The Gothic Portrait

I Found A Title Wave. ☹

Cigarette scars and broke, drunken heart's were Simon's favorite Tuesday night family accumulating. The constant scowl-full insults lashed around like a whip denoted to hurt each other was no news to him. He laid in his room, leaning over the edge of his bed with his head pointing up. His stare blissfully getting disoriented in his white plain ceiling, where he had stuck glow-in-the-dark lights with his younger brother who'd he perpetually call a cry baby. The homely thing would make a fuss if Simon just so closed a door in his face. It was quite the sight. The visual perception of slimy boogers sliding down Elijah's nostrils to fill up the corners of his mouth would've been gross to some, especially when the tween would swipe his tongue pass them in order to accumulate them up. But the dried, wet tear drops down his cheeks and immensely colossal, red, puffy eyes kept Simon regaled on days like these. But, other days like these couldn't be preserved by canvassing the pain of others. Days like these he'd burn himself in hope to take thought away from the fact that his family was drowning. Days like these the phrenic conceptions, self deprecating thoughts wouldn't leave his mind alone; they tormented him. Days like these when he felt disappointed. What about all the songs he'd promise that he'd keep swimming? The ones that saved him when he wasn't so sure he'd survive? Elton's train of thought was interrupted when a rough knock came to his door. At first he'd ignore it, not bothering to leave his comfortable position just to answer to imbecilic incoherence. The knocks kept coming, it seemed whoever it was, was having an extravagant amount of fun being a child. Determinately dragging himself off his bed, Simon scowled loudly to let whoever was knocking know that hell was coming.
The soft knock on the door came to a halt as anon as it was swung open. It was Elton's mother. "Come down for dinner, please, Honey? I made roast beef, some corn and I even put in a few pieces of sausages just how you like." The diminutive sunshine from her rounded Hazel eyes had drowned. The sun had set and Simon wasn't sure if there'd be a sunrise. Dried up tears tainted her soft cheeks and he endeavored his best to ignore them. Her warm hand wrapped around his and she tangled their fingers afore bringing his knuckles to her lips. Her rosy lips osculated them as she attempted to wash away the pain she knew he felt inside him.
"Okay." He spat out. He knew it wasn't her fault, but he couldn't help but blame her for not taking them away. Though, he didn't bother realizing how hard things were on her side as well. And, that if they left they'd have no one to support them financially. He watched as his mother flinched at his raise of tone. A mother, scared of her own son. Simon wanted to stand there and call her pathetic before shutting the door, but he didn't want to crush the small delusion of happiness she had left. So, he nodded before slowly inching the mahogany door and creating a barrier between him and the world.
Simon slumped over to his bed, but not before stopping to take note of his appearance in the dark, wooden mirror that laid against his white colored walls. He was a simple looking boy. 5'9, an average built. Other than his lanky stature, he was fairly skinny. He slouched too much, but he didn't care. Simon had a rosy pale complexion, olive colored eyes with long eyelashes. Small, pink lips he hated because his brother often made fun of him and said he looked like a little girl. Dark brown, curly locks sat on top of his head. It obstructed his view, and no matter how many times he'd push them away, they somehow always bounced back. He groaned, seeing the small ketchup stain on his sleeve, deciding it was far too dry to attempt to get off and he continued his trail to bed. Small hums emanated from his throat as he stood in front of his bed frame, knees poking against it. His small gut feeling caused him to raise his eyes, and he looked over across his window to the neighboring town house. It was pretty, it looked vintage. It was made out of red bricks, and under the windows laid square pots filled with lilies and daisies. Simon's eyes widened, as his green orbs locked gaze with a pair of blue eyes that stared back intensely.
Simon's dark brows furrowed, he knew that kid. Steve Michaels and his family had lived next to them for quite some time. And, although they didn't attend the same school; he knew the guy attended some fancy, private one where you drew. Steve had a baby face, despite having turned nineteen a little over a month ago. He had obsidian, orange hair that laid frizzly over his head. He had freckles all around his face, and like Simon, he shared the pale trait. Whenever he went outside he'd carry a bottle of sun lotion with him. He was a bit taller, giving that he was three years older than Simon. The duo stared at each other for moments, before Simon marched over to his window, closing the shades abruptly. "Weirdo.." he mumbled, throwing himself on the mattress. His body bounced lightly, and he stared up at the ceiling. His eyes watered, and he went to bed.

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