The Boy On The Other Side Of The Wall- Analogical

10~Sinking~10

Logan awoke the next morning around six AM, groaning and whining softly with the tiredness from just waking up. He curled up, pulling his blanket that didn't provide much warmth over his head, still holding the small, soft unicorn plushie close to his chest. He felt a small smile spread on his face, his mind, his life, the pain he constantly went through, stopping, well, at least temporarily in his state between wake and sleep. He slowly woke up more and felt the genuine happiness he had felt in those mere seconds slip away as he desperately tried to cling to it, but once it was gone, it felt like he had sunk deeper into the darkness and depression of his mind, where he could no longer see the surface. He felt like he was drowning in his own mind, clawing to try to get to the surface, to just breathe fresh air, happiness being that fresh air. The fresh air he needed so much, but couldn't get. He tried so desperately to get the surface, but it always seemed he was swimming the wrong way, only sinking deeper the more he tried to get to the surface. The force of fate kept him from the fresh air, happiness that he so desperately needed.
Logan sat up, rubbing tiredly at his eyes that always seemed to be dull, hopeless, emotionless. "Another day. Another hell. Another way to sink deeper." He murmured softly to himself as he stood up, still holding the adorable little unicorn plushie to his chest, the only source of comfort he had left.
Logan was alone in the swirling tidal wave of life, desperately trying to stay afloat without anyone to pull him out, no one to be his lifeguard, no one to care if he didn't resurface. He was scared, scared to never resurface, scared to hit rock bottom, which he felt he had hit so many times. He knew that millions of people had multiple lifeguards to pull them out of the swirling tidal wave if they started to sink, but he wasn't one in millions.
The sixteen-year-old knelt next to his bed, staring at the plushie in his hands. He sighed shakily before shoving it under his bed. He didn't want it being taken away because he knew his parents wouldn't hesitate to take it away in a heartbeat.
Logan stood back up and went over to his dresser, grabbing a dark blue t-shirt that was slowly and gradually getting to be too big for the boy, black sweatpants that were patched at the knees. He pulled off his shirt, looking down at his bare chest, biting into his lip slightly. He was extremely pale, his ribs extremely visible against his pale skin that was almost starting to look gray at this point, and right on his ribs was a fairly large purple and black bruise. He quickly looked away and pulled his dark blue shirt over his head, to cover up his chest. He then changed out of his pants and into his new sweatpants as quickly as he could.
Logan ran his hand through what he would consider untamable hair with a shaky sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them a moment later, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He pushed open his bedroom door as quietly as possible, knowing that his mother was most likely still home, but he needed to get to school, so...
Logan quietly slunk through the hall and down the stairs, before quietly opening the front door with a deep breath to breathe in the crisp, October. He almost smiled, almost. He quietly closed the door behind him, before starting to jog lightly to school, holding the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
Logan kept his head down as he approached the high school, the hell, the thunder dome. He kicked at the ground a bit as he entered the school, hearing the whispers about him, the gossip, the insults, the Everything. He felt as though they were all whispering in his ear at once and it was overwhelming, angering. If they knew what you've been through, what you go through just be able to walk through these halls and not show your brokenness, it's a miracle that you haven't shown them how fucking broken you are.
Logan closed his eyes for only a moment as he walked down the hall, nearly falling backward when he hit a damn pole. He quickly opened his eyes and sidestepped away from the pole, picking up his pace to homeroom.
Logan arrived in homeroom a few moments later and quickly rushed to the back of the room, away from everything but the darkness that threatened to pull him further down below the surface, away from the one thing that caused that darkness, people.
The teen laid his head against his desk, staring at the wall, his eyes dark and dull, no light, no hope behind them. He was numb, emotionless to the naked eye, but underneath that facade, sat a boy, bruised, and broken beyond what seemed to be repaired. He waited for the bell to ring, to release this class and send him to the next, though no amount of books and facts could pull him back up.
Logan stood with a soft sigh when the school bell blared through the school, pulling his bag back over his shoulder. He walked through the halls of the hell also known as school, trying to avoid everyone and everything as he did so. He kept his head down, an emotion that could only be described as fear running through his small, skinny body. He slipped into his first hour class, sitting in his seat with his head down, gaze on the ground. He hugged himself a small bit, closing his eyes as he thought to himself. He just wanted this all to be over, the pain, the fear, just everything to stop, to disappear. He knew that was illogical though, and that he had to keep going, even when it felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, he had to keep moving.
No matter what.