Why The Good Die Young

|CHAPTER ONE~ But Then There Was This|

|C A L L U M|

Another one died today. 

A fish. One of my fish. Not a human. It wouldn't hurt if one died though. I doubt anyone would notice anyway. Everyone's too involved with themselves to care enough. Or maybe they would care. I don't know. I don't know these people I've known for practically my whole life. I don't know my parents, my friends, my classmates, my neighbors. I don't know them. And I don't want to know them. If no one else cares, why should I? In this world, every must revolve around you. It doesn't matter if it actually does, it only matters that you think if does. 

I don't know many things. But I do know my name is Callum Rosen. I know I'm fifteen. I know I have dark hair and green eyes. I know I live in a big city, in a world of narcissism. I know I am a freshman in highschool. I know I used to have twelve fish, but now I only have seven. I know I don't care about the fish, but I know I care about numbers. Numbers is all we're worth. How much money you have, how many fans you have, how many houses, friends, siblings, how many lies. The more lies, the more fake, the more you're worth. No one really knows the other. But we all think we do. 

Of course, we're not completely horrible.  We've all go redeeming qualities. But we don't focus on that. No, we focus on the negatives of others to build up our positives. Its an interesting little practice. Building yourself up by stepping on others. 

If you follow that, I hope that the ones you step on are like Legos' and feel pain when you step righr over them. Inflict pain, feel pain.

It's a way of life. 

It's not the right way, but it's the way. 

It shows you how much the world sucks. 

I should probably stop talking about how much our world is a hellhole... 

Welcome to the thoughts in my head. 

I plunge my hand into the fish tank and pull out the dead fish. After doing this for a long, and I mean long, time, I've grown accustomed to the slimy feel of the fish and the fact that I'm touching water that they excrete in.

For all those young children out there, excrete is to poop. 

Yes, poop. Get over it. It's a bodily function. You piece of shit. Or, if you prefer, you piece of poop. 

I Flanders at the fish resting in my palm. It looks no different than when it was alive. But I know it's dead. If it could talk, I wonder what it would say if it were still alive. 

Probably "Callum! Put me back in the water you idiot!" 

I plop it down onto my desk and turn to the safe under it. Turning the combination 1 6 6, I shove open the door and start looking for my fish bag. 

Like I mentioned before, I've done this many times before. Over the years, I've had many fish. Meaning, many have died. And I've kept every single one in a huge plastic bag. I used to keep it in a drawer, but the smell was too much to take, so now I keep it in a safe. 

You know how robbers go to safes? The thought that one would break into my safe and see nothing but a huge bag of dead fish amuses me. 

But then there was this. 

There is no bag of fish. 

Could a robber have gotten to it? Heh, no. That's unlikely. But then, what happened? 

I peer inside and see nothing but a blank, empty space. Shit. 

I go to grab the dead fish on my desk. 

But then there was this. 

It's a dead fish. So why did it jump against me? 

Standing up, I take a step back and stare at the fish. 

It writhes and jumps on the desk like a fish that was just pulled out of water a second ago. 

Its alive, but dying soon. 

I try to forget the fact that it came back from the fucking dead and drop it back into the tank. 

Immediately the other fish scatter away. Once the once-dead-now-alive fish stopped struggling, they came close again. 

But then there was this. 

They scattered away. Again. 

Because the fish flopped upside down and just died. 

I was too scared to throw it away. But I had to do something. 

So scared out of my fucking wits, you know what I did? 

I ran. No, not away. I ran to the kitchen. I grabbed the biggest knife we had, and then rushed back. 

I plunge my hand into the tank and pull out the fish once again. I stab it straight through first, marking my desk. I pull the knife out and start slashing it left and right. I behead it and chop off it's tail and swirl it's and continue stabbing it. Blood splatters onto my face, but I don't care. 

I'll never be able to explain this feeling to anyone. I stab and stab and stab over and over again. And every time I injure it more, it gives me comfort. Tingles run through my body and I keep stabbing. I smile. 

It's a weird feeling. I can't explain it. But it gives me joy to do this. Comfort. I no longer care that this fish came back from the dead. I only care that I'm killing it. I stab crazily now, never letting myself take a break or act rationally.

But then there was this. 

I stop. 

I look down at my hand. They were covered in fish guts and blood. The fish is in ruins. 

But then there was this. 

The blood does not only belong to the fish. It belongs to me. 

The knife slips from my fingers onto my desk and I watch as blood drips from my pinky. It's gone. The tip of my finger has been chopped off and was resting with the fish guts. Slashes drip blood. The wound pulses it. All at once, the pain of it creeps through my head and explodes. And despite my efforts, I start crying. 

Tears mix with blood as the pain ricochets everywhere in my head and steals the energy from my body. I slump to my knees. It hurt. So. Damn. Bad. I wasn't ever aware I'd done this injury. Why? What happened to me? 

But then there was this. 

I don't just cry. I scream. It comes from the deepest depths of me and tears through my vocal chords. The blood seeps away just like my energy, and I slowly find myself going unconscious. 

As I hold onto the last seconds of my working brain, I hear sirens. They're either here to save me or arrest me. My, this will make such a fun story. Local boy arrested because he went psycho over a fish. How pathetic.

As the scream and pain echo in my head, I submit myself to the black void of unconsciousness.

A/N: 

This is sooooo short and crappy! >.< I'm sorry!