The Rats Lurking In The Dark

New beggining

-So you don't care at all?
-I do, I just, I can't deal with you right now. I need time for myself.
I opened the door and walked out. Or atleast I should've, but I didn't. I stayed and kept trying to make sense of what she said, but I couldn't. I eventually left, after spitting all the poison I could remember. That day, when I got to my room, I locked the door, fell on the floor and cried. Silently, because I couldn't show anyone my pain, because I was to ashamed, because no one else had ever been hurt.
The weeks after that weren't much better, I searched for comfort in playing games all night and sleeping off the days. Eating became something I ocasionally remembered of, my bass guitar got dusty, untouched on it's corner, and my bike was forgotten in the garage, to be covered with spider webs. When I passed by it I wished it was me there, ever so peaceful and forgotten, not bothered by anything at the slightest.
Meanwhile, the days grew longer and my parents, worried, started to insist I got out of the house more, or they'd send me to a summer camp. I knew i wouldn't stand all the annoying and nosy kids at a camp so, relutanctly, I started going out of the house. At first I would just go to my spot on a forest nearby and lay on a huge, smooth boulder only I knew of, but eventually got sick of it so I started going to town.
I went to the beach and looked at the tides from the sidewalk, with their short lives and meaningless deaths, just like people. Just like me. By instinct, I reached for the bag on my belt, but stopped. I had brought it because I was to lazy to take it off the belt as I put it on. Inside, it was my notebook and a short pencil I used to write my short poems or storys. I did it to keep a record of anything worth remembering, like my thought about the tides.
I thought about taking it out and write my thought just as I did before everything, but it sounded wrong, out of place. Things were different now, I felt like punching or throwing. I walked down the steps to the sand and up to the sea, until a wave wet my shoes. I stepped back, took the stupid book out and raised it above my head, ready to throw all the thoughts and personality I had put into it to the sea, for all of it to be destroyed and lost, for all of it never to be found. I'd throw my bag in after and then dive in and lose myself as well so I could drown in the freezing water, as I screamed <<Fuck all of you!>> and gave my world my middle finger.
I must've taken a while and been deep in my thoughts, because someone grabbed my arm and said, in an angry yet quiet voice:
-That's littering, you cunt
I turned around to make whoever it was meet the annoyance in my eyes, but was met with cold, angry, yet slightly sad, eyes staring back at me.
I was more surprised than anything else. A girl, about my age, with straight, light browm hair, that fell to her shoulders, and darker, yet still light, brown eyes, stood before me. I put my arm down and the book back in the bag. She let go if my arm and nodded.
-Good
She turned around and walked out of the beach and up to the concrete sidewalk, and disapeared behind a coffee shop. I sat on the sand and tried to draw her pissed, icy stare. Drawing wasn't any hobby of mine, but I didn't feel like throwing the book anymore and I wanted to remember her face. After to many tries, I finally got satisfied with a decent sketch of her. The sun was about to set so I headed back home, trying to get her out of my head, but with little sucess. That was the first day for a long time I went to sleep thinking something other than "Life is meaningless".