Scratching the Surface (Poems)

Contest Entry Thing

Two things:

1 - This is for a contest by MissAkariHamada I hope you like! :)

2 - This is not a poem. It's a short story that I wrote last year, but didn't publish. Please enjoy.

I love you all! Thanks so much for your support <3
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It's night when he enters the hospital.

The clock on the walk reads 11:45, its ticking, the only sound in the waiting room. The boy's eyebrows raise a little. He'd thought it was later.

He glances at the receptionist. Her eyes had snapped toward him the minute he'd entered, eyebrows furrowed with distrust. He supposes he can't blame her. His appearance would put any smart adult on edge.

Standing in the florescent lights, he looks out of place, almost alien. His black hair hangs over even blacker eyes, and two silver rings pierce his bottom lip. His jeans are dark, scuffed and rugged. A studded leather jacket is fastened up to his pale neck. In many ways, he seems more like a living shadow, then a teenager.

He considers asking the receptionist for help, but decides against it. Instead, he lifts his hands in mock surrender, and makes a big show of sitting down in one of the green chairs. The receptionist narrows her eyes even further, but says nothing. Soon, the door swings open again, and she is forced to talk to the incoming couple.

As soon as her back is turned, the boy makes his move. Slipping silently from his seat, he edges through the door that leads to the rest of the hospital, quickly loosing himself in the maze of hallways.

The slap of his black converse shoes on the tile floor is much louder then he would have liked, but he has no way to change it. He keeps his eyes trained nervously on the doors, but surprisingly, nobody comes. The boy is able to make it to the stairs unnoticed.

Slowly, he begins to climb, heading toward the wing where the overnight patients are kept. Only one room is occupied when he reaches the correct floor. He rests his hand on the door for a moment, pale fingers splayed, tense. Then, he pushes it open.

It's dark.

Too dark.

The only light comes from a window on the far end of the room, where moonlight shines dully down on a hospital bed. The boy edges into the room, easing the door shut beside him. He approaches the bed, and looks down.

The person in the bed is very different then his visitor. His hair is a bright blond color, and sticks up in some sort of half-mowhak. One of his arms is draped over the covers, the sleeve of a dark green button-up shirt covering his arm. To all the world, he seems peaceful, out of place in this shadowy room.

Above him, the boy's lips part, letting one sound escape.

"Why?"

The person's eyes open instantly, a startling blue color. He blinks at the boy above him, face flashing with first hope, then guarded caution. After a moment, he says, "You're not supposed to be here."

The boy grins savagely, without humor. "I asked you a question, Sunshine. Must I repeat myself?"

The person closes his eyes again, conscious of his bright yellow hair sticking up around him. Slowly, he says, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, my apologizes." The boy's tone drips sarcasm. "I didn't realize His Highness needed his beauty sleep. I suppose I'll come back tomorrow then? Would it help if I brought a lollypop?"

This seems to hurt the other; he winces. "No, don't leave. Please." He swallows, then mutters, "Look, I'm really sor-"

"You promised." The words cut through the air like a knife. "You promised, you little bastard. When I found you the first time, you promised to stop."

"I know" It's the other person's turn to smile, sadly, almost mocking himself. "And I did."

There's a pause. Then, fast as lightning, the boy grabs the other's wrist, and yanks the sleeve down. His lip curls at the skin underneath, tauntingly unbroken. All that's left are a few faint scars.

The person on the bed gazes up at his visitor. There are shadows in his eyes, that the boy hasn't seen before, or maybe chose to ignore."See? I'd never break a promise to you, man."

"Yeah?" The word is a dangerous growl. "So you didn't break your stupid little promise. You think it's alright, then? Perfectly alright to jump of a fucking bridge. So long as you don't cut, huh?"

The person winces, shrinking back into himself. "Listen, I-"

"No!" The boy bites off his words, tone rising to a dangerous level. "You listen. What were you thinking? Why'd you believe them? Because they 'love you'? They 'only want to help you'? Newsflash, Sunshine, they fucking don't! You asshole! Why didn't you call me? I would have talked to you. I would have come right over, you know I would. Don't you know I can't-"

He stops. The room is deadly quiet.

The boy stands there, in the dark hospital room, one hand clenched into a fist. His shoulders are shaking, and his expression is shadowed. One thumb runs over the top of the other teen's hand.

After a moment, the boy chokes out the rest of his sentence, voice cracking. "T-that I can't live without you...?"

A tear rolls softly down his friend's cheek, glistening like a diamond in the moonlight.

It's night when he enters the hospital

It's late the next morning when he leaves.