Old Short Stories

a lot of venting. holy shit.

There's something about hearing people talk about you that fucking pisses him off.

Maybe it's that hey, I can hear you, talk about me. I'm not supposed to hear you.

Maybe that it's a look past the mask of liking the persons have for you.

Maybe its that he's an asshole.

Maybe it's the fact that one wrong word can send him spiraling into a massive panic of tears and self-loathing and doubt.

Its probably all of them and more, really.

You see, he was a fuck up.

Afraid of everything when awake, so he always remained tired. Where the fact that he was scared was dulled.

Loathed every part of himself, from his mind, to his flaws, to... well, everything.

Was to loud. To jumpy. To rude. To quick to speak.

Everything needed to mix up a complete failure.

His friends where only friends out of pity.
They all hated him, and he knew it.

He loved them, so so much.
But they hated him.
And rightfully so, really. He'd feel worse if they actually, ha, listen to this, liked him. What a joke though, eh?

....

He liked the dark. In the dark, you can't prove squat shit. And the dark is nice to him. A warm embrace, its also soft on his eyes. Instead of the harsh brightness of the sun baring down on this hell hole. He likes the dark.

....

This house is horrible. This town is horrible. He hates it here. Hates everything about it.

But, he hates being cold more, (Even if he's always cold, always so, so cold. ), and the weather outside is just that. Cold. So, he'll wait a few mo ths until its warmer and he can go to a foresty area and climb a tree or something.

....

Even is fair, fair is even. The numbers need to be so, fair for everything and anything.
Not two though, or six, no no no. When you split those in half they're odd! No no no,,,, it needs to be four. Four four four.

Four is good. Four is fair.

....

What if its not fair!?

I- i'm not- pl- sor-

I'll go.

....

Theyhatemetheyhatemetheyhatemetheyhateme

One two three four

Four.

Four.

Four.

Fair.

....

I'm useless im broken i hate this please dont leave me

I need help can somebody help me somethings wrong

....

He hated crying. Its supposed to give you relief and it just makes him feel pathetic and weak.

His eyes and head always hurts afterwards, and he feels sticky and gross.

He hates crying.

And the last time he did was in the arms of somebody who he's sure never cared.

....

Why why why why?

Why did he tell her? She didn't deserve to know. No no no no, it was his secret! His! Not hers! And now she knows and she's gonna tell somebody.. oh no no no no..

This isn't fair.

....

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he let the almost transparent tears flow over his cheeks. Not bpthering to wipe them off. He just, sat there. Staring at a light grey wall and wondering why?

Why can't he see anything? In his head?
Why is he so rude? Selfish? Stubborn?

In his mother's words; why can't she just be a decent human being?!

....

She she she I am not a she....

She she she i am not a she...

He.. they.... that is who i am...

But everybody says she she she....

....

His head hurt, and his face was sticky and wet.

His back pressed, rather forcefully, on the door against it. It was already locked, but this was sort of a, extra reassurance that no ome could stop him.

His note hidden under the bed, he lifted the poisionous substance to his lips-

Just as tge tiniest bit of it rolled onto his tounge, his cat, his child who he worked for, his baby kitten, mewled for him outside the door.

What would happen to him if this worked? His parents hated his baby boy, and would throw him to the streets!

He set the substance down, away. The disgusting taste still torturing his tastebuds, and opened the door. The Siamese instantly boumced into the room, rubbed on his leg and purred. He smil-

Eyes snapped up out of where they had been locked. The flashback over.

He remembers having puked for almost an hour after that. Hopefully four. Four is a good number.

....

He hates christmas. So repetitive and repition makes him freak out.

He gets the same things, every year.

He hates it.

....

Never speak! Never open up!

They will just yell at you!

You are broken you are wrong you are horrible!!

He cried until he fell asleep.