Unprivileged

Chapter 1.

I dream often at night. I see mostly only myself, but a different kind of myself. A kind more likeable and great. I think that's the only reason why I like sleeping so much. In my dreams I get to be a hero, sometimes a glorious poet from the second World War, and some other times I make fast friends and go on adventures with the fictional characters of the last book I've read. I wish I could sleep forever.

"Ace!" I hear a distant voice calling me in my sleep but I ignore it. It's probably my furious mum from downstairs. I can see her standing in the kitchen making scrambled eggs and feeding my little brother. And I'm probably late for school. 

"Ace!'' she calls out again, but now from my room. She opens the curtains to let the warm beams of sunshine into my miserable, not so tidied room. "Wake up, will you?" she says, "You're going to be late for school." I try to get out of bed but I can't bring myself to. It feels, like any other given day of the year, as if I'm glued to the mattress of my bed, and my eyelids feel like anchors thrown in the sea, heavy and unable to open in the blinding light of the morning sun. What I had not realized is that my mum is still standing over me. I rub my eyes and stretch my aching body. My body is always aching, I don't know why. I don't have any interest in sports and I certainly do not party. But somehow I'm always tired and rundown. "You know, I think you should get your shit together Ace," she says, picking up one of my smelly La Dispute T-shirts from the ground, "I'm not going to last forever." She made that last statement and left the room. She left me half awake, half asleep, with nothing but a thought on my mind. A question.

How?

I drag myself out of bed and into the toilet to have a cold shower and sober up. Not that I am drunk or anything, but then again I sort of am. Drunk not with liquor, but with thoughts and dreams. And questions. A lot of questions. I stand under the shower, unable to move. Even reaching out for the bottle of shampoo tires me. It almost feels pointless for me to be here and now. Here? Where is this here that I always feel like it does not welcome me? And now? When will this now end?

When and where will I feel alive?

With that question never leaving my mind, I did the usual. I went about life. The usual consists of getting dressed, not bothering to look human, having breakfast, if you can even call a single bite of burnt toast and a sip of cold milk a breakfast, riding my bike and heading to school. 

School is never an issue for me. I'm fine and pretty average at everything. And I'm never a target for the bullies. I think what saved me is the fact that I am always nice to everyone. I also do not have that many friends, except the girl that always sits next  to me during lunch time. Her name is Carrie and she, like myself, likes reading and the world of fiction. She always has a book to talk about. A said fictional character saved the world and another one finally confessed his love. Over the years, I grew fond of Carrie and without her, a lunch break is never complete. 

"I can't wait to go home and read the remaining hundred pages of Legends." Says Carrie, taking a bite from her green apple.

"Ugh! You're always a few hundred pages in advance from where I am,'' I say, "We said we were going to read this at an even pace so we can share our thoughts about it, but you never listen."

"It's not my fault that you are a slow reader, Ace." She defends.

"I'm not a slow reader," I reply, "I apparently still have the attention span of a 10 year old."

"Well," she laughs, "you better get around to it because I don't have the time to wait for you and your poor attention span."

"Ugh! Stop laughing." Did I say I was fond of this girl? Nevermind. I take that back. She's annoying.

"Okay. But in all seriousness though," she tries to hide her grin, "we have a lot of books to read before the exams roll around."

"Yeah. I know." I don't like to talk about exams.

"I have to go now." she takes her backpack. "Try to catch up on the hundred pages by tomorrow,'' she says, ''Maybe then I'll stop calling you a slow reader." And she left.

It was her who always left first.