Placebo Feelings

Chapter 1 I'm not spending countless hours picking petals off of flowers

In the day's chill, he found himself outside the rear of St. Forger High School. Bricks wore a faded red hue, doors a mundane brown. The smoke from his cigarette curled like memories around him. Memories of his dad, fishing trips by the lake, where a cigarette would dangle from his father's lips as he battled with bait on a hook. His dad's presence was a whisper, a phantom in his mind. A phantom because his father had departed early, a casualty of his recklessness on a night meant for snacks from a gas station.

Nathan's relationship with his father was a mixture of fleeting moments and lingering emptiness. His memories were like fragmented photographs, capturing isolated instances rather than a coherent narrative. In the snapshots of his mind, he saw his father as a complex figure. There were days when they'd go fishing by the serene lake, casting lines into the water as if the ripples could carry their troubles away. Their laughter echoed across the water.

However, Nathan's father's presence was also punctuated by long absences. His dad was a man haunted by many demons, those relentless voices that convinced him his problems were insurmountable. The occasional distant look in his father's eyes puzzled Nathan as a young child, an enigma he couldn't unravel. Now, he understood that the lingering pain beneath his father's skin was something the man could never seem to escape.

Nathan tried to piece together a narrative of his father's life as he grew older. Conversations with his mother and scraps of stories from family members painted a picture of a man struggling with addiction. He understood that his father's flaws were intertwined with his humanity, a reminder that people are complex and flawed.

The night he died, he only had memories of his mother's tears. His dad, in his struggle, had shattered and alcohol had become his escape. Leading him down a very dark path. Nathan grasped the depth of that struggle; he, too, had tasted the bitter cocktail of being a burden, of feeling lost in a world that refused to extend its hand. Like a stray puppy in a sprawling park, he roamed, seeking a sense of belonging, of ownership.

With the condensation from his breath around him, Nathan found himself lingering behind the high school. Exhaling a puff of smoke, Nathan's gaze swept across the scene. It was a scene of stark contrast - him, the solitary figure, relegated to the sidelines, a smoker's rebellion against the institution's routine.

As the tendrils of smoke curled away, a pang of disconnection gnawed at him. He felt like an outcast, hidden from view behind the school. His peers were scattered inside classrooms or engrossed in their studies. The question haunted him: why was he still here? Did he have any place in this society? A mediocrity of sorts, a C-grade student grappling with nicotine addiction, his mind's attention never truly finding its home in the classroom.

A pebble under his foot became his unwitting target. He kicked it and watched it travel across the snowy expanse, imprinting a short-lived mark before stopping. It made him wonder - had he left any lasting mark on anyone? Had his presence ever rippled through someone's life? The silence around him offered no answers, and he accepted the silence as a response.

Then, she appeared. A girl wrapped in a black leather jacket with black jeans and boots, a stark contrast against the pristine white snow. Swiftly and purposeful, she entered the school, seeking refuge from the cold in the sterile, lifeless hallways. Nathan's cigarette found its way to the ground; its ember extinguished as he crushed it underfoot. With a fluid motion, he rose from his spot, brushing away snowflakes that had clung to the back of his jeans. The cold seeped in slightly, a tangible reminder of his brief escape.

The bell echoed, the clarion call of structured time. He knew he'd likely earn detention for his tardiness, a penalty for his detachment from the usual rhythms. He cared little about the consequences; and had become used to apathy. The girl he had seen walking in now stood at a locker, retrieving books with practiced ease. Her black leather jacket had disappeared, making her less recognizable. But the memory of that jacket hanging in the locker allowed him to identify her. Yet fate intervened in a chance twist as she turned abruptly and collided with Nathan.