If you opened the door to the farthest room on the left of the counseling building, this is what you would see: A middle aged man with a brown, scruffy beard wearing a pleasant, but thin smile and circular glasses that make his friendly brown eyes bigger than they seem. Across from this man sits a boy with angry, blue spikes for hair and apathetic hazel eyes. The man watches the boy expectantly as the boy crosses his arms over his skinny chest.
What you don't see: The thoughts inside their head.
Mr. Reeds: Come on, won't you just hurry up and draw the picture of me already so I can get home.
Mr. Reeds smile falters.
Dare: Kill him. No. Kill him. No! Kill him already. I can't. Why not? Stop.
Mr. Reeds sighs softly and pushes the paper gently towards Dare who refuses to even pick up the pencil anymore. He has broken it. Five times. The pencil is a small stub now.
"Come on, Dare," Mr. Reeds coaxes him.
Dare swiftly snatches the pencil and draws the letter 'X' on to the paper. He grips the pencil so hard and draws so deep that pencil tip breaks again, which causes the tired counselor to sigh once more. Loudly this time. He checks his watch. Just past six o' clock. He has been sitting here for an hour.
"I guess we're done then," Mr. Reeds says, voice slathered in fake cheeriness.
Dare stands up forcefully so his chair clatters to the ground and he just simply walks out of the room, leaving Mr. Reeds to chase after him.
Dare: A sad case. Traumatized by what he did to his family. He didn't used to hear these angels in his head. They weren't always there. The fire permanently burned them into his brain for eternity.
Mr. Reeds: An over-worked man with so much more in common with Dare than he realizes.
YOU ARE READING
Nothing from Something
RandomThis is a story that was pulled from the inner core of my brain. I honestly don't know what it's about. It's just a jumble of thoughts I had and wrote down.
