Fish Pillows

We all fill up our expectation. Find some good friends, fight through middle school and choose a label. Except me. I never had... friends. I mean, I guess I did. I had my pillows. The ones I hugged, just tight enough to keep me caged in my yellow room. Locked in, like a man in a jail cell. I never had to 'fight through' middle school, in fact, I never went. Again, I was sitting there, occasionally taking a breath, hugging my pillows, in my yellow room. But I guess I did get a label, I didn't exactly get to pick it though. They picked it for me, the therapists.

James Kittle was never one to leave. He wasn't one to think realistically. He wasn't, or didn't have, any street smarts (Probably because his feet had never felt the street). He just thought about.. wishes. Wishes that he had a group of friends, a deadly middle school, maybe even a better label. But that was all fiction. He had to live the way he was already living, safely, in his yellow bedroom (which just happened to be one of the only colors he had ever seen, adding to it there were no windows, they frightened him).

James Kittle: Agoraphobia