Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

twenty three on twenty two

Giving up doesn't always mean you're weak. Sometimes it means you're strong enough to let go.

I don't try to make conversation with Timmy, nor does he with me. He's in class less and less, but I catch glimpses of him on the edge of a group of kids, hood up and hands in his pockets. He gives me a sad smile whenever he notices me looking, and I hurry on to the next period, or behind the school to have a smoke, or wherever I was headed towards in the first place.

I try not to think of it as giving up, but I can't get that quote out of my head.

That's not the same boy.

"You're not the same boy either."

I brush Justin away with a wave of my hand.

Let me sleep.

"Only I'm the same, Damian."

Shhh. I flip him off.

"Emo faggot. Rude."

"Huh?" I've flipped off some blonde girl instead. Justin is nowhere to be found.

Stupid fucker.

Justin's been pissing me off more and more lately. He acts like a child when I need him to be mature, and talks like a scholar when I just want to sleep. We never used to fight this much when he was still alive.

"Better make sure you know who you're flipping off next time, yeah?" he taunts me.

Fuck off.

"You don't really want me to leave. Then you'd be lonely."

Better than you annoying me 24-7. I'm fucking tired. I only got two hours of sleep last night, and I'm not in the mood to deal with anyone. Can't you go back to being dead?

And just like that, he's gone.

I fall back asleep to be woken by the bell. Justin doesn't show up for the next period. Or the next. He doesn't appear all through lunch, and I smoke my cigarette with the company of my thoughts.

I didn't think he'd take me seriously. I sit on the cold concrete and watch groups of kids laugh their way by, sneaking off to smoke under the bleachers. Dark hood after dark hood of desperate teenager passes through my line of vision.

This would make a fucked up movie scene. The lifestyles of the stoned and desperate.

I'm not funny. I don't know why I even try.

Dark hood.

Blonde hair.

Skinnies and Ugg boots.

Wait, aren't those not supposed to get wet?

The rain pours down over the adolescents and I give thanks for it.

A particular figure catches my eye, his mannerisms familiar. I watch as he follows behind a noticeably taller character, stopping to splash through every single puddle.

"Can you hurry up?" I hear the larger one hiss and the smaller hangs his head and trails sadly along. "There's only ten more minutes in the period. I don't want to be caught sticking around for fifth."

They're close enough for me to hear, which means when a hood falls, and shaggy-cut hair is exposed, the blue is blinding.

Timmy.

My first reaction is to stand up and scream, but a brilliant clap of lightning brings the entire valley to a stop. Timmy jumps, trips, and falls face-first into a puddle of muddy rainwater. He's adorable as he stands and attempts to salvage his appearance in it's disturbed surface.

"Never mind that, come on." The bigger figure shoots me a dirty look, and I pull my hood up and jeep my chin tucked to my chest as to keep my identity a secret. I guess my cigarette sparks a tacit truce, because he huffs and pulls the little blue haired boy along.

My little blue haired boy.