Abbeystead Academy for Elite Individuals (Frerard)

Of Inky Scrawls & Goodbyes

I'd like to state in advance, I am in no way saying that Frank's mother is or ever was a bad mother. This is for writing purposes only, and I ask you to not jump into the conclusion that Frank's mom is a deadbeat.

Sorry for any spelling errors, that may have been made.

Okay,that is all! :)

~

The Smashing Pumpkins "Try,Try,Try" blared into my ears, from my earphones.Turned up to the highest it could possibly be.

I sat on my rumpled black douvet,strewn messily atop my shitty ass bed. Yes,I knew very well I'd probably be deaf by my thirties.If you cared enough to tell me this in person, I'd simply reply with a cheery "I don't give a fuck".

A rutty old suitcase lay  beside me on my bed, zipped open, filled with the few belongings I had saved enough to get. It was an assortment of band t-shirts, black skinny jeans, books, and note-books and papers filled with inky scrawls called words.

These words meant a lot to me, and they'd continue to mean a lot to me, until the very day I left the world. Words in general are a very beautiful thing, words could hold personalities,feelings, stories. Without words, the world would be nothing. 

How would you communicate,understand, or do anything? The answer is unknown, but the assumption is literally nothing.

Take from this what you will, or nothing at all.

An arragment of precisely twenty-six letters marked the clear, white material, that is assuming no other languages were spoken in said pages. Then maybe the answer wouldn't be quite so precise.

I was packing. Packing for a new experience, packing for a new life, packing for a difference.

I was packing for England, to be really fucking blunt.

My Aunt and Uncle were coming to take me away from my deadbeat, repugnent mother. I loved her, don't get me wrong. She wasn't her though,really. She was an alcoholic now, there were no remnants of who she used to be in her eyes.

No fragments of her smile, her bright hazel eyes, flilled with liveleyness, as she ran across the the grass feild, clutching my hand tight and running into the awaiting arms of my father. There were no exchanged giggles, no tea parties with stuffed animals.

There was only nothingness, a word meaning oblivion, nullity, an empty void. Nothingness was an empty room filled with empty feelings,of broken bottles, and stained carpetry, and a stained heart. Of broken memories, of haunting happy filled pasts, of crystal tears, marking ivory skin, a reality of a loss.

Once my dad faded out of the picture, she faded away too. Leaving a broken, twelve year old boy, and a liquor addicted women.

There was no comfort in his life, just him and his words. He knew very well he'd never wake up to two grinning parents ever again. Every time he opened his eyes in the morning, all he'd see were the teary-eyed, broken ones of his mother, the day the devastating, life-shattering news that had split the family apart. 

He remembered every moment of that day, his moms tight embrace around him as she cried into his tiny shoulders, horrified that her one love was gone.

Words were all I had, when none were spoken. I'd surround myself in a halo of words, a halo of life, forgetting of the one I had, and the one I had lost.

My life was an evanescence. A gene of evanescence. A gene, because it seems to run in this broken, family of mine. If I could really call it a family,anymore..

My dad had faded, my mother was an empty shell, and I would too,be an evanescence.

I have slowly faded, and had lost all emotion.