Lost Boy

A person's smile is supposed to be pretty right? It reflects the happiness and joy in their life that made them smile. Their cheeks turn, their eyes light up. But this smile was much different. The smile that Anna Lexia wore on her triumphant face while she and her entourage marched down the hallway with two large Mountain Dew bottles that obviously smelled funny was not one that I would ever want to see again. I was on my way to the music room, and as far away from gym class as possible, knowing that if I went, if I wanted to, people would surely notice the bruises and the burns and cuts all over my arms and legs. The locker room was a shark tank and I didn't want to die just yet. That's for later.
So I walked. I took the east hallway, the one no one used and I trudged to the music room. No one in this school really cared about music anyway so no one was ever in there. I heard a group of footsteps attempting to walk quietly and i turned around. Ahh how could I have ever thought I would escape the daily humiliation of gym class. The polo and khaki clad group in front of me snickered at my clothes, and a leader made their way to the front of the crowd. A familiar face, Anna Lexia. She was nothing but a plastic Barbie doll with a little mixture of trashy. Okay a lot of trashy. Something else caught my eye. In her small manicured hands she held two large bottles of Mountain Dew with something in it that was probably the farthest thing from soda. Behind her, one of her minions, Trixie, held a bag of flour. I slowly looked up at her, pink lip gloss and hair extensions in all. "What do you want Anna Lexia?" She looked annoyed for a second but then she smiled and in her gooey sugary voice she said, "Oh nothing I just thought you'd look better with a little of this," she smiled and shook the bottles in her hand, the unknown substance swishing around inside. "And also I have a surprise for you," Anna said, and Trixie held out the bag of flour. "You'll look great when we're done. Boys, hold her for a second." Immediately I knew what was coming, and two of her meathead lackies gripped my scrawny arms and threw me against the wall. I almost cried out in pain. Almost. "We're doing to make you look handsome today. First to start with a shower." Anna said smiling. Her small, thin fingers unscrewed the cap of one of the bottles and she pulled it away from her body as if disgusted with what was inside. I felt uncomfortable being held against my will but there wasn't really anything I could do to fight it. And so I just let her. I let her pour a 2 liter bottle of probably Devan Presson's (her obnoxious meathead boyfriend) piss all over me. My clothes, a ratty old hoodie and jeans, were soaked. It burned. It burned so badly. The hot yellow liquid flowed into my eyes and mouth (which was being held open by Meaty #1) and assaulted my nostrils. I screamed, and Anna promptly stomped on my foot with her cleats. Hard. This was a warning, and if I didn't shut my mouth a much worse punishment would follow. I felt tears welling up in my eyes but I forced them back. These people aren't worth crying for.
Today when I got home, Dad hit me again. This time it wasn't with his bat and it was a good solid punch straight to my jaw. I remember saying, "I'm sorry Dad I promise I'll try harder next time," but have long since forgotten what I'm supposedly going to try harder on. He told me to shut up and proceeded to grab his half smoked cigarette from the tray on the table. He gripped my arm hard enough to leave bruises and hauled me off the floor. He smirked at me, and his intoxicating breath wafted into my nostrils making me repulse. Pulling me closer to him, he jammed the lit end of his cigarette into my arm, cackling bitterly as he watched my eyes begin to tear up. "Awwww, you wooldnt happen to be afwaid of fire?' he cooed. I refused to meet his piercingly drunken and furious gaze as he demanded an answer,
"Well?! Your sshtupid little imaginery friends arrrnt gonna save you now!" I started to cry.
"I'm so sorry Father, I'm not afraid of fire... it just burns," I said choosing my words cautiously. "Annoying wimpy little brat," Father hissed and threw me to the ground, "Useless screw up. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH THESE BILLS HUH? ARE YOUR LITTLE IMAGINARY FRIENDS YOU DREAM ABOUT GOING TO PAY THEM?!" I started to cry. My dreams tormented me more than he had. I would rather come home on his payday and be beaten to death than live through one of those horrifying images again. By then, there were four very dark red marks from where he had burned me and I hadn't waited for more to come. I scrambled to my feet and I half ran half crawled back to my room.
Once I had made my way back to my room, or at least what was left of one, I collapsed onto my makeshift bed (two tattered blankets and rolled up clothes that are too small). My small body heaved from the strain; I knew I had 2 broken ribs from when Father didn't receive his paycheck last week and my ankle still throbbed from when he had thrown me to the floor. Oh well, I thought, a sprained ankle won't make much of a difference. I'll just ask the nurse to excuse me from gym. I stared out my somewhat window, passed the broken glass and to the stars. That stupid, crumbling window would forever be my bittersweet love. The only love I had ever had the chance of knowing. Father had put bars on it without fixing the glass, preventing me from leaving the room. Why did I even like this window. It's a constant reminder of how I'd never escape this hell. Maybe that's why I loved that window. It lit a tiny glimmer of hope deep inside that I might be free someday. Hope is stupid. Why can't I throw a bucket of water on that stupid spark. Bittersweet. Perfect for lost boys like me.
I felt myself slowly drifting to sleep and I forced my eyes open. Not tonight. I wouldn't let the dreams come tonight. Never again. I started my usual routine to keep myself awake. I stood up and stretched as much as I could without wincing in pain. I've had the dreams for awhile now. One of my dreams started out with me hanging out with imaginary friends from school in my room, and then slowly each one would fade away as the night went on. By the time the last ghost had faded, I was tired and I went to sleep underneath my blanket. I love my blanket because i don't have a bed. And so as i slowly drifted to sleep, I heard an odd buzzing noise. I continued dozing off until i realized the noise was growing louder and Louder and LOUDER, in which I pulled my blanket away from my face and I looked at the ceiling of my cellar. A thousand if not more, buzzing, furious looking wasps flew around my ceiling threateningly. I'm utterly terrified of wasps. The immense amount of dread and mortification i felt swelling in my stomach made me light headed but the moment my head broke out from underneath the blanket every one of them shot down to attack. I ripped the blanket back over my head as quickly as possible but the little devilish monster's would not stop at that. They crawled underneath my blanket and by then i was thrashing and screaming. I flung my arms and legs out in every direction, hoping that it would make a difference in the inevitable pain i was about to receive. But no. They all paused for what seemed like hours before attacking me with their stingers. I awoke screaming and hiding underneath my blanket in fear that the wasps were on my ceiling. The sweat from my nightly terrors dripped down my neck and I took in a breath. Okay. I slowly looked up at my ceiling. Not okay. The wasps buzzed above my head but never stung me. Ever since, they had always been there. Every time I was in my room they were there. I tried to touch one because I had realized they had never seemed to notice me. My hand went straight through it. From then on, the wasps would appear on my ceiling to remind me that I am truly never safe in this house.
There were other dreams too. There was one with a boy like me. He had the prettiest blue eyes. We were at a playground and he had asked me to play with him. And so, me being the lonely child i was, i did. We swung on the swingset for hours and talked about the vibrant colours of the flowers and the trees until I noticed something. His eyes weren't there. They were just dark holes in his face that made the rest of his childish demeanor seem demonic. Then I noticed he didn't smile right. It was like his cheeks were cut open to resemble a smile. Blood dripped from the wounds. For weeks afterward I would randomly see the boy in a crowd or in the hallway at school. I stayed away from children with blue eyes like his.
And how could I forget? The spider woman. I had dreamt of this long ago, so it was almost as if she was an old friend. Minus the friend part. At first, it started out slow. Her pretty face lulled me to sleep. It was peaceful in the beginning. But then the beautiful woman would stand up and reveal her spider like bottom half. I remember being mortified but I was just too sleepy to protest. While I slept the woman would trace her spider legs down my stomach to find the perfect spot to tear my stomach open. There was so much blood. I awoke in the dream screaming and she'd just hush my screeching. The spider lady would lean down, and feast on my organs. I couldn't look. The agonizing pain was enough to drive me insane in my sleep but seeing the pretty woman's face covered in my blood did not help. I would wake up back in my cellar with an excruciating pain in my stomach. Then I would look around, and find the woman asleep on the floor, her spider legs crumpled against her body. I had this dream a lot as a child.
Tonight would be no less terrifying than the rest. I couldn't keep myself awake. I heard Father screaming about a gun but I didn't care in that moment. Little did I know he was asking me to get the gun and shoot him. I'm sorry Father, I thought, I promise I'll be a good boy tomorrow and I'll do whatever you want. For now, I must sleep. My body dragged itself back to bed and slumped to the ground. "Goodnight Father," I whispered. Then sweet blissful sleep took me into it's alluring kingdom of dreams. And nightmares.
...*A short time period later*...
"No...NO!" I screamed. "No no no it's wasn't supposed to last this long I'm sorry Father!" I awoke suddenly in my bed. Sweat dripped from my forehead into my eyes. Nightmare. I heard Father walking down the stairs to the cellar and I threw myself back down to the floor and pretended to be asleep. His footsteps grew louder and louder until they started to sound like they were walking away. What? I scooted towards the door and I pressed my ear against it. I heard loud sobbing and heaving coming from the basement. "I'm so sorry, boy I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done this to you," my dad cried. The click of a gun. No....No..NO! I thought. No... NO! A gunshot rang through the house. I'm paralyzed. I can't do anything. No no no no no Father please don't leave me. I'm sorry I wasn't a good boy for you I promise I'll try harder for you just please please don't go. I felt myself begin to cry. He had been nice once. He was kind. He'd take me to baseball games, and he'd buy me ice cream. He'd tell me he loved me. I sunk to back down to the floor. All the strength in my body drained away and I lied there, staring up at my wasp infested ceiling. The boy appeared next to me and invited me to play. The spider lady tempted me with her oh so desirable motherly love. But I didn't want it. My body began to shake. I can't take this anymore. My chest heaved. I shook violently. "No... NO NO!" I sobbed. I screamed. I kicked at the boy with no eyes and at the spider lady's open arms. I couldn't breath. My vision went black. "No no NO!" I chanted in my head. I got up. I punched at the cellar door until my small fists bled. "Open you stupid door!"  I screamed, "Why can't you ever do anything right?! Open I need to find him!" I punched the wall once more and slumped back to the ground in defeat. "Why can't I do anything right.." I said solemnly as I drifted off into the blackness. I'm sorry Father.
The boy had collapsed to the ground and cried. His body looked exhausted as his small, bloody chest heaved. He wouldn't survive the night. The spider woman grabbed the nearest torn up blanket and draped it on the boy's small shoulder. The ghost, one who resembled a boy but his eyes we missing, told the wasps to quiet. Then he went and lied next to the boy, wrapping his small arms around the other's straining body. The wasps quieted and dropped to the ground. All was done. The nightmares would no longer haunt the boy. Not because he wouldn't live to have them, but because he had already surpassed the fear and the sadness and the pain. He had reached the Truest State of Despair. No sadness or pain could compare to the amount of sorrow the boy felt then. And so he sleeps. Forever.
Goodbye, Lost boy. And one by one, the nightmares faded away out that bittersweet broken window into the starry night.
Goodbye.