Pandora's Box

♒ Count your suicides ♒

¶ p a n d o r a ' s b o x ¶

.1

46 days, 12 hours, and 32 seconds before the incident.

My parent's jumped to their death.

That's pretty depressing, let me elaborate further.

They jumped from the John Hancock Center in Chicago Illinois from the 56th story.

Yeah, I didn't make this sound any better, but I heard the skyscraper proved to exhibit incredible high-tech architecture I mean right after they scraped my parent's body's off the concrete.

And that was an example of my cruel sense of humor.

I don't know why they did it, or why they choose that specific building or why they left me with my pinky raising English grandparents, I don't know.

All I know is, it's been four years and I've been staring at the front entrance of Nana's and Pa's home, thinking that my parent's would come back from there anniversary, arms mounted with duffel bags and suitcases dramatically dropping them to threw us into embrace.

And yes they jumped on there anniversary.

And yes I know the difference between reality and hope.

"Spence."

"Spencer?" I blinked looking down at my plate of mush, realizing what was once oatmeal just become an abomination of sight I've been turning it over and over again in boredom as Nana spoke gently about how much she missed professing at the University of Cambridge compared to the University of San Diego, and the tolerance level of behavior and dress code, and whatever the hell she's been crying over.

But today she brought a different topic to the dinner table.

That topic is me, probably should've mentioned the after school detention I earned for the week.

"Spencer do you hear me?" Still playing with the contents in my bowl I looked up at her.

"Oh I heard you." I mumbled, Pa flinched raising the paper over his face before Nana made him engage.

"How was your day." She asked crossing her arms.

How I love the attention she spoils me with.

"Oh you know the usual, we went time traveling, a few bar fights, my world history teacher worships the devil, and I spray painted profanity over the rich kids reserved parking lot space." This time I forced myself to bring a spoonful of gunk in my mouth.

Would you believe me if I told you two of those were true.

"Vandalizing school property is a serious misdemeanor, your lucky they aren't pressing charges." She didn't bother concealing the disapproval as her lips remained in a tight line, looking over at Pa for agreement.

I placed my spoon back in the bowl as I narrowed my eyes. "Or do you mean, I'm lucky Nana has money to keep them quiet?"

She gasped. "The mouth on this child-"

But it was to late I already pressed shuffle on my spotify playlist and drowned her out.

I took the bus to school that morning in my blue and black Rosemary uniform the bold logo of the stallion horse stood out the most and around these parts of town, private school rich kids were the eqivalent for a good hostage episode, readjusting my bag I concealed the logo. Dropping a few coins in the slot I carefully stepped over lingering foots and outstretched legs, when I couldn't find a seat I walked over to the nearest wall that wouldn't send me flying out the window to reach, I slid down to the floor and rested my head on the fading graffiti. Nana would be pist if she found out this was my source of transportation.