The Boy Who Swallowed Fire

Monday

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Lids opening with a weary dread, I stare up at the ceiling above me, and listen to the steady beat of my heart as my body slowly awakes.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Slowly I rise from the position from the dead mans grave, and study the unique body next to mine. It appears last night my raging hormones decided on a petite redhead, with freckles like splatters of paint on her face. Rolling from the bed as quiet as possible, I drag on a pair of random PJ bottoms that lay on the floor. Time for the casual, awkward morning breakfast I laugh softly, before studying myself in the mirror. Same tan skin, vibrant, blue swept up hair, and dangerous eyes with a sharp bone structure that could pierce stone, aren't I just precious?

The word routine hums from the waves of my hair to the edges of my toes as I bounce down the stair case. Ricky, my 'vicious' pitbull guard dog snorted his good morning as I passed the couch, damn dog uses it more then I do. Within a few moments I have managed to create eggs with toast, rest it on the kitchen table, and rest against the counter a soft smirk playing on my lips. The redhead approaches with obvious embarrassment shown in her painted cheeks, and I leave her to enjoy her plain breakfast, readying myself for school.

Mint on my breath, simple black pants, a tight, white shirt, and I'm ready to head to school. Grabbing the keys from the little table at the stairs bottom, I peak into the kitchen. There's an empty plate, a note saying thanks for the breakfast with a phone number which I take no bother in reading as I toss it into the bin. "Cya, Ricky!" I shout, jogging out of the house to the midnight blue Ford GT resting in the driveway.

At the school, I park in my usual spot, and make no hurry to get inside. Carelessly, I throw on my bookbag, and walk through the parking lot. I ignore the hoards of people trying to throw a good morning my way, run my fingers through my hair with a heavy sigh, and enter the doors of putrid hell. Weaving through the claustrophobic hallway, I allow a few nods to escape me, a few winks at some cliche girls, and a taunting smile at the redhead from before.

The bell rings and people flee with great speed it was as no one was once there. I take this calm moment to welcome the quiet. The scuffling of posters against the wall, my feet with their rhythm and my heart beating its unique beat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

As I enter History, Mr. Rull slams his pen down on the board, trying to shake my composure, and I slide easily into my chair. "I don't suppose you have the homework due, Mr. Reveur?"

"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Rull, I have. I hate to add to your pile of papers to grade," I allow my voice to hold its calm, collected composure, and chuckle as my closest 'friend' mocks me in a whisper, Spanish accent and all. "You know, Ron, you're never going to get laid if you keep making a joke of everyone around you,"

"I would get laid if you didn't keep hogging all the ladies," Ron said coolly, and returned to paying attention. As I would every time, I study his composure. Ron had jet black hair, curious brown eyes, and the personality of a nutcase. No wonder I loved this freak. At some point I fell into a nap, and the bell became my alarm for this class.

This continued for the rest of my classes, and I simply exited the schools front doors as I had entered. Now to head towards the only bar in Love county, Richard's Booze, with Ron in tow. There I would pick up my idea of a perfect, womanly companion, drink away today as I did yesterday, then fulfill my duty to continue the human race with passionate romance in bed.

This was my routine, it was always like this, and never seemed to change. The same people, same teachers, same grades, same car. A machine programmed to do a simple job over and over, only collecting data it went back to when asked. Funny how I can never reflect on data of that moment, when IT happened.