Home Is Full Of Ghosts [Looking For Alaska Fanfiction]

Home Is Full Of Ghosts

Haha. Looks like I've screwed up again. The steering wheel crushing my chest can prove that. The nonexisting oxygen in my lungs can prove that. The words I've left behind, promising life and more fun days, more Strawberry Hill, more cigarettes, more of me, can tell you that, I, Alaska Young am a screwup.

Not just the anniversary. Not just the cheating. Not just the frozen me from eight years ago.

No.

In a drunken haze, the decision seemed obvious. My only way out of the labyrinth, straight and fast. The only way I'd escape that ghost.

But I'd left so many promises that are now empty, more so than ever.

So here I am, well, somewhere. Am I outside the walls of my looming labyrinth? Have I finally escaped? Or did I just break a wall to end up on the other side of it, still perfectly confined in this labyrinth of suffering?

I like to think, as depressing as it is, that the labyrinth is inescapable, even in death.

The where doesn't really matter, but I'm here, somewhere. Perhaps just another expansion to my miserable non-life's labyrinth? Perhaps the final hallway leading outside, another straight and fast way out, another cowardly way out.

But, however cowardly, I take long, fast strides forward. Perhaps there's another life ahead. Perhaps I can meet Pudge in the next life.

Frick. Pudge.

To be continued?

Almost a promise, I tell myself. Almost.

I kissed him. I kissed Pudge, Miles, whatever. I can tell myself whatever I want, but I cheated on Jake for the first time. And I know, I know that I care about Pudge, like a little brother. And I have come to realize that I could've eventually loved him. And I almost did. Too bad I really am attached to Jake.

So I walk, my pace quickens to a jog. I clench my jaws and ball my fists.

I cannot love Pudge. I cannot love my crooked neighbour with all my crooked heart.

So I break into a sprint, even knowing I'd run out of energy eventually. Even knowing that the looming walls of my labyrinth will swallow me up. That golden hallway or gate or concrete alleyway out that I've only dared dream of will never exist for someone as screwuppy as I am.

But I run and I run screaming at the walls to just engulf me already, to stop mocking my tiny being running desperately in circles or squares or whatever the shape of my path is. I pant and I pant and my throat is hoarse from screaming and my ears are deafened from the ghosts calling my name and tears are streaming from my eyes as I fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness. From everyone, from my mom, from Pudge, from Jake, from my dad, from the Colonel, Lara, Takumi, everyone.

And they laugh.

They point their fingers at me and laugh.

Suddenly there a tap on my shoulder. The laughing is gone and I'm embarrassed that I've fallen to the floor and bodies my face in my knees and covered my ears.

I turn around and there he stands.

Pudge.

He was crying too, I can tell because of his red eyes. I made the guy that I cared about and almost loved cry. But all he does is whisper hoarsely my name.

His voice contains so much heartbreak and pain and joy and relief and sadness and everything I could have ever felt.

His lips curl into a smirk.

He raises his hand and I can't breathe all over again. Surely he doesn't blame me? Surely he understands? Right? Right?!

But he can't. He can't understand and he doesn't and he won't. So he points his finger at me and starts to laugh and cry and scream.

"You're such a screwup Alaska. It's all your fault that everything is like this. That everyone is hung over the past. I thought you were perfect when I first met you. But you're a total SCREWUP!" He accuses.

"I KNOW! I know so stop telling me!" I managed to scream between sobs.

He disappears. The walls are laughing again. Pointing. Telling me how screwed up I am.

There is no way out of this labyrinth of suffering, no escaped to this endless maze that just keeps construction more outer walls as you live or die and experience pain and sorrow and joy and love. The doors never open and of they do, they're just a farce. There are no ends or exits to my, Alaska Young's labyrinth of suffering.