Mask

Filler

I recited numerous readings from my book until my voice grew hoarse. This was a daily routine for me as I often found myself reading all day from the same book, The Guide To Alchemy. I'd read it probably 18 times already as I found myself indulged in it everytime I read it. Sometimes I'd even fall asleep as I recited the paragraphs I'd managed to memorize. I'd bought the book sometime when I was 16 with the dollar bills I managed to find on the ground at my apartment, but now as I finish this book at an early morning hour I have nothing else to do but ponder on the staircase of the apartment complex.

I find it funny almost nobody knows I live here, I've practically lived here all my life. My earliest memories are of when my mother was around, but she went away when I was nine and from then on I learned how to survive on the streets and in the tiny room in this apartment we owned. There are a few other lower class families living in this complex. When I was younger I was almost certain this was a homeless shelter but apparently, it in fact, is not. Perhaps this isn't an apartment though now that I think of it all these years later, nobody seems to pay rent, maybe its just a squat. But it's in the smack middle of town so I'd doubt it'd be a squat of sorts. Whatever it is, I'm glad I live here for some odd reason, I may not have a lot of money or even have a job but there is some mixture of melancholy and hapiness resenting from this quiet town lifestyle of mine.

Considering it's becoming almost pitch black I head back up the concrete steps to my room, my house, whatever it is for I don't know what to call it. But I'm not going to bed yet, I still need to study more and ponder. I decide to ponder first considering I've been doing it for most the day. As I sit on my couch I begin to reflect on my seventeen 'years' on this planet. I find time meaningless and pointless since its just concept but for age I find it rather necessary even though I guess it doesn't really matter. But it does matter to me. In reality, I'm scared of death. I hate to admit it and I never plan to tell anybody that, not that I have anybody to tell anyways but the thought of what happens once we die is terrifying. I'm scared of the unknown, yep, that's my fear, and I truely hate myself for it. I wonder if my own mother had any fears, I bet she did, I know she did. She fucking left me when I was nine so obviously she was scared of something but who knows what, maybe it was my father. My mother never talked to me about my father which I was okay with until I was a bit older when I'd ask more questions. "Mom, will dad ever come home?" "Maybe some day, Aeron." Maybe Someday. Maybe fucking never. This isn't no Disney movie, dreams don't come true. He's probably dead or a pimp, my mom's probably dead or with a new family where I'm long forgotten. Life's a drag but I guess we all are stuck in it's dumb ways right?