Fight or Flight

Chapter 9: philosophical dreams

This is a kind of strange and sad chapter, it might get confusing but i was restricted with pronouns (you'll see) btw the first section is just her thoughs.

(They say laughing is the best medicine. If this is true why am I not immortal, if I may ask.  putting on a fake smile and laughing through dishonest teeth is what I do best. I have dominated in this area for quite some time, like when I broke my leg in 3d grade. The crack in my bone tormented me for months without rest, waking me up with throbbing convulsions craving pain meds. And yet I managed to tell my mom I was fine. Laugh and go out to play, meanwhile inwardly I screamed and cried yelling at my body to let my emotions show. But my stubborn young self would not relent to these passing urges.

Sometimes I wish I had let up, being brave is more a burden than anything. The cowardly lion wanted nothing more than bravery, only to learn he had it all along. But being brave also means being terrified, that’s how it works. Fearful people often mistake bravery  for stupidity, but sometimes there is only a fine difference. Because being brave means (against all your body is telling you) facing your fears. But some fears are more destructive, smashing a spider on a windowsill differs greatly from confronting true mortality. What could kill you deserves more fear, more adrenaline. Not being afraid of what could kill you is stupid, but living on, haunted by these notions and thriving under them make you valiante. But sometimes I wonder if I am bluffing courage, but I am actually a coward who remains alive. Because I can fake a smile, and forge a laugh from nothing but that is merely a lie.

 

A lie protects from nothing, only makes you weak and scared.)

 

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I spy a small blond boy sitting under a tree, playing with chubby thumbs listening to his own humming to make up for his lack of friends. His face was slightly drawn back into a puppydog frown, wide and glassy eyed. A single tear drop is in jeopardy of slinking slowly down his plump face, but he makes sure nobody notices. His head, tucked into his dirty red sweatshirt he uses as a mask to hide himself from everyone. He dreams about leaving, but leaving what he is not sure. And this frightens him, what does he want to leave behind? His overbearing parents? The kids that mock him and push him mercilessly into the the lockers? no. He wants to leave...life. What will he leave behind? Nobody will miss him, his parents still have their prized son, but that’s not him. The kids will still have all the others they torcher, adolescence  can be so cruel. But he can’t he is not strong enough, and this makes him hate himself even more. It will get better he tells himself, but he is only a hypocrite for not believing it.

*I watch him from my disembodied perch inside the air, feeling his anguish alongside him.*

He curls his XL loose jeans into his body, feeling the soft squishy-ness as he does. He wants to hit himself, and cry out in desperation. “Why do I look this way? Nobody will ever love me! Maybe if I lose a few pounds?” he shrieks inside the closed doors of his thoughts. But no he does not believe this either, he doesn't believe much anymore.

His hair is matted down and greasy, his face is hidden from the world. He wears a thin ring around his pinky finger, I can tell it is not just an accessory. It means something to him. Was it his oldest and favorite brother’s, the only one who understood him? Before he was shot in active duty. Or his grandmother’s, the only person to love him unconditionally. I wonder about this, about him. Everything surrounding him looking bleak. The green blossoming tree even seems to fade under his dismalness. He knows he does this, when ever he is around the beauty in things are lost. The sky always seems less blue and the stars just don't seem to shine as bright. And they all know it, and persecute him for it.