Dark Silences

Nineteen.

...............

Rain beat down onto my soaking wet hair, which covered my eyes. The layer of cloud in the sky above me made the entire world look dark and twisted. To be honest, the world was dark and twisted. Not giving a fuck, I stepped into a puddle on the pavement. My black converse were now soaked through, but who cared? I looked down at the bandages on my arms and neck. Basically, I had turned myself into a mummy from ancient Egypt.

A few nights ago, I drank too much and drew a picture of myself and covered the entire of my arms and torso with tattoos. They were green, black and red. Cringing, I pulled back one of the bandages over my wrist and looked at one little tattoo, at the side of my wrist. It was a tiny black owl, with huge, round eyes. In the space around I had got knives tattooed and splatters of blood. Even though the owl was surrounded with blood and death, an innocent look remained in its' eyes.

I'd gotten it to remind me of someone. Someone I'd known a long time ago.

I ran my hand through my dark red hair and sighed. Slowly, I threw my cigarette onto the ground, not even bothering to put it out. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Deciding to ignore it, I turned the corner and started to walk up the rusted metal steps towards my apartment. All around me there were high-rise buildings, casting a shadow over my tiny existence.

As I reached my door, I sighed. There was a pile of broken glass outside my already smashed-up apartment. It was slightly depressing seeing the state my apartment had gotten into, seeing all of the stains on the carpet, which were either alcohol or blood, seeing all of the glasses and cigarette boxes scattered everywhere and just seeing the condition of my belongings was the most depressing thing of all. Nothing looked new. Nothing looked clean.

To be honest, the way I had generally looked for the past year matched my apartment.

I'd changed the way I looked recently, by dying my hair red and getting the tattoos, but you would hardly have noticed. I had the same pale face, same dark smudges under my eyes and same sour expression on my face. Over the years I'd matured a bit, but my life had stayed the same for the last twos years. Every day I'd wake up at maybe 1PM, have a cigarette, have a couple beers, wait for Jack, Brandon and Danny to come over, go hang around in the backstreets, get drunk at one of the bars, go home and get high with Danny if he wasn't in the emergency room, then hang around until 5AM, in which Jack and everyone go home, leaving me to listen to music and pass out on my sofa.

You know, the usual.

My front door opened just as I took out a cigarette from my pocket, and a voice called out. "Hey, dickhead. You home?"

"Jack, Brandon, Danny. What's up?" I said blankly.

"Dude, show us the tattoos!" Brandon burst round through the doorway. "Oh. You're covered in bandages."

"Take them off." Jack encouraged me.

"I can't. Have to leave them on until tomorrow morning." I shrugged.

"Don't be a pussy. We're going out tonight. You want to walk around like you just fell off of a cliff?" Danny asked.

I sighed. "Fuck it. Come here, help me get 'em off."