The Theory of Existence (Peterick)

1: The Notion of Existence (Part1)

There is a theory that nothing outside of your peripheral vision exists.

There are theories that everything is imagined or possibly just a dream that you or someone else is having.

There are even theories that suggest oxygen is a drug and this isn't an accurate reality that we perceive.

To the young Patrick Stump, who considered himself to be a bit of a philosopher, these were more than just theories to think about when he couldn't sleep at night; They were questions dying to be heard and begging to be answered. They wrapped around his head, suffocating his every thought. They ran laps in his little adolescent brain, desperate to be acknowledged. But Patrick didn't have any answers. No, just questions. And far too many of them.

However, his biggest concern seemed to be the question of his existence. He didn't focus too much on what the reason for his existence might be, but rather, he was far too overwhelmed with determining if he was alive... If he was real... If he could honestly say that he truly and undeniably existed.

As Patrick Stump stared at his reflection in the grimy mirror of a public high school bathroom, he couldn't get those thoughts out of his mind.
He looked at his ginger hair due for a wash and wondered if it was actually there or if he was imagining it.
He examined his round face and square plastic glasses, wondering if there was more substance to the fact that he couldn't see without them than just that he'd let himself believe it to be true.

He removed the frames from his face and wiped the sweat off the bridge of his nose.
Looking at his blurry self staring back at him, he sighed and cleaned his glasses as best as he could, wiping them on his off-white cardigan.

"Hey," came a voice echoing through the little blue bathroom as it entered accompanied by the rhythmic slap of Converse sneakers on the cold, hard floor.

Patrick turned as he slid the frames back onto this face, "Hey," already tumbling off his tongue, before he saw the dark haired kid emerging from the stall, already starting his conversation with the boy who'd just entered the room.

They turned toward Patrick, matching quizzical expressions inhabiting their all too familiar faces, as Patrick blushed beet red and scrambled to grab his book bag off the dirty floor and exit as quickly as possible before he could embarrass himself further so early on a Friday morning.

"Anyway," the kid who had just exited the stall began to speak, recapturing the focus as Patrick scurried away.

"What's up, Wentz?" Patrick heard as he left the two friends to talk since they were much too cool for him to even think of bothering trying to socialize with.

Patrick quickly ran to his locker, feeling he'd be safest there.

He prayed no one would notice the dorky kid with no friends, standing around awkwardly, but of course, someone had to come over and tap him on the shoulder as he put his book bag in his locker, causing him to jump, cringe, and brace himself for the torment all in a matter of a split second.

"Hey, Pat!" Came what was all too cheerful a voice.