Kur[o]kami

There was never anything normal about the place anymore. Everything always looked so fake. Smiles, plastered on to faces just so no one could let me feel sorrow, or guilt, or anger; it was more like no one was allowed to upset me, and I began using that to my advantage. The school treated me like a God and so I usurped that as my position. But the lack of restriction soon bored me, and so I left.

And yet, ntohing changed. No one attempted to usher me back , and even outside of school, those plastered smiles followed me everywhere. My parents had left me a long time ago, but then, I was looked down upon and no one seemed to care about my existance. That was the case, until recently.

It was about three weeks ago that the true facade began. All I remember is waking up in a hostpital bed with all of the people in the city trying to bribe me or console me. I cannot recall what for.

It didn't make sense.

I had always been sort of a "handosme boy" or so they said, but I was quiet and had kept to myself; it made me sick. I wasn't really like that at all; I was violent and hot-headed, and rarely ever didn't  want to talk.

But I stayed silent.

Because no matter how much I wanted to hurt somebody when they pissed me off, I knew my own monster strength, and kept away from them for their own good.

I wouldn't have started a fight.

So what was I doing in the hospital?

Why is everyone so afraid of me?

The questions plauged me, but no one was going to give me an answer. Even those who had called themselves my closest friends had adopted the facade and become my slaves. It seems like such a blessing, but why have I been bestown with such a curse? I was never one to dog on normality and wish for fantasy, but truly, that was what my life had become. My life was that of one similar to novels. Both patents either dead or estranged, and a physiological and psychological circumstance that is a farcry from normal.

Beast.

That was the word that screamt through the guise, constantly echoing.

Was that what I was? A fitting but crude word. But, even if I were a beast, why would they now love me? Should that not give them  more reason to avoid and alienate me? The torment had finally ceased, so the fear is prevalent, but no one defiantly stands up against this system. They all prance in the palm of my hands; somehow, I've become the puppeteer to their maniacal dance!

I figured this was something far out of my control. Who ever cares about the gloomy punk kid in the back of the class? Everyone's either annoyed or terrified, and now they care? It doesn't matter to my why they do, but why should they? Never had I done anything to them; and thay was bugging me. This time, I had done something, and no one had the guts to tell me what that something was.

But how did that something lead me to the hospital? I'm uninjured too...

"Gah! Forget it! I can't remember a thing!" I scribbled all over the doodle I had drawn and instantly regretted it, then sighed, "that one would have made a nice painting."

While the image was still salvageable in my mind, I pulled a clean canvas onto the easel, grabbed my pallet, mixed the colors and began to lose myself in my work.

There was nothing else in the world that could put forth so many different emotions in so many different ways than art. Any form of art. I loved to write and draw and sing. WIth art, my world and my possibilities, grew boundless.

Art was my escape within an escape, and it was the most glorious thing I'd ever discovered. For so many, when there is art, nothing else matters, for me, when I have entered that zone everything else matters. Art would give me a chance to sort out the day's tribulations.