Almost fantasy (Gerard Way)

Northern Oaks

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This place was like limbo. Good limbo. Ethereal limbo, this town.

My back arches as I bring my arms above me, looking out the window. Outside is a forest of pine trees, swaying gently in the autumn breeze. They're upstaged by the singular northern oak that taps its reddening leaves against my window.

Fog dances at the treetops, the overcast darkening the sky. I yawn, taking all the air out of the room to fill my seemingly empty lungs. I think, if this were a movie, a gentle but melancholic guitar and piano accompaniment would background the scene. I can almost hear it, yeah.

I get up, the cold hitting my body as I place my feet onto the floorboards beneath me. I should look for a rug, probably.

I used to think a lot in the mornings, I used to daydream from the second I got up. I don't do that much anymore. The thought of having to deal with the day ahead and earlier than I have to experience it seems exhausting to me.

I press the button on my cd player, turning it on to drown out the noise of my family downstairs arguing with each other in the stress of getting ready for the day.

Maybe that's why I don't like thinking about my day, to avoid being stressed about it like they are. Maybe.

I get ready at my desk, my eyes drawn almost magnetically to the photos of my friends and I that sit on the wall above my desk. As if each time I pull them away they'll drift back on their own accord.

To those photos of the four of us. Me. Nicole. Julian. Hikaru.

I rip my eyes away and focus on my reflection, plaiting my hair into two plaits. Mindlessly, robotically.
I smile. And in the background, 'This must be the place' by talking heads begins to play. That song always lifts my mood, and as I listen I'm not so utterly apathetic to the thought of another day.

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I leave my house with a certain haste, kissing my mum as I leave and step out into the autumn air. I hop on my bike, my headphones in.

I begin to think again, like my mind is cleared, as I get outside, as I see others. Everyone feels that way, I'm sure, but I'm acutely aware of the fact that there's a shift that happens deep within me when I'm alone. A sort of mental silence. Radio silence. Static, until the rare occasion that I become aware of it in the moment.
Like a shadow in the corner of your eye, constantly, no matter how fast you turn your head to try and catch it.

But god, enough with all that.

On this particular morning, as I cycled next to my little brother Arlo, who was yapping on and on about the latest video game he'd played, two new figures stood outside the house four doors down. I recall something my mum blabbered about 'new neighbours from jersey' a few nights ago at dinner.

Two boys, one was taller than the other.

The shorter one, was a dirt blonde lanky boy. He looked the around the same age as Arlo. He had headphones in, plugged into his mp4 player, as he stared down and fiddled with it.

The taller one was really what caught my eye.

He had black hair. it fell messily around his face and it looked wet and greasy, like he never showered. He wore black jeans and a black shirt, a dark brown leather coat with a flannel peaking out, and a scarf that rested over his chin.
Nestled between his fingers was a cigarette, and his face had this resting furrow to it, like a grimace, but not at me or my brother, like he grimaced at the whole world.

He looked interesting. He looked like someone I'd get along with, someone I'd find easy to talk to.

Our eyes meet for a second. His are hazel.