Hi. I'm Tate. Tate Langdon. I'm 17, go to Westfield High, blah blah blah. You don't care. No one does. High school is just a bunch of shit they make up and pretend is important, but it's not. It's just a place for people to show off for their friends.
You know, I used to think that everyone, no matter how lonely and fucked up they were, had at least one friend. One friend they told everything to, because everyone has that one friend. Everyone but me of course.
No one talks to me. It hurts. I think I'd rather them bully me so I at least knew they noticed me. But they don't, and they won't. I'm just another wasted life that breathes in everyone's clean air.
Being ignored hurts. Especially by my goddamn Father. He left me, you know? Left me with my bat shit crazy Mom. That's what she tells me at least, but I swear that I heard a gunshot that day Father didn't come back. A gunshot right next door. Father had told six year old me that he would be back around five, but he never came back despite the long time I waited. The long time I'm waiting.
But you know, despite all of that, I'm pretty happy. Just don't take a look at my wrists or you'll see angry, red slashes that say otherwise. Don't take a look in the compartment under my bed or you'll see my guns that are there just in case. And while we're at it, please don't take a look in my sock drawer where you'll see my stash of cocaine. I don't use it. I've never used it. It's only there just in case.
Just in case I get really caught up in my head and want to shoot up the whole school or something crazy like that. Nah, I'm just kidding. I might be a walking nutcase, but I don't think I'm that insane. I don't think I could ever hold a gun to someone's head and pull the trigger. But hey, I said the same thing about slicing my skin on purpose when I was nine, so I guess you never know.
My mom screeches my name from downstairs. In return, I turn the volume knob up and blast some Nirvana. This is my shit, man. Kurt Cobain understands me. He's probably the only thing keeping me sane in this world, besides the dreams I keep having about some girl.
I know, I know. You're probably wondering what I'm talking about, and it's really simple to understand. I dream about a girl every once and awhile and I love her despite the fact I've never met her outside of my head.
The dreams started around the age of 12. At first it was just little things, like getting a glimpse of her smoking a cigarette, but now they're intensifying. I find myself believing they're real sometimes.
They're always about this one girl. I've never seen her before, trust me, I've looked everywhere. She has long, blonde hair and these beautiful eyes that can somehow hypnotize me in a dream. Her voice is mesmerizing and her laugh, her laugh is amazing. And then her name fits her so well. Violet, just like the flowers I have planted on my windowsill.
I went about four years without knowing her name, but that didn't stop me from wishing she appeared in my dreams every night. I just recently learned it a couple months ago. Some guy, I guess her father, walked into the room we were sitting in and he blew up.
"Violet! I told you to stay away from him! He's dangerous!" He yelled, managing to scare the shit out of me.
I didn't understand. I wasn't dangerous. I wasn't even near her. Hell, she was across the room from me putting on some Nirvana because I asked her too. The only thing I did, that I guess could be considered bad, was stare at her ass as she walked. But that's what all boys do, especially when it's a nice girl like her.
I've come to the idea that I'm insane. I'm in love with a girl I've never met, one I'll most likely never meet. She's not real. She's just the girl of my dreams; literally.
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A Broken Mind Can't Be Fixed
FanfictionTate Langdon is a 17 year old boy who goes to Westfield High. He's a very lonely child. His mother neglects him and his siblings. He grows to hate her. When Larry Harvey and Tate's Mother get together, Tate starts to really lose his mind, or at leas...