Dylan

one

DYLAN SINCLAIR
-
14 years later

Boredom, it's a signal or feeling that lets you know whatever you're doing gives you no satisfaction. It can tell you one of two things, one being you aren't fully present and engaged with your current task, and two being that your task isn't meaningful to you.

Well, I'd like to add one more thing because to me typically boredom means trouble. There's nothing that raises my adrenaline more than causing havoc in the small town I live in. I'm one of the many teenagers here that keep the policemen on their toes. I give them a better workout than the gym ever could.

And I wholeheartedly mean to brag when I say I definitely cause the most trouble.

I used to have an acquaintance who was almost at my level though he was fostered and taken away from me and this wretched town and I was happy for him, he got out when it wasn't too late. Good, I definitely didn't miss him, that would mean I'd have to like him and actually value his company as an individual.

I didn't.

With him gone I was able to cause as much trouble without a moral compass harping down my back which is exactly what I was doing now.

With my bruised hand I picked up the spray paint bottle and started my mural on the only school in the district, the principal here honestly needed knocking down a peg or two. He should honestly be grateful for me taking time out of my evening to leave him such a thoughtful gift. Picasso himself would be jealous and I know that Dicaprio himself is taking notes.

Though this time I was hoping to get caught so I may have tipped off someone to call the police, now vandalism is a trivial crime that they wouldn't rush here for, arson, however, would have them come running like it was their homes.

I wouldn't actually set the school on fire and ruin the one place people here actually craved sanctuary from or somehow used to make something out of themselves, people here needed this shithole as much as the next and I wouldn't be the one to take that from them.

Though the alcohol and lighter in my bruised backpack would tell the police I different story, I hope they send out Jeremy and Walter, Tim is a bit too slow and would make it much easier for me and I do enjoy a challenge.

Lights suddenly light up the wall in front of me; show time.

Jumping off the railing my converse slapped across the wet concrete as rain poured down drowning me in the black hoodie three times my size. I could feel the water on my feet as it entered through the holes in my shoes. Hearing the thundered boots from behind me act as my radio only made my smile grow stronger.

This, the adrenaline, the rush was something I craved, others got off on drugs and alcohol but this was my addiction the thrill never got old.

"Dylan, just do us all a favor and stop running yeah,"

"Where's the fun in that Walter," I called back, followed by laughter that escaped before I could stop it.

A police car sped in front of me cutting off my path, I knew these streets like the back of my hand I could take off through the alleyway and jump over the fence but they would never catch me and boredom would return so I gave in. Though I couldn't stop because I'd been running too fast and would fly face first into the ground.