Burnout //Billie Joe Armstrong// #Wattys2017

Burnout

I can remember that one Sunday evening all started off in the poker table room of the punk house I had just moved in. It was nothing more than a shaggy, old building in a torn-up neighborhood. The walls had cracks in them and the windows were smashed. Inside, the place was a giant mess; beer bottles, needles, cigarette stubs and porn magazines lay everywhere and every room slept at least six crusty punks, just like me.

The place was overpopulated, to say the least.

Since I was new, and never too fond of social interactions with anyone really, I stood alone against the crowd. And the crowd there was big.

So to escape the clutter, I decided to dwell the streets right after drugging myself to the bone. I sat on the floor of the poker table room, a magazine placed on my lap. The white, vast substance was gradually turning into powder as the card in my hand carved through it. The coke entered my nostrils and after a while, I felt my heart racing out of my chest.

I got up, unaware of the mess I left behind between the mess that was already present. Wearing my torn denim jacket, I somewhat, raging with energy, bounced through the front door and into the night.

The cold outside gave me a kick, and I felt more alive than I had ever had before. I had finally escaped my parent's house, where I was confronted with my obnoxious attitude almost every day. Being the daughter of two well-paid doctors, I had had lots of pressure on me, almost my entire life. Every underachievement had weighed me down more, and eventually made me who I was.

I was Rayne Jackson, a 19-year old delusional little shit that couldn't care less about anything or anyone and with that attitude, I entered the nearest Underground, ready to go anywhere I wanted to with the very little money I had with me.

As I walked down the steps, people around me got closer and closer and I felt a sense of claustrophobia raging through my body. It was as if everyone was scanning me from the depths of my shoes all the way up to my face. It irritated me to the bone and I felt like knocking everyone to the floor. Who the fuck did they think they were, trying to steal the silence away from me again?

Aggravated, I turned right into a less crowded area of the underground. The silence that washed over me was overwhelmingly calming and after taking a deep breath, I felt the anger leaving my body again. I waked over to the big map that showed all the other undergrounds of London to check where I would go, but the colored lines seemed to be going everywhere and I couldn't put my focus on anything.

I felt I was getting irritated again. Irritated by the stupid map with the moving lines. Who the fuck makes maps like that!?

All of a sudden, I heard someone behind me. "Stupid map, huh?" the voice asked. I didn't want my peace to be disturbed again, but I felt relieved by the fact that I wasn't the only one who had trouble reading the damned thing.

I sighed and turned around. Now in front of me was a guy that seemed about my age. His hair was brown and messy; cute, but nothing much special. But his eyes were so deeply emerald green, it felt as if they were staring right into my soul. I could feel myself begin to panic, what if they actually did?

"Hi, my name is Billie Joe Armstrong" the guy smiled as he reached out his hand. "You can call me Billie, if you like".

"Rayne Jackson" I replied hesitantly, shaking Billie's hand.

"Do you also feel as if everyone is staring at you in here? It's so eerie" he then said.

His remark made me panic even more. How could he know I was thinking the same? No one knew anything about me and definitely not some stranger I had just met. What if he had been observing me all this time?