Fucking emo

Six fucking hours later.

My mom, a lawyer, and I were at the police station, where I told her about... him. Using Alex's name somehow felt dirty, like licking rocks. She had no idea we had witnessed yet another suicide.

For hours, my mom tried to call Alex's parents, but only his older sister answered and promised to pass on the message. No one from his side ever showed up that night. The detective in charge of the suicide spree eventually arrived and interrogated him. I felt uncomfortable being there the entire time.

Later that night, my mom drove him home even though it was only a few blocks away. She insisted I came along. I sat in the front, him in the back, in silence.

"Goodnight, Ms. Clearwater," he said in his unusual hoarse voice as he walked away. My mom said goodnight and asked if his parents were home and if she should go in with him. But he declined and said they would call her.

"See you tomorrow, Nicholas," he waved at me with a dumb smile.

I just looked at him.

"Say goodbye to your friend," my mom said.

"He's not my fucking friend, mom."

"Watch your tongue, young man."

I grumbled a lame and reluctant "Bye" and rolled up the window.

Back at home, my mom cooked us dinner, and I asked her, "Did he tell the truth...?"

"I think so," she replied.

"He's not my friend. I don't know why he came here."

"He said the same thing there, except that you helped him out in chem class. He seemed pretty lonely."

"Everyone hates him."

That night, I was sweating in bed and had removed most of my pajamas. He appeared in my dream again, this time in a forest, lying in a mudpit and sinking.

I climbed a tree and watched, twice as quickly and gracefully as I did at age seven. As I reached out to him, I realized how silly it was. I was the tree, its wood, leaves, and fruits. I couldn't move, and the world passed me by.

After a while, he disappeared, and I saw myself walking in the distance, coming near. I climbed myself, this time with much more difficulty, until I was trapped in the middle, unable to climb up or return down without falling.

"Remember the time I killed that moth?" I asked, though I couldn't tell which version was asking.

"The infestation has long begun. The rumor is ritual. Thirty-three steps. You will climb down. The grave is open."

☆