The Dystopian Perception

1

9am.

The sound of Gerard's alarm clock blares throughout the vicinity, and Gerard awakes with a jolt. His head spins partially. Gerard doesn't like loud noises. It only seems as though five minutes have passed since he managed to quieten his mind and it's contemplations and got himself off to sleep. Gerard does find the passage of time to be a peculiar concept, though. It passes unevenly - in strange lurches and dragging lulls. Sometimes time hurts. Sometimes each tick of the clock aches like pulses of blood behind a bruise. But sometimes, and in this case, time passes so quickly that it is hardly even notable. Perhaps Gerard simply needs more than the, or less than, three hours of sleep in which he usually acquires.

Gerard's mother doesn't waste any time whatsoever. She is in his room within two minutes of the opening of his eyes, in her dressing gown; her hair in a labyrinth of knots. The acquilinity of her facial features suggests to him that she is not happy, but then, when is she with Gerard?

"Get up. Get dressed. We're going to Grandma Elena's today," she drones, in an extremely monotone manner - almost robotic - as she roots through Gerard's poster enveloped wardrobe; retrieving a pair of jeans and a shirt for him before chucking the garments atop his bed, "There are your clothes. Don't put that fucking jacket on. You look stupid."

And, just as abruptly as she entered, she leaves.

Gerard chuckles to himself. He is going to wear the jacket. It's always a part of his attire; an essentiality. It's consistent. It makes him feel safe. He doesn't care if other people don't like it in the slightest. They're not the ones who have to wear it, anyway.

Hastily, he sits up and gleans the clothes put aside for him. Usually, he contemplates upon how he is perfectly capable of selecting the components of his own outfit, but today, he is not so perplexed or frustrated. Grandma Elena is his favourite person. She doesn't judge him, or treat him any elseway due to the fact that he is... different, or what the vast majority of people would define such to be. She genuinely pays interest as to him and for him. She doesn't scrutinise him. She doesn't patronise him at every opportunity she possesses. Gerard adores Grandma Elena, and her reciprocation of that makes Gerard extremely happy. She's... orange. Gerard is excited to see her.

He doesn't bother with any adjustment to his hair - simply washes his face and heads for downstairs, where everyone is erstwhile ready to leave. He is greeted with looks of discontent, although this, again and blatantly, is his norm. Gerard doesn't mind. He is just delighted to visit Grandma Elena.

"You have everything you need?" Gerard's father inquires, before scowling, as he notes Gerard's jacket is still being worn in spite of most everyone's distaste.

Gerard produces his earphones and his retro iPod from his oh so beloved jacket's pocket, and he nods. And his father nods. Not even in acknowledgment - in an obliged manner. He opens the door to the house and walks through, and as he does so, everyone else follows suit. Tentatively, Gerard patters towards the door and locks it behind him, being the last person out. His family are already seated by the time he arrives at the car. He's barely even sat down when his father starts up the engine and begins to drive. Gerard plugs in his earphones and chooses shuffle on his iPod.

Gerard loses track of time yet again as an Iron Maiden song plays in his ears. He's in his own world; far, far away from all of his usual every-day adversities, existing in his own head and physically in a literal sense. He's all wrapped up in a sense of sonder; knowing that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as his own. Every elderly man that strolls by the car with his dog, every car with another family in it driving down the highway as the blanket of the sky gets lighter - they are all their own people with each their own issues to tackle. Gerard can't decide whether this is beautiful or tragic. He adjudges it's both.