I haven’t really written anything in a while, so here is my contribution to the forums literature board. And before you have even read enough of this to ask, neither I nor the character depicted in this story are emo, though we do share an inexplicable fondness for the winter. BTW, don't be affraid to comment. Unless you're going to say something mean, and you happen to value your face. I'm kidding, I'm not going to do anything to your face. Or am I? ??? Seriously, IDK...
          He took a deep breath, the frigid air biting at his lungs. He knew he should be cold, that he should be uncomfortable in nothing but jeans and a T-shirt, but as usual he was quite comfortable. Something about it, the crisp air, the white ground, the silence, seemed to drag him away from the world. He did not have to bother hiding anything, or pretend everything was alright when it seemed that the simple beliefs that he had used as a foundation for his life were falling out from underneath him.
          Betrayal. That had seemed to start it all, but he knew this had been set into motion long before he learned what had happened. He had been through some bad times before, but he always had his friends to keep him going, to help him hang on to the belief that there was still good in humanity. And then this. Stabbed in the back by someone he considered a friend. A brother. Someone he had known nearly all his life.
          Just thinking about it made him feel sick. In one fell swoop, his very concept of reality had been shattered. He hated everyone. He made it through the day by killing himself inside, and trying to seem as normal as he could until he walked through his door, the knife in his back haunting him every moment his mind was left to wander.
          This ‘friend’ was only lucky that a snow day had given him three days. Had he confronted him the day after he found out, at least one of them would not be breathing right now. After that, they kept their distance whenever they could help it. He still felt that he, not a particularly violent person by nature, could kill him. For what he did, he deserved to die. But instead, he lived on. The friend was gone now, several thousand miles away, and our story’s tortured hero stands knee deep in the snow, waiting for the cold to numb him enough to take his mind off things. Maybe it would kill him. He thought about it a moment, and thought that wouldn’t be so bad. He still had other friends, but he felt that he had no one. No one knew what had happened to him. No one comforted him.
           And though he told himself he would say, were anyone to ask, that he didn’t want any pity, that worse things were happening right now and plenty of people were far more deserving of a shoulder to cry on, he would probably have broken down right in front of them. He was tired of putting on the façade of normality, outwardly putting himself off as the average, well adjusted teenager. He was tired of everything. But something about the snow, the frigid air, the white landscapes and grey skies, seemed to comfort him, to give him the strength to hang on just a little longer so that, maybe, someone would see through his act and see the wounded soul beneath.
          Unfortunately, he was a very convincing liar.
Topic: Just putting this out there (Read 1467 times)