Silently Drawn

Prologue: Haushinka Katotoku

The classic "new girl" story line, isn't it?
Isn't it like the rest of those goddamn cheesy ones where a sweet blonde girl steps into some lonely boys life while he sits in a dingy chair; probably infested with gum below its top?
Then she gracefully walks in through the old wooden door? Then the high school sweethearts
kinda imitate Grease's storyline a bit and stay with each other until they get sick of one another?

Yeah right! I fucking hope thats not what you were lookin' for. If ya were, why don't you go away, alright? Forget it! You aren't worth my time anyway.
And hell if you're wasting your life lookin' for that.

There is no such thing as the "perfect" story just for you or anything. Some stories have too many words and stuff in them and all. So much words that it really makes you think about who the fucking wanko was that made the book.
Some stories are all curse words and sex. 
But all stories have their cheesy shit. All that cheesy, corny, food product-ey stuff.
Stop fucking shaking your head!
Im not really good with words and all.

This story, I want you to know; is different from the others you read.
I think. I'm not sure.
But I'm pretty damn sure,
because this one is a real story.
A real goddamn story, alright?
And yeah, yeah! I guess she's a new girl and all and I'm that confused sonuvabitch boy who is only helpless and confused. But fuck! Shut your goddamn thoughts. Y'know, I can hear everything.

You listening now? Alright...

My name's Billie Joe Armstrong. You'd think I'm nothin' special if you had no idea who I was. Typical lost boy. Nothing special. But everyone seems to tell me I am. And sometimes I  don't believe it. people seem to enjoy me though i don't know why. Im Nothing special.
Although I've made it more far in life than I have ever expected.
'Thought i'd be dead by now.
But i'm not. I'm still breathing.

I'm 40 years old as of today. Happy Birthday, right? Understatement.
Today, Haushinka Katotoku died 25 years ago and I recall her still.
Today, I didn't eat or move and I recall her in her silk dress.
I only would glare at the ceiling as if it was the disease that murdered her.

Twenty Five years ago you were my everything. Only hours ago I held you.

I let my aching head fall to the right and watched a car roll by my window and realized I wanted to get into an accident. I wanted it to be catastrophic. I wanted the ceiling to collapse on top of me like her lungs collapsed in my arms. I wanted everyone else to be fine; perfectly unharmed. But I wanted to get hurt.

Not to die, just hurt enough to wake up to the smell of a musty hospital a month or two later. I want to get hurt enough to realize how badly I don't want to die. I want something to hit me in the fucking face and show me that life is worth living.

But every breath I take today I feel guilty.
When i could be sharing those breaths with Haushinka.

I only wished for the sun to rise with her chest.