Comatose

The Perspective of Grandeur

All great beginnings have a aura of happiness as it lays way for the art of storytelling and its emerson of literary fiction. Words, have this unspoken sense of security, filling our lives with vivid colors and horrid tragedies. Life doesn't follow a set rules of law and order, it chaotically fits the next act with the final act, over and over again into infinitum. I was born into a world, unphased by the outer influence of civil culture, and made ourselves too believe all which is, all which dies, all which is born, lives ignorant to the wonders of stars in heavean.

My name is David Orwell, I'm 17, I have no friends, and I live in a small town of no more than a thousand people. Living in a small town, you'd think everyone knows everyone, neighbors in the business of neighbors. Everyone knows your name, your flaws, your talents. Yet, here is a town, full of fears and joys, none of which know who or what I am doing along side the rest of Hymmel.

Raymore High was the eye sore of this small town, I could never see myself leaving, yet the idea of staying sickened me to the core of my being.

It was the first day of my senior year, and as busy as I've been, I had yet to introduce myself to any member of my Senior Class. Its been about three years, eight months, two weeks and five days since the start of high school. Years I dreaded to be abruptly over with, as I drag my feet and avoided eye contact to stirr any unwanted attention. With out speaking a word, I magically suppress my influence over the rest of the student body, I am nothing but a ghostly apparition of delegation, my own personal delegation and no one has ever noticed the kid sitting alone, quietly wishing for his own oblivion. I've always felt alienated from my peers, ones I share my education, roam the same halls, and undoubtedly share the same angsty thought of our generation. Our time, and collective experiences on this planet measure almost equally, yet the wisdoms of life vary from individual to individual. I don't consider myself to have above average intelligence nor do I believe myself to be superior in anyway to those around me but, I do feel as if I always over analyze the simplest of earthly experiences. The truth is, I struggle to fit in, I fall short on the interest of a modern teen, I'm the epitome of strange and unwonderous. Isolated by the complex phenomenon of high school, I'm bombarded by the same cosmic loneliness as it follows me thought out the school day.

Hovering over me, I could feel a mist of uneasiness, penetrating my pores, and sticking to my skin like a unwanted layer of madness infesting my body. An awkwardness I always dealt with in scilents, as I fear my mind is the worst of my worst enemies.

Everyday was as tedious as the next, full of educators educating, teens sexually exploring their body one they have no true understand of, and as for me, I am drowning in a sea of my own peers.

It's as if the forces holding me together seperate me from the crowd of teens, and their mundane livelihoods. Nothing is more grotesque then forcabley being pushed to preform school activities, extracurricular otherwise. Gym was the most nauseating, then was student council, as cringeworthy as its always been. People of the world don't know the amount of time I put into to the practice of my own false melancholy, I try my best to remain sane in a place hell bent on turning my mind to a watery mush of gray matter. Yet, I have perfected the art being corporal against the wall of children so willing to be noticed and congratulated.

The bells rings, the herd of students dance around each other, happy just to be able to see their friends and childhood companions.

As I move with the motions, I realize I've made it to the final intersection of the day. The last of the tormenting reality of this school and its agonizingly ritual completion.

As I sat in the back of the classroom, with everyone I have ever know from my academic life, from kinder to now. The walls white with envy towered over head, incasing us, binding us to this rooms, almost as if forbid us from escaping its system of assembly.

Finishing my final assignment, it mocked me with its originality, as I doodled on its edges, i felt time began to almost stop. The day is just about done and over with yet, I felt the room expand as if breathing in the anxiety from the whole school. Or the whole Universe.

I have always struggled with the tides of my own safety, and my brittle shell of confidence. It was nerve wrecking, and I could feel the entirety of the room peer into my soul, knowing it was fearful of their judgment.

As a last resort, I close my eyes, I begin to tell myself of the rewards awaiting me if I could just shake the anxiety of the day. I tell myself to think of the world in parts, and if I could pick apart reality, then why is it so big to me?

Ringing of the bell burnt out the darkness, and a breath of relief escape my body, fleeing the room, and returning to its place in the atmosphere. Walking alone, I find my self at the front of the school, I do my best not to stare, yet observing other make me feel as if I am for a second interacting and conversation amongst them. Yet the idea is more comforting then the act itself, these are not my friends and I am not their companion.

I am truly alone.