Desolation

Chapter TWO

LANDON

"FUCK!" I jump as my eyes jolt open
I hate nightmares
Shaking my head I run my hands through my soaked hair. Covered in sweat I decide to walk to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I glance up in the mirror to see a scared little boy looking back at me. I don't feel twenty four years old. My mind and body are failing me like an old man, sadness consumes my body and I feel dead, my soul trying desperately to escape.

"Landon!?" I hear my father call up the stairs
"I'm fine dad! I just got woken up is all" I say, You would think by now he would be use to my nightmares.
"Alright then, I was just making sure" he says and heads back to his room

Before walking back I peak in the mirror once more, bags cover my eyes from lack of sleep. "God, you look like shit!" Pissed, I reach and turn off the bathroom light.

I didn't use to look this bad; back in high school I really pulled some hotties. Mostly women that didn't mean anything to me, but I've never had a problem getting a girlfriend . The past year or so has been the worst; I really have let myself go.

Being a preacher's son has its disadvantages. How I feel about religion being one of them. I do not agree with what my father believes and I think he resents me for that. I don't believe that when we die there is some "beautiful" place for our souls to go. I'm living in my own personal hell so why would I sit and daydream about a heaven? I already know where I'm going and i can promise you it's not there.

You could say I'm a serious disappointment to my perfect parents, they constantly paint this colorful picture of my life that they think I have. They don't talk about how black and white it really is. I'm different from most people , and wouldn't consider myself as "normal".

I defiantly don't look the part of a preacher's son either; tattoos cover my arms mostly with writing, lots of beautiful writing. I like to think of it as dark poetry. My father hates it, my mother doesn't really give a shit. She knows that I will do whatever the hell I want.

JOSEPHINE

It's 5 am and I am still awake looking at the ceiling. I repeat over and over how worthless I am in my head; I'm 20 years old living back home with my mother. No job. Not in college, Nothing. I could be in a much worse situation yes, but here I am 20 years old living at home, being a complete loser. I hate the person I've become. I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

I finally seemed to drift off and when I awake rubbing my eyes I look at the clock and it's 9:16 am. I'm actually satisfied with how much I slept. Maybe 3 hours? That's much better than last night I remind myself. Rolling out of bed I walk to the bathroom and open the door, forgetting that it makes a loud noise when you open it. Basically letting my mother know I'm up.

"Josephine?! " I ignore her and continue on to the bathroom.
I hate this stupid mirror too; it's large and covers most of the wall. It's nothing special, not like the one by the stairs. I still hate it though. My eyes rake down my body and I glare with disgust and hate. My frizzy curly hair pinned on top of my head, a few blemishes cover my face, probably because of my lack of hygiene. My face is red and swollen, I look like I've been beaten up. I remove my baggy sweatshirt and pants and reveal once again how much I hate myself. Long skinny Scars cover my wrists and ankles. I tried to cover them with tattoos. "Be, strong" is what my wrists say. I did that so I wouldn't continue to cut myself there. That's where everyone can see. Am I really strong? No, I am weak.

"God just look at you" I muster under my breath. "How could anyone ever love you" a tear rolls down my face as I forcefully wipe it from my cheek. I walk to the shower and turn on the hottest water. Hopefully the steam will drown away my sorrows.