He sat up in his room, staring blankly at the ceiling. Rethinking his life. How is it that this boy hasn't given up? It's beyond me.
Damn, he goes through the most. But I'm sure you already know this. He has a gash in his lip still from three days ago when the boys got to him after school.
It's sad because all he can do is run away. His old man just made that gash bigger. Shame, he goes through so much.
He grabs his bag as his brother closes his door in the hall. There it starts. The never ending smell of pot. Crack. Liquor. Whatever makes his brother forget everything.
He pulls out his homework, reading over notes to put pieces together. But his notes consist of little comments kids make on his book.
It's like commenting under an Instagram picture. Jack reads them. He know he shouldn't. He should erase them, scribble them out. There's no end to it though.
Hell, he knows if he does that, he'll end up reading the new ones. Fresh from the minds of those creatures at school.
School is literally like a hell in his eyes. And the students are all demons; monsters. Feeding off of his fear and vulnerability.
The notes have no end. He's knows that.
Why do you come to school?
You're a nobody.
You're a fucking creep Steven.
Smd.
The knot in his throat grows bigger because he realizes that no one likes him. To an extent. He has no one. No one. It's likes he's alone.
His mom is always gone. No one knows where she goes. She's never here and he's always missing her. Wanting to hold her in his arms while he cries.
His brother is a complete ass. Won't stop rubbing his nose is powder and won't stop puffing poison. And he swallows his pain away. All day fucking long.
He's wondered why. Why his life has to be the way it is. Not once had he ever lived the high life. He wants to be somebody, but with a life like his- it's nearly impossible.
When he gets to school he can't focus cause there's always someone there to tell him he can't do it. To let him down. To make him cry. And he does it constantly.
There should never be a kid who has to cry everyday in order to move on. He doesn't believe in much. Not in himself, not in his family, not in his future, not in anything.
A tear hits his paper as he holds his pencil in his hand. He flips it, erasing that god awful name.
"Steven," He whispers. Slowly he thinks. His hand move across the paper and he writes Jack in its place.
"Doesn't exist." It comes out as a whimper. He's restless. Can't get a day off from the hate. Can't quit that job. The job of being different.
He's so weak he can't help it. Can't help but he that way. So tired of himself. The words are like knives. Like little razors. And everytime he hears them, they connect to him. To his body.
Everywhere. Little lines. Little scars. Little words that tell big stories.
He doesn't know how he started it. It just happened. It's pretty sad to think about. One time the kid bled so much he passed out for about an hour. And damn was he scared when he wouldn't stop.
He couldn't stop. How could he? Then he realized that, there's no reason to be scared. What couldn't happen?
He wanted them to notice. To notice those scars. He still wants them to. He wants to have them say sorry. He needs them to know they're the reason.
It most likely wouldn't have the effect he hopes it would. To make them stop. Make them stop the never ending train of torture and the messed up part of it all is that he doesn't really know why they do it.
Maybe it's because they know he won't do anything. Won't do anything but cry, that is.
They really just don't care and he knows that. Throwing his notebook across the room, he wails and screams and closes his eyes in pain.
There nothing more he feels he can do. He holds onto his stomach as he screams out the pain and rinses half of it from his eyes. He's sure he'll be dehydrated because of all the waste of his bodily fluids.
His father screams for him to shut the fuck up but he only cries harder. It's a hard life for him. What's the end to it?
He doesn't know. Like, will it ever end. What's going to make it go away? He's just waiting for the answer and damn would he pay for it.
"Mommy," He cries out, distress and sadness in each letter. Mommy's gone.
"I need you." he quivers and shakes. Asking god to bring his mom to his room.
"Dad," He yelps. Dad's died. His heart aches. Like it's setting fire with lighter fluid. He can't even get a break, from all that pain. Not one second where he's normal. He's a creep in their eyes, but when he looks in the mirror he thinks he's not that bad.
There were days where he woke up thinking it's a good day. Bright side: I woke up this morning and that's all I need. He sometimes he'd look in the mirror and go damn- you're sexy but he ain't got much to say that about when they slice him up and mess up his face constantly.
He used to be one cute kid. But they started beating on him.
But now he's beating on himself. And tonight he went to bed with 4 new stories, heartache and nobody to love him.
