Of All The Broken People

Me, The Moon, and Twenty Cigarettes

DARKNESS HAD SWALLOWED up the sky above me, making the world below seem much more ethereal and fragile than it truly was. The moon, shrouded by frothy grey clouds, did little to dull this effect. Given that there were only a handful of street lights on my road, the whole place had a lonely, desolate atmosphere that made me feel like I was the last living thing in existence. I savored that feeling, basking in the priceless separation I had from all the things that would be back again in the morning to torment me. I knew that a moment in time couldn't be placed on repeat, but I wished so hard that it was possible. I wanted to live eternally in the fleeting hours between dusk and dawn - forever one with the darkness. Soon, the night would draw to a close, and the sun would rise along with my fears.

I took one last drag from my cigarette before stubbing it out against the gritty roof tiles. I tucked the butt away in my jeans pocket to be lit up again later. No use in wasting a good cigarette. I scooted over toward the edge of the roof, wrapping my fingers, which were numb with cold, around the gutter and swinging down onto the windowsill beneath me. The window was open, as I'd left it, and I dropped down onto the carpeted floor with ease. The red numbers on my digital clock read 5:32 AM.

Hastily, I wriggled free of my black skinnies and pulled on a pair of Pokemon sweatpants before turning out the light and flopping onto the mattress. My mother would be leaving for work in twenty minutes, and I knew that she'd be coming in to check on me any minute now, as she did every morning. Always the same time, like clockwork. That's all there was to my mother, really. A messy series of routines that played out nearly the same everytime. One of those routines included visiting the local bar after work and drinking till she was wasted. She would, in subsequence, return home reeling, sometimes with a man on her arm, in which case the two would retreat to her room for the rest of the night. It had been that way since her shitty boyfriend, Brock, finally left for good. 

I let out a slow breath as her footsteps echoed up the stairway. The door to my room creaked open, and I shut my eyes, feigning sleep. Seconds ticked past before the door squeaked shut again, and my mother's footsteps clicked off down the steps once more. I listened for the loud clang of the front door closing before sitting up, green eyes gazing at the grey shadows pooling across the floor and the walls. Sometimes I wished I could melt into one of those shadows forever. I wondered to myself if my mother would question my absence; if she'd be grieved when she came to check on me tomorrow morning and I wasn't "asleep" in my bed.

"Most likely not," I whispered aloud to myself, leaning back on the palms of my hands.

In the distance, there was a thin, pinkish line spreading across the horizon like a flood, and I knew it was time to face the day.

With one last longing look at the shadows, I forced myself up off the bed, tracing through the motions.  Already I was day dreaming of the next lonely rooftop night - just me, the moon, and a pack of Menthols.