

His father didn't respond, just turned on the tv.

He's had worse, he supposed. Once it was five hours, he didn't like to think about that. His stomach ached and his eyes hurt from squeezing them. The spiders returned to their webs and watched him. He guessed they were laughing at him, laughing at his weakness.

All he had to do was stand there unmoving and yet it felt like dragging nails through his head, tearing through his skull. He could feel his brain drip down his back and wondered if it would be less painful than this. At least then he'd be dead.

Time looped onto itself like fabric, and after 5 horse races, his father finally set him free.

Race immediately ran out into his room and squeezed his pillow, his eyes wide open on his blue walls, he had painted them after his first walk stand through.

A knock was at his rooms door, he got up and opened it to see his dad, holding a new beer.

"You know I love you squirt." His dad said, handing him a beer.

Race smiled slightly and took it, "I love you too dad."

His dad nodded off and closed the door. Race took a giant swing from the bottle and laid back down on his bed, he looked through his window to the stars, and stared at them until he fell asleep.