Hanging

Kids, i'll see you later

I want you to show me every twisted, frightened thought you've ever had. I want your eyes to crack my bones; i want your words to tear my skin apart.

Click of heels along the pavement of the lonesome town that has decreased population rapidly over the years. Fog that lies throughout the streets, his eyes were pulled to the direction of the ground. His chocolate brown eyes which were glossy from the tears that were attempting to form but were boarded off by the anger he felt. The betrayal, the hatred, the agony, love he spat there was none anymore. Love did not fill this town, it didn't even get mentioned. Reaching down to his pocket, feeling a vibrate from his phone. The light that shined filling the thin air, only revealed a message from a women who done him wrong. Who had taken every ounce of strength he had left, who had taken the one thing he cared about. Clenching his fist around the phone, bringing it to his chest before his head fell, tears finally making there way to the surface and falling along his pale skin. Raising his head, before inhaling sharply and turning on his heels down the sidewalk which led to his neighborhood.
His vacant street, which lied no eyes but his own and no longer lied no heartbeat but his own. Walking the streets before making himself to his front door, the dark wooden door that was almost as beautiful as his eyes. Grabbing the knob and pushing the door open, what lied behind was nothing but crestfallen. Simple little home, which was not appealing to the eye, as he roamed over to his stairs heading up there slowly. As the noises they make echoed throughout the house, when he made it to his own room. He pulled out his phone, slowly pushed his hand on his door to close it. He dialed a familiar number and brought it to his ear, yet all he heard was a simple ring and then voicemail. He slowly turned, before setting himself on the bed. Tears pouring down his face, attempting to rub them away but the sorrow pilled up. He was alone.

September 11th 1977, was a year which had something come that was rather to dangerous for it's own sake. The birth of Aleksandr Nova Vitaly, the city was quiet and the night was lonesome. The fog that swept over the city was thick and made the air feel thin. It didn't feel right nor seem right, for the child to be born. The hospital was silent, yet the silence had overstayed it's welcome. His mother who was unnamed, she was faceless, she was like the mist that lied on this city. She was there and then she was gone, he couldn't say who his mother was, or what she was like. She was just as empty as the child that lied in her arms that night. Her words cut like a knife, and perhaps everyone was like butter. Easier and easier to destroy, simply fragile and seen to be useful but always useless. It seemed like days went by quicker and quicker throughout the year. By the time they had gotten out of the hospital to go to a place they called home, it was fast and broken. It didn't seem right at all, he wasn't meant to be here. This wasn't his home, never was. Screams constant screams, the ringing throughout his head was the only thing that helped block out the nonsense. Sometimes if he were lucky, they'd get so drunk they'd pass out and the fighting wasn't worth it. He never knew who his father was either, he was just as faceless as her. His voice was blur, and his movements were never heard, if he was lucky he'd be able to memorize his father's words. Mouth of a sailor and nonsense about work, even then he never knew where he worked and what he worked as. It just wasn't worth it anymore, to remember who his family was.

    One night, the silence was broken not only by constant yelling, but by crying and gunshots. Two gunshots that night went off, both at different periods. One was around midnight, when it went off the crying begun, and the second went off around ten minutes afterwards, then the crying stopped. The noise rung throughout the home, quickly then it was gone. To quickly to remember how destined their souls were bound, to forget that their child was here and alive, and to go live together somewhere else. Somewhere to fragile to acknowledge, somewhere to off to recognize. That didn't seem to important at the time, it all was looked at as being alone. The feeling that wrapped around him like his mother's arms, but yet he can't remember that either. The feeling was too far gone, so was his thoughts. Until he was almost six and his bed was hard, the sadness overwhelmed him and he couldn't understand it. The place he now had to call home was an orphanage, surrounded by other kids, some just as broken as him, some just as lost as him. Some if they were lucky, got taken out and gone somewhere beyond him. It was okay, it had to be.

    Some nights were so dull there that all you could hear was the ringing inside one's head. The ringing was continuous and loud, sometimes it led kids to kill themselves. Had to give it to them, they were rather creative when it came to the last resort. Poisoning, starvation, bludgeon, and hanging, it got rather creative when someone used cyanide poisoning. It was unbelievable when he was able to get it. He was a intelligent kid, big into science, lied to the owner of the orphanage that he was working on a science project. Her not being so smart, didn't understand what cyanide could do and what it was meant to do. She found out later that night, when he poured it into his drink and fell dead at the dinner table in nine seconds. Yet he was only 15 years old, had the guts to do something maybe even thirty year old wouldn't be able to do. The other was a ten year old, bashed his head into wall numerous times until he couldn't feel the pain anymore, blood was dripping from his head, but it made the wall covered in red. On the subject of bludgeoning, one 17 year old bashed a 13 years old head in with a hammer. He wouldn't stop, he just kept going and going until you could barely tell who the kid was. The kid was caught by the owner, she began to lose hope in everyone, once these types of things began to happen. Suicide, murder, you name it, they just lost hope.

    Aleksandr often thought of suicide, once he saw the kid kill himself at the table. When he collapsed it was odd how someone could do such a thing. Aleksandr was eleven when he was adopted, into the worst family known to man. A wealthy american family, whose head were so far up their asses he bet it was hard for them to see. He never got so belittled in his life, brought down because he may have not been the smartest kid, he was only eleven, yelled at and treated harshly. He may have just wanted to stay in the orphanage for the rest of his life. Even if he saw each kid one by one be taken out, every way possible. It was better than feeling the fists of his new father against his skin. Blood became rather amusing when all he could see was red. Screaming of his new mother ranging throughout his head, he had two other new siblings who beated him down as well. Making fun of him because he couldn't speak english that well, mocking him and smacking him around. It really ticked a bomb inside him, stirring up the boiling water, he didn't want to be here. Now he felt exactly what those other dead kids felt, this house was a mess, pity feast for those who look down upon others. Who have no self respect and only feel strong when those under them are a mess as well. He was going to be left here to die, they didn't care for him. They never did, and they never will. These weren't good people, every time they spoke it cut like a knife and it wasn't worth his time.

    When it came around his birthday, it was as much loss as his first family. Everything was a mess, going to school was even worse when it came to the time of being bullied. Pushed around, laughed at, physically and verbally bullied was absolute hell. Going home was just as bad, it was getting better once he knew how to lock the door even without locks. And getting bullied at school dialed down once he joined football, and hell done a good job at it. Everyone enjoyed people like that, athletes, funny talented ones at the least. Aleksandr was only talented, yet he was quiet kept to himself and made sure everyone knew of that. He didn't like everyone knowing who he was, getting under his skin, he just enjoyed getting away from home every chance he had. In the changing room, while getting the chance to be alone to change, peeling off his shirt to reveal every bruise and scar. There were so many that it was eye catching, while someone would walk in on him in the changing room. They couldn't help but glance at the mess on his skin. Someone eventually told a counselor, which created a larger mess than before. Having more chaos being created at home, screaming across the dinner table and slamming of fists. Aleksandr couldn't help but zone out the noise, sitting in complete silence but the ringing throughout his head.