Writing Stuffs

Gone

The sky is dark blue, being lit up by stars. It isn't as dark as you'd think, though. Street lamps light the streets as I walk through the empty, small town. Anger boils the blood running through my veins, making my pale skin red and hot even with the chilly wind blowing past me.

My phone vibrates in the tight grip of my hand and I unlock it to see a message from a guy I'd given my number to a few days ago because I thought he seemed cool. We'd met online and he'd only recently moved here.

My thumbs moved quickly as I typed the thought that had just went through my head. It was ten o'clock at night, but with the immense amount of confidence from the anger I'd recently acquired I sent the message. I wanted to meet him.

Ten minutes later, I found myself walking towards a tall, dark figure. A bit of my confidence suddenly turned into fear, but not enough to make me turn around. My bare feet continued to step closer and closer to the figure until I came to a stop in front of, who seemed to be the man I'd been talking to.

A smile formed on my face and a giggle escaped my lips as he asked why I was barefoot. In my rush to leave my house there was no time for me to put on or even grab my shoes. The thought also hadn't crossed my mind as I ran out the front door. But I walked barefoot often, so it was okay.

As we walked down the street side by side, he told me about his life. He was a slight number older than me, but not enough to be my dad. Only enough to be my brother, if I'd had one. He'd graduated high school with a 4.6 GPA and scholarships for basketball. He was one of those kids that was smart but still did stupid things like a normal teenager. He'd landed himself in prison for possession of weed a couple years ago, and that was how he'd ended up here, living with his mother in an apartment above a used furniture store after he'd gotten released two weeks ago.

We'd stopped at a gas station, which I had to direct us to, so that he could get a drink. I was caught off guard when he asked what I wanted to drink and came out a few minutes later with the drink I'd asked politely for, plus his own.

After more walking, we found ourselves at a familiar park. Well, familiar to me, anyways. We sat down on a small, wooden bench where he lit up a cigarette and he continued to tell me about his life. I listened intently, as I scanned my eyes all over his body, trying to memorize every part of him. His short and curly brown hair that seemed to fall perfectly. The way his thin, pink lips formed each word he spoke. I couldn't help but notice his teeth, too, which were a bit worn. Probably from smoking, I assumed. I couldn't be sure, though. His voice—I couldn't even begin to describe it. It gave me chills that ran down my spine and back up. It gave me butterflies in my stomach. His eyes, though, I hadn't noticed until he pointed them out. They were a beautiful light green that captivated me. The left pupil was permanently dilated from an incident when he was younger of a kid throwing a rock at his eye.

He lifted his shirt to show me a scar he acquired from someone stabbing him while he tried to protect a friend. His white skin was a similar color to mine. His long torso was thin and I was able to see his ribs. It wasn't unattractive to me, though. The more of him I took in, the more beautiful I began to think he was.

When he was done I told my story, though not all of it. I told him about my family and my depression. I told him about my experiences with the world. I told him about school and how I was graduating soon. I honestly didn't tell him much, but it was enough for him to get to know me. Just as he'd done with me.

I'd found us smiling, our laughter echoing into the silent town. I felt my phone vibrate and I looked at it, finding messages upon messages. It was nearly three a.m. I'd been out with this man for about five hours. I didn't regret it, though.

I walked him home, knowing that he didn't have enough knowledge of the town to know how to get back. Our walk back consisted of a lot of playing and joking around, including him threatening to push me into a puddle. When we finally appeared in front of the store below his house,  we stood there for a few minutes. Neither of us knew what to say, really. Our night had come to an end, and neither of us wanted it to. We stared at each other, our mouths closed, arms by our sides, and feet planted firmly to the ground. Neither of us wanted to move. Finally, though, he stepped toward me with open arms. He engulfed my small body into an awkward hug and we said our goodbyes. I walked away as he opened the door to go in, beginning my walk home.

As I walked down the still quiet streets, smoky from a house fire only streets away, my phone vibrated once again. I opened it and smiled as I saw a message from the man I'd just left.

"I wanted to give you a kiss, but when I finally changed my mind and turned around you were gone. I hope I haven't lost the chance, though."