Countrywhatever oneshots

Ain't youth meant to be beautiful? // OC drabble

Yeah, I wish I'd been,
I wish I'd been a teen, teen idol
Wish I was the prom queen,
Fighting for the title
Instead of being sixteen
And burning up a Bible
Feeling super, super, super
Suicidal

   Some people would give anything to be someone else. Someone they're not. Whether it be because they're not comfortable in their own skin or they want people to love them more, they're always the same kind of person. Always the one who wants to tag along with the kids who are loved, cherished, even. It's all the same, never new. It never ever changes.
    I guess I'm like them, then. I guess that I'm just the same, not a single thing different than them. I'm like a banana tree while people tried to make the perfect banana, almost identical cell for cell with these beat up losers who can't seem to just be happy with themselves. They have to put themselves into an image that is so drastic that they will go to drastic measures to ensure they get it. Stupid, isn't it?
    Well, I'm stupid too. I'm just a dumb kid, locked away from the world in this wretched two-story house that used to be my favorite place in the world. I used to love being here, with dad and all, and it was fun. Well, before it was dad, it was Ukie. I never called her Mom, since that was just weird. She was too young to be a mom, but she loved me all the same. Or.. I thought she did.
    It's funny, that no matter how much you love someone, they'll leave.

    I'm being an annoying kid again.. maybe I should just stop rambling. Wow, I'm even restricting my own thoughts? That's a new low, better write it down.

    Either way, I don't want to be home anymore. I don't want to be here, with my dad and the two men he wants me to consider to be family. I don't know why he's trying at all, it's not going to go anywhere, and I have barely even talked to any of them. So why do I feel so terrible about being here?
    Why do I want to leave? Why should I give up my personal safe space to people whom I don't know or care about? Why does it matter?

     God is dead, so who knows who will answer my questions.

"I could answer them." A voice hissed, low and slick and disgusting. I turn to the direction of it, and soon enough, there it is. A somewhat snakelike persona sitting at the foot of my bed, their body in an Indian style position. I narrow my eyes.

    "Sure you could." I'd snap, rather loudly. "You're not even there. You're not real."

"I am real. And I know what they think of you." The serpentine human hissed. "I know what your dad thinks of you every day."

I went silent for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"You do?"

"Yes." It spoke again, grinning.

"What does he think of me?" I asked, caution in my tone.

The serpent person smiled.

"He thinks you're a nuisance."

// ☾ ꕥ ☽

    How long has it been since I've talked to anyone? I can tell you, it's been a real long time. I don't even remember really talking at all, to be honest. I guess I just slowly eased my way out of it. I rarely even come out of my room now, but that's purely because I just don't want to. I don't want to look at dad's.. relatives. I don't want to know them.
      Not only that, but the serpentine creature keeps telling me what das's thinking when he talks to me. Any time he walks into my room for something or calls me down to dinner, I can always count on a voice that tells me that he hates me.
      What's the worst part?

      I believed it.

      I believed it, and now the other creatures that swim within my mind are joining in, telling me every little bit of information from the heads of my peers. Each of these little snippets of thought feels like another knife carving out my chest, and I just want it to stop.

      But it's all my fault, isn't it? I'm the annoying one. I'm the one that they don't want to listen to. They just tolerate me, they let me rant and do what I want because they don't want me to feel bad or they feel bad for me. I'd be less hurt if they just said that they hated me and moved on. Now I have to rely on some things that only I can see to tell me if my parental figures hate me.

    And so far, I'm pretty damn sure they do.

     So why should I burden them any longer? Why am I still here? Why? I don't want to be here, nobody wants me here, so why should I wait any longer? They're not going to stop me, they don't care.

      I lifted myself up from my bed, the sheets and comforter slithering off my body and sliding onto the cold floor below. I padded to my dresser, silently, carefully, and changed myself into some warmer attire. Just a shirt, a jacket, and some pants. Nothing recognizable. Shoving a stolen bottle of vodka and my phone stuff into the little rucksack I decided to take, I had zipped it up and nodded to myself.

    I tried to unlock the window.

      Too bad it's old as hell.

      A crash rang throughout the house, probably loud enough to wake all of them up. Out from the broken window I flew, my wings extended and beating feverishly to keep me aloft and to get me away. I was nearly into the forest when I turned around and saw my bedroom light get flipped on.

      I dove into the forest.