Most nights end like this

Saturday Night

Reese waited until 2 am, Malcom had only just fell asleep half an hour ago, Reese laughed to himself that he didn't have to stay up that long to study, the humour of the comparison lost on him. He hopped out of the window, going straight to his bag. $30 and he was off into the night.

Wind blew in steady gusts, hitting his face, carrying the smell of bushes in gardens. The neighbours' sprinklers accidentally left on, sprayed over Reese, coating his body in a soothing wash. His bike leaving marks down the street, he closed his eyes and smiled. So much was wrong in his life, but the taste of freedom always brought a smile upon his face.

He cycled until he could feel his legs no longer, straight out of town, right to the next district. He was u known here, he wasn't an idiot, or a loser, he was just Reese. He saw a party house. Toilet paper streams, small fires of passion between wayward youths litter the lawn. Gnomes stolen from other houses thrown and smashed. Red solo cups littered, pouring onto the road and street. He dumped his bike in the house's neighbours lawn.

Stepping through the door, a shitty $2 disco light next to a wannabe high school DJ sat at the end of the living room to the left. On the right side was the kitchen. This family was clearly rich, they had the good beers, and the name brand spirits. He struck gold. He grabbing as much as his bag could possibly hold, not caring about how bad the alcohol was. A bubbly beer hit his throat as he opened a can and swallowed it in a second, then a second on, then a third one. A whole pack of beer sits in his stomach, weighing down on his underaged body. He walked around the house, looking for other things, he finds cigarettes on passed out bodies, taking them. Wallets left out or hanging out of pockets, the easiest targets. 'These people are idiots,' Reese smiled. He ran all around the party house, looking for more to take. $40 up, full of booze and swimming in cigarettes he walked out.

He now had everything he wanted and $70. He went over to his bike and picked it up, sit standing on it so he can chug another beer.

Speeding his way home in a drunken mess, his alcholohilc bliss beamed a smile. He's flying down the road, a straight downhill bend. He doesn't watch the road, no point when there's the sky. The nights beauty enveloped him,no distractions. A big plane flies overhead, Reese absently waved to it's flashing lights. He glides further down the road, joy filling him. Low inhabitions, not a care, everything stops mattering for a second. He is happy.

Spotting a posh house, he stares. The ivory columns support the grand porch, a faint off-white glaze coats the house. The fountain in the front runs with the soft sound of waterful. A front yard covered in pebbles and luscious grass. Enchanted by a life of what could be, a game of make belief, he wonders back, jumping their well kept unrotted fence.

Staring at the stars through the dark waters of the sky, a perfect reflection with mild rippling from the wind. Peaceful happiness is just a corner away, yet he's stuck at the poverty line. Negative thoughts creep their way in, the buzz is already letting down. He grabs his bag, taking a swing of a smirnoff bottle.

The cold water splashed his face, refreshing him from the hot summer. Light wind hitting his face as he lifts himself out, his body drenched. His shirt sticking to his body. The water's warm, leaves float around in the pool, glazing over the top. He goes back in for another jump. Gleefully smiling, in his small alcohol infused fantasy, in his happy place.

In a blink, a light can be seen through sheer curtain of the upstairs room. Hushed whispers pour from the open window ahrlead. A sharp sound of a shotgun clocking echos through the yard. Reese in a blind hurry picks up his bag. Sprinting our of the garden. Loud, tired shouts of an old man echo throughout the night.

Not even a look back. Grabbing his bike and fleeing the scene. He flees his dream. Being shoved out of his fantasy, being shoved out of a better life. He's Reese again. The negative thoughts are no longer held up by the damn of hopeful delusion. Inadequacy and hatred flood into his mind. 'One night, God dammit,' he angrily spoke through gritted teeth. Looking to his hands he sees the bandages wet and half fallen off, crappy cheap quality bandages. A cheap fix for a bigger issue. A cheap fix for pain.

Singing the minty mint song over and over in an attempt to stop the constant surge of thought running through his head. The betrayal of his mind by his psyche. An impossible task to stop as his goal was the change the unchangeable. To go back to ignorance. To go back to the night before, before he had truly confirmed the end all of his loser status. Not only was he unlikable, but also gay. Even krelboynes are cooler than that. The images of that lady overlay the vision of the road, a dangerous distraction. The loud music of the night replayed like a broken record. The girl staring him in the eyes, moving her lips, the way he didn't enjoy it. He was friendless, absolutely friendless. Thinking back to the jocks

Chucking his bike on the ground he walked on the cracked concrete into the house. It's dilapidated furnishing had layers of dust and mold. The smell of rot lingered each crevice. Walking up the creaking staris, having to mind the gaps of were the wood has fallen through, he.akes his way to the master bedroom.

A mirror smashes as he plunges his fist into it. In an attempt to release his emotions the only way he knew how. His chest heaving as his hands buried deeper into the glass, shards flying into his face, dotting his hair. Morning light shines off the shards, a kaleidoscope effect painted on the walls. The bandages proving futile, covered in red showers, falling off bit by bit. Reese kept going. Angry at the world.

'Everyone thinks they know me. Everyone thinks I'm an idiot. No on likes me,' he repeats. He mumbles about friends, chewing on his cheek until it starts to sweel and bleed, 'even when I'm nice they don't notice they always think I'm the worst then get angry when I'm how they think I am.' Attmepting to convince himself from the truth, 'they're just jealous, jealous that they aren't as cool as me, that they aren't as tought as me, that they aren't as strong as me, that they aren't as-' he stops, he has no other reason. Launching his right fist straight to the mirror it smashes past the chipboard backing, through the drywall. A whole into the other room laid out infront of him. His hand throbs, not as much as his heart does.

Violence, his only way to feel better, to feel worth something wasn't working well anymore. He was still so angry, so depressed. Falling back onto the bed a dust cloud floats up. Puke lines the duvet sheets, soaking into the mattress. Wiping his mouth off with the hoodie Francis gave him, he reached for his bag. Cracking bones could be heard through each movement of his finger. He grabbed a beer, tossing it down his throat.

Sliding down the gutter, he jumps back onto his bike, cycling back to his house.