A Monster Just Striving For Love

Chapter Two

Zeke
A sheen of pearly snow crunches under my shoes as I walk, a blanket of white stretching for what seems like miles, traveling over the hills and dripping from dark evergreen pines. Houses dot the sides of the street, their roofs smothered with pale flurries and gutters lined with piercing icicles, shutters drawn as people tuck into their homes to escape from the unwelcoming cold. The world of white clashes against the somber horizon, a ribbon of gray tracing across the sky as clouds jumble together to hide the timid sun. Life seems to hide too. Not even the single call of a bird sounds out against this obscure silence.

    The streets are bare, sleeping cars parked along the edges and in driveways, frost growing over their windshields. The wind lets out a shriek, whistling through my slovenly hair, raven curls whipping in my face as my breath fogs before me. I almost slip on the ice beneath my feet, tugging my puffy navy coat tighter around my body like that’ll somehow help my balance. My backpack weighs down on my shoulders, bulging with binders and books filled with work. I let out a groan as it tugs on my back, willing me to fall on the hard walk, but I yank it forward, causing me to stumble and place an open palm on a mailbox. The cold bites at my flesh and I instantly recoil, tucking it into my pocket.

    A cumbersome feeling washes over me, my limbs turning into stone as I drag along, wishing I could go faster and soothe the numbing sensation on my face. But with each step I take the more of a burden it becomes, eating me up from the inside. I look at at this dismal world, a reflection of what rests within me. Something crushing me from the inside, making every day of my life more hellish and miserable. And as things inside of me get worse, so did things outside. In reality. Everywhere I go, every place I travel rather in my mind or in this perplexing world, tries to crush my like a bug beneath it’s heel.

    Many days locked in my room, music blasting in my ears to block out the screaming behind the door. Wiping the hot, salty tears streaming down my face with a pillow, sniffling back hard lumps that catch in my throat. I could find no happiness, no fragment of light in the dark void I rested in. When I took off the headphones that thrummed with the sound of low beats, the awareness of the fragile actuality that I lived came smacking me in the face. The floor beneath me shaking as my sister and mother stomped around, their voices vibrating through the air like thunder behind clouds, each deafening slam or high-pitched scream was the blinding lightning strike.

    The dreams that I dreamed weren’t like the adventures many others have. Not zooming through the night sky to put a foot on the moon, or riding on horseback in a suit of armor. But of standing on the roof of a building and looking down at the roaring sea of cars below, or feeling the pull of a rope around my neck as I kick a box out from under my feet. It’s a strange relish, death is. Something that wipes out life from the eyes and stops the chest from lifting and falling. Many see it as a doom, a monster lurking behind a corner ready to pounce at any moment. It’s all so instantaneous and unexpected, but it can also be planned out. Detailed in the mind for months until you reach that date you decide you’re gonna make your presence on earth history. That’s what I dream about. That moment, and the hunger for it starves me. But there is always something that makes me want to keep living. Rather it be an adventure or a new person springing into my life. And now, that’s what it appeared to be.

    Earlier, when I knocked into him, the pain of ramming into his forehead numbed out in seconds. I don’t know where he was going or what he was doing, and I wish I could’ve seen him just a little longer but the shouts in the hallway indicated he was rushed. When I met gazes with his midnight blue eyes ringed in aqua like an onyx sky lit by stars, my heart gave a stutter. His hair was the shade of dark walnut, tousled and curling around the edges of his ears. His jawline sharp and well-defined, a slight Roman cut nose perfect in the middle of his face. His skin was smooth and bronze, a hue of deep olive, and his lips were bright red, moving carefully whenever he spoke. He told me his name was Noah. The kid who beat up Xander, I could tell by his bruised knuckles. They all told of him like he was a savage, someone who hurt others just for pure delight. But the boy I met seemed nothing like that… and I hope I’m right. I watched as he turned and started running again, the clap of his shoes drowning in the stampede of his pursuers.