A Little, Black Book

Abyss

-with no desire to get out of bed, the sheets envelope you in their grasp. It's still dark out and you realize it's going to be the same shitty experience you call life.

You can't remember your dreams.

Of course, not everything was bad. You had two hours of sleep, which is two hours more than you deserve, you think. You smack your mouth and savor the mess of hot breath mixed with the wet saliva of your awful existence.

You have to get rid of this feeling. You muster up the courage and walk to the sink. As you start the water and begin to brush your teeth, you look at the mirror and see your reflection. An ugly mess of misery and resentment. The dark bags under your eyes are prominent. Not so much as the ugly scars from where your tormentors slammed your face on the pavement, but looks don't matter as much, do they?

You spit out and rinse your mouth out with a strong form of mouthwash. It's much closer to rubbing alcohol if anything, but that didn't concern you as much.

You go back to your room and put on your work out clothes. Simple clothes, really, but they get the job done. You unlock your front gate and and head out on your morning run. 

On the run, you pass by multiple houses still in their slumber. You begin to think about your personal life. Your miserable life that exists.

You think of all the friends that have abandoned you. All of those you know that put on a fake smile whenever you're around. All of those that do not like you, but put up with you.

They're the best friends you have. 

You stop at the stop light to take a breather. You see a woman who is also working out. It's not that big of a deal, but you wave over at her. She waves back. And now she thinks you're a creeper, or so you believe.

I mean, look at you. Of course you're a creeper. Who the hell works out at this hour and starts thinking that sort of thing?

When the walk sign lights up, you begin to run away. And you're making great time too.

You get back home and shower. After you shampoo your hair, you begin to masturbate. You think of that woman back there who was running along side you and you fantasize about having sex with her on the street corner while everyone is still asleep. Creeper.

You wash your body down and dry yourself off. You dress up to go to school. The school where they're waiting for you. 

But you're ready for them. Or so you lie to yourself.

You walk to school and see others already making their way. You call them "danwers" because they show up around dawn, and because you lack creative imagination.

They usually end up here because their parents work early and they got dropped off even earlier, or because they want to go to the bayou and smoke weed while they wait for classes to start. You're one of them. Dawners.

As time passes, the sun begins to show itself more, and in the same way, more students show up. "Twilight garrison" named after some stupid in-game item of a video game you play. A serious lack of imagination.

And they show up. Your tormentors. They act like your friend, when they want something. They want to copy today's homework. Of course, like the pussy you are, you give them your homework. 

Everything is fine. So long as they don't hurt you, you're fine.

Pussy.

And so classes start. You go about your normal day. You talk to your friends that resent you. You do the work that your teachers shove down your throats because they don't want to deal with you. Your tormentors beat the holy hell out of you for having wrong answers on the homework. You eat lunch with that one boy that always eats by himself because you think one good act of human nature will save you. You go about the rest of your classes, and you walk home because you're not skilled enough to be on a sports team after school. Not like anybody would want you.

You get home and you sit down at your desk. You begin doing your homework, because you know as soon as you turn on your PC, any form of productivity vanishes.

Homework is going well. You double check your answers to make sure what happened earlier today with your tormentors doesn't happen again.

Everything seems well, you think. 

It's not.

After it's all said and done, you receive a text from your father. He said he'll be working late, so go to bed early.

That's code for, he's sleeping with his coworker again.

You don't mind. Not. At. All.

You fire your PC and begin to play one of your favorite games. You say favorite because you occasionally play with some online friends another game. If that weren't the case, you'd play your ONLY game.

Time passes. Fast. Before you know it, it's already one in the morning.

You call it a night and head to bed.

As you close your eyes to attempt sleep, you feel something. Something sharp. You prick your finger on a razor. A razor you used to try and end your life.

Weak.

You set it on the floor and try to sleep again, but you still feel the sting of the razor. You clump it with your sheets and they get wet from the blood.

It's irritating. You try to get out from your bed, but you can't. You're frozen.

You try to say something, but nothing happens. From the corner of your eye you see a hooded figure. It doesn't move.

It just stands there in a menacing existence. 

If your sense were working properly, you could feel your heart race increase. You would feel the sweat from your disgusting face dripping down in a similar form to those stupid romance movies where the protagonist sheds a single tear.

Faggot.

The wall begins to take shape. Sharp teeth. Razor like claws. A cold wind covers your arms. Skinny, pale arms come and wrap you in their embrace. The broken nails scrape the walls and make your ears bleed.

They're taking you in. They envelope you in a glow. A glow you long for. You wanted this.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it's over. The sweat is still there and you feel scared. Night terrors are the worst.

Bitch.

You wake up at four in the morning-