This is the big surprise story that I posted that art for a few days ago. I was going to post it all as one, but I just can't right now.
I haven't been feeling too good mentally, and I just wanted to get this out.
Enjoy, I guess.
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As a kid, Kel never had anything to worry over. He just existed, and he was happy to do so. His parents loved him, his brother loved him, and he was happy. He had everything he needed.
He could run around laughing. He knew how to talk to others. He could smile and actually be happy. He wasn't afraid of being an outcast.
But, growing up changes that. He didn't like running around anymore, it was tiring. He didn't know how to talk to others, he'd almost completely forgotten how to use his voice. He could smile, but he only felt empty when he did. He wasn't afraid of being an outcast, he already knew he was.
His parents hardly paid attention to him, too focused on his little sister and older brother. And his brother wasn't at home anymore. He wasn't happy. At all.
He tried. He really did. But, staying the energetic, oblivious kid you used to be is difficult and exhausting. And it's impossible to do anyways. Once you grow up, you can't go back. No matter how much you want to. No matter how much you wish you could.
At this point, he was pretty sure that life was pointless. That he'd never get any further than this. He's told himself this multiple times, yet he always manages to keep going.
He doesn't know why he keeps going. He's useless, stupid, retarded even. He can't focus in class even if he tries, he always manages to get distracted or zone out in the middle of instruction. And when he'd ask the teacher what he was supposed to do on an assignment, they'd just tell him to read the prompt given. Even though he'd read it at least ten times over. And then people would make fun of him for not understanding.
He stopped asking for help a long time ago.
He hated himself. He hated everything about himself. His face, his body, his hair, his voice, his insecurities, his scabs and scars, everything. He hated that everything that touches his neck bothered him. He hated that he couldn't stop himself from picking at his scabs. He hated how people would make him feel bad over being afraid or anxious. He hated how numb and repressed he felt.
But he couldn't do anything about it.
That's just how life is.
He's imperfect and flawed.
And he hated it.
But, this one boy in one of his classes.
He was perfect.
His short, fluffy black hair. Soft skin, with no scars or scabs. Gentle and polite. He paid attention no matter what. He sat up straight, and kept his arms crossed politely in front of him on the table. He always dressed in clean, proper clothes, and was always properly bathed. He was quiet and reserved, on his own terms. He always kept to himself, but not because he was afraid of people. He never asked questions, but he always knew what to do. He always finished his work on time with no issues.
He was everything Kel wished he could be.
He was perfect.
Kel wanted to talk to him, but he'd probably be disgusted by him.
So, he never spoke to him.
Until today.
"Today, we are doing group projects." The teacher announces.
