The Concept Of Okay

(1.)

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Euphoria.

A deep sensation of elation ran from the blue if his fingertips, to the ends of his dark hair follicles.

His body propped against the the stained hallway wall, one hand harshly running through an array of brown locks; the other tracing fantasized shapes that danced in the stale air.

Grey...

Soft eye lashes fluttered over half lidded bloodshot eyes. Every few moments they would shut completely, leading to an involuntary head jerk, messing up the shapes.

He needed to sleep.

Monday. Tuesday. Wens-

GREY! Dude there's something wro-

Jesus. It had been over a week since he'd last slept over twenty minutes or so.

He could always just catch a ride back home; his mother had said-

No!

He sighed in discontent at the very thought of going back home.

Shit. He knew better then to reminess about his parents when he was tripping. A bad journey down nostalgia avenue could fuck up a whole trip just like that.

Fuck. Fuck! Grey wake the fuck up man-

What was that one blonde's name...

Lauren or Larissa. No it was something... Something...

Lainey!

Oh god that was a nice thought.

His head fell from the safety of his hand and onto the sharp points of his knees. He didn't notice.

Lainey, Lainey, Lainey.

He wet his chapped lips at the thought of her soft honey hair that fell down her back in thick waves.

Had he kissed her tonight?

Yes... Because she had put the X under her tongue and-

We need to call someone-

Fuck I don't know!-

Okay, okay. I don't want to get locked up either but-

Fine! We'll drop him off at his parents house.... They won't know who he was with.

Fuck you! Of course he'll make it! Come on, help me get him into the car-

Damn that girl was something.

She could help him sleep if only she was still here.

Here...

Here was a strange place that had no prior existencing history of being a 'home'. It was equipt with walls clothed by peeling pink paper and an old, leaky roof; a livable place if needed, but it had seen too much to ever be recognized as a 'home'.

Abuse stained the hallways red with anger and violet with depression. Vintage brown carpet peeled back at the edges in unattractive frays, revealing hard wood floors penetrated with deep unforgiving scratches.

He didn't like to look at the walls or floors; he didn't like to look anywhere in the house. Everyone else pretended it was a castle; they pretended not to see the dispair and dark hurt.

He didn't like to pretend.

If able, his fingertips would have pulled at the roots of his dark hair at the thought of the word.

'Pretend'

Everything was always one big game of pretend. Lets pretend to be one big happy family and put on our smiley faces and comb our hair back and be perfect little manicans.

Let's all just pretend that we aren't just as fucked as everyone else. LETS SHOW EVERYONE HOW FUCKING PERFECT WE ARE.

What the hell! Fuck can't you go any faster he's getting worse!-

By now he was vaguely aware that his body was no longer propped against a cracked hallway wall; though, nevertheless his mind still lay on the dirty carpeted floor.

The air that blew in his face reminded him of sailing.

He'd never been on a boat before; the closet he'd came was a rickety little fruit crate that had been a make shift house when he was around five years old.

Oh how those stupid women in his mothers book club had pointed their noses towards the birds.

They were just overjoyed at the sight of the young boy who chose a box over a new, special edition, BB gun bought straight from the factory.

He loved his crate; founded beside his trash can awaiting the arrival of the dreaded dump truck on the first day of spring.

Oh man how he loved that box.

The BB gun was always going to be a BB gun, but that crate was a different story.

On Monday it was a fire engine; Tuesday a a turtle shell; Wednesday a cave full of vampire bats!

And on Thursday... The rickety old fruit crate was magnificently turned into a speed boat, equipt with a horn that sounded alike with that of The General Lee's from The Dukes of Hazard, and a yellow paint job.

It was common knowledge to the boy that a boat is not really a boat with out water, so the afternoon of his mother's book club lunch, he found time to slip away.

It was a sight to see. A small boy in dress clothes carrying a crate as big as himself through a meadow of ragweed, leading to a small crick of running water.

He knew one hundred percent that he was under no circumstances suppose to be in, or anywhere near the crick.

His mother and father didn't like him to play outside in the meadow; it was dirty.

Ignoring the nagging sensation that picked at the back of his brain, the young boy placed his box into the water and sat in it.

The crate sunk, making a sort of dam, blocking the water from running.

The boy crouched down so only his eyes up were visible. Pudgy fingers gripped onto the sides of the makeshift boat, as the beholder observed the way the water flowed... Or more so didn't flow.

Grey, you asshole, I fucking told you man! Don't mix the pills. And what do you do?! You go and fucking mix-

His crate was gone... Where did it go....

He tried to remember but suddenly his mind grew thick with fog and heaviness. He was cold. The shivery kind that made toes tingle and teeth chatter obnoxiously.

Oh god his head was filling up with cold, dark fog. He was coming down... But it wasn't supposed to feel like this. Something was wrong. This didn't hurt. He just felt empty.

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Carter looked back once more at his unconscious friend.

Wake up you stupid sonofabitch. Come one Grey...

The babbling had stopped which was good, but so had any sort of communication. Grey had fucked up this time; oh god had he really fucked up.

The other boys ran back down the driveway and to the car, where one of them started it and opened a door for Carter.

Taking a deep breath, the boy rang the door bell a multitude of times until a light inside the giant house turned on, causing him to run towards the car and speed away back towards their own 'home'; leaving Greyson Rivera unconscious on his front steps.

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