The Stray Boy & Me

I: That night

        I SIT UP straight to flick off the lights from my nightstand, tucking myself inside the covers. My lids have begun to droop and I'm gradually drifting away into a slumber, listening to the clock; the only source of noise, as it ticks away...tick...

You know what I like about sleeping? It's never of the sordid dreams that occur in my head throughout the duration, but it's the moment of dwelling before actually falling unconscious. tick...

In three months, I'm going to turn eighteen. In three months, I'm going to be considered a legitimate adult—only time runs faster than Usain Bolt. tick...

By then, I'll be impelled to make life-threatening decisions and be accountable for them. It's crazy to be reminded of the fact that merely yesterday; I was a snobby little rascal who had no clue of this merciless earth we live in. tick...

Is it just me or is the clock much bothersome? I would be dead asleep by now if I'd never purchased it in the first place. I grunt in frustration and draw the sheets over my head, plunging down my ears within the covers. tick...

Despite all the contra, turning eighteen is rather something I look forth to in life. As a matter of fact, I've always longed for that time to come as I'm desperate to depart home.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not, by any means, ungrateful of my home and all the wonderful thing I'm granted here. It's just that by turning eighteen, I'll be fully liberated. I want to experience the stereotypical mad life of a teenage girl and do witless things without a care in the world! I want to rampage on the entire neighborhood without a rational cause and flout homework without ever feeling guilty.

Yet again, that's not realistic, at least for a goody-two-shoes like me, Harper Woodsen, who's perceived to be too disciplined for such delinquency.
I'm already seventeen, and that through all those seventeen years of living, never in my life have I acted even a bit inane. I've always been extremely mature and as composed as a rock almost my entire life, which in truth, is not fulfilling at all. Especially looking back now that I begin to realize how awry it has been for me.

When my peers are out blanketing the entire neighborhood with their teenage sins, I'm practically segregating myself from the world. They would be out TP—ing houses, doing graffiti on walls and doing what typical seventeen-year-olds do in this town, whereas I'm no where to be spotted. My life is full of lifelessness—ironic isn't it?

Right then, I sight a shooting star stretching across the dark starry skies. Simply the image of it pacifies me for a moment. Just when I was about to doze away, the irksome sound of shattering glass erupts from inside my bathroom.

Cussing under my breath, I promptly jolt up and out of bed to quickly ascertain the source of it. I pray that it's not an issue too severe that I can't worry about tomorrow.

I slam open the bathroom door, paving a grand entrance for myself. Reflected moonlight gleams through, allowing me to distinguish pieces of glass scattered all across the floors.

Have I mentioned of how the window's damaged, too? I narrow my eyes to discern in detail what surrounds me. And what had led to an utterly wrecked window. My head whips around, and to my immediate notice, are a pair of luminous orbs staring right back at me.

I gasp, startled upon the vague sighting of a male stature standing motionless nearby the window frame. The boy reeks of stale manure and has dirty blonde hair clumsily disheveled over his scalp. My eyes grow wide; almost popping out my eye sockets. My heart begins to hammer ferociously against my chest; threatening to leap out of it. Like a normal person, I freak out; unleashing a deafening scream of terror—almost splitting my own ears in the process. Now a random creep has broken in my property and my costly bathroom window has a huge circular hole on it the size of a butt! The latter for me is larger of an issue, really.