General Writing

Anyone can post whatever here. I'll start off.

Untitled Days

My feet drag themselves across the floor, pulling me towards the bathroom, and I instinctively reach out for the sink like I do every other morning. I stare at myself in the mirror above with weary eyes, spying a teenage face. Somehow, I get the feeling that it has a hint of maturity to it. No, that’s not just me glorifying myself. It’s that baggy sort of maturity, the one that’s been through one too many stressful nights. Truth be told, I’ve seen my fair share of them.
The strong stench of alcohol wafts itself into my nose; a sick, putrid smell. It’s a scent I’ve grown used to. As if on cue, I hear a groan and a smack as the door flies open. I ignore it. The reason behind it is something I’ve learned not to think about, at least not right now, like this, where there’s no use to moping. I lift a toothbrush to my mouth, and begin my morning routine.

I slip into a school uniform back in my room and head out to the kitchen, heating up a kettle of water. I open the door and I see a figure leave the living room, a bottle of cheap liquor in his hands. His clothes smell of cigarette smoke and urine. I scowl, disgusted at the man. I’m ashamed to call him my father.

I go into the living room, passing by the faded shadow of a father, and grab my backpack. For a moment, I start to think about the past, about how things got this way. Then the whine of the kettle snaps me back and I walk back into the kitchen, stepping over the man, and pour the boiling water into a ramen cup. It’s my meager attempt at a meal. I hear another groan, but I ignore this one, too.

I exit the room and head towards the doorway, but a voice pleads with me to stop and listen.

“Oh, going to school already? It seems I lost track of time again…” The father flashes a slow smile, but I return it with a tight lipped scowl. It’s a smile I’ve seen many a time before, a smile that says memories of a bygone past. “Oh well, have a good time.”

I feel like screaming at him. It may sound strange to you, but that’s what I want to do. Why can’t you call me “son”? “Kid”? Anything that is even remotely paternal! I feel like shouting at him, throw my breakfast of hot water and cheap noodles at him, demand for him to acknowledge me. I don’t want to be talked to like a stranger, damnit, you’re my father! I feel like flinging all this into his face. But, instead, I answer back.

“Yeah, sure,” is my meek reply, and I walk out the door, beginning my trek towards my school. It’s lonely, but I grin and bear it.

I trash the empty cup of noodles in the bin in front of the school. No one else is around, telling me that, yet again, I’m late. I reluctantly push myself to move on and keep walking, making the final stretch towards the place that I travel to every day, without fail. The power of habit…the power of a place away from home. It’s sad.

I walk past the front office, reminding myself that I should get a slip, but I don’t. They notice me in there, but they don’t care. It’s just another typical morning for us both. I go up the first flight of stairs, turn at the third door on the right, and push open the doorway. Most of the eyes inside turn to look at me and I look back. I see my classmates, some that I call friends, others that I don’t. I put on a nonchalant smile and move towards my seat. The teacher turns for a second to see me, but just as quickly turns back to the board and begins writing drivel that I don’t care to learn.

I rest my head ion my palm and make a halfhearted attempt to listen. Class flows by slowly, and after what seems to be hours later, the dismissal bell rings and gives us a reprieve from this boring lecture, even though I know I’ll go into another one in five, ten minutes. Someone I know comes around, sits down at the vacant desk in front, and turns back to face me. The long hair obscures my vision for a second.

“Hey, Christy,” I say. “Morning.”
“Wrong. It’s almost 1:00.”
“Oh, really. Hadn’t noticed.”
Christy sighs at me. “Jake, you can’t always be late like this.”
“Sure I can,” I reply. “After all, I did it today, didn’t I?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.” I burrow my head in crossed arms. “Though, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“It does matter.”
“To who? You?”
“Yeah.” Christy grabs the collar of my shirt. She’s always been an intimidating person. “Exactly. I worry about you, Jake.”
“Then don’t.” I say the words softly, but I think I mean it.
She sighs again. “Hurry up, it’s time for lunch. I always have to look after you, you know?”
“Yeah…you do,” I want to say to her. My mouth moves, but nothing comes out.

Christy gets up, still holding tightly onto my collar, dragging me along with her towards the cafeteria, with me barely keeping up. A few people in the hallways muffle snickers and giggles. Christy leads me to a seat, and then goes off to get lunches for the both of us. I offer to do it instead, but she refuses and walks off, leaving me alone to play with my thumbs. I sit down, and lean back in my chair as I wait, until another guy comes nearby.

“Christy still babysitting you, Jake?” He sits down at the table and starts picking at his food with a fork.
“Shut up, Kurt.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I said ‘shut up’.”
“Well, I heard you the first time. To be honest, I really don’t care.”
“Then I guess you won’t fuck off.” I mumble. A thumbs up from Kurt gives me a yes.
“Look, here she comes now.” He gets up and pulls out a seat for her, even ducking into a low bow, practicing his faux-etiquette. “Hey, Christy.”
“Hey,” says Christy, who accepts the chair across from me, and sets down two plates of cold pizza.

I pick up my pizza and start eating, only making halfhearted attempts to join into the conversation of the other two. I see a glance or two directed my way, asking me to speak up more, but I ignore them and eat my pizza. I hear Christy sigh, and for a moment feel bad about not opening up more. I stare at the remains of my pizza in my plate and before long find myself lost in my thoughts.

I don’t know how it really started. That man’s drunkenness, my own unwillingness to make friends after some point in my life? What had happened to make it so repulsive, so…mine? It kind of happened all of a sudden. Just, one day, I stopped caring anymore. School was simply somewhere to go away from home; home was simply a place away from school. There were almost no in betweens.

Home…what a loose term. A louse and drunk of a father are my home. How’d it start? I guess you could say that he lost his job and then his dignity. All because of what he described in his rare moments of lucidity as “a guilty pleasure.” In other words, he had hired a loose woman off the street that sued him for childcare in a year. Somewhere out there, I have an illegitimate sibling. The incident made him drink, he was fired from his firm, and then this.

He lost all self respect at that point, and he stopped caring. I guess I did, too, I just stopped trying at what I was before. I can’t even remember that time, only hearing about it in bits and scraps from others. All there is now is work, school, and coming home to a father that isn’t a father. What type of motivation does that give?

Inevitably, my grades slipped, and I lost interest. Friends would gradually leave my side, though a few stubborn ones would stick behind, and I’d have just begun a gradual descent into exactly what my dad is; someone that can only find solace within a bottle of hard liquor. I know it, but I don’t even try to stop it. Just a sign of how far I’ve slipped.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bell.

“I’m off. See you in class.”

I grab my bags from the cafeteria floor and start to get up, before a hand grabs me by the collar and throws me back into my chair. My face smashes into the table. Hard. Slowly, I lift my head to see a mischievously smiling Christy and a snickering Kurt.

“Oh no. You are walking to class with us.”
“I guess I’m in no position to argue.”
“Nope.” Kurt piped up. “Her word is law.”
“Great.”
“Then it’s settled.” Christy lets go of my arm and I rub the back of my head.
“Glad you are so enthusiastic.” Kurt this time. He throws a smile on his face.

Kurt laughs at my short exchange with Christy and grabs his bags off the floor, as well as mine and Christy’s. Kurt hands them to us as I mumble thanks next to Christy’s words of gratitude, and he leads us down the hall. We stop in just before the stairway and enter the room, hurriedly taking our seats. The teacher gets off her large chair and hesitates for a second, probably wondering whether she should even give the class any effort.

The teacher decides otherwise, and instead starts handing out pop quizzes that make the entire class groan with protest, but leaving her to do nothing for an hour and a half. She leaves the class to their devices, probably thinking about getting outside and getting drunk, or smoking, or something. I take pencil to paper and jot down whatever answers I know, leaving the rest blank. Almost everyone else does the same.

I lay my head down on the table, taking in the peace of the moment. It’s deafening. My eyes slide closed for a few seconds. Slowly, people begin to talk. Voices start small and rise in volume, a few speak and then everyone’s talking with someone. Chatter fills the room as the class slowly brings itself to life, unafraid of retribution from their louse of a teacher.

I take the moment to turn around at the class, to really see them. I see people joking, being, well, friendly. The sight is soothing, almost translucent and surreal. It’s moments like these that make a sad excuse for meaningful existence just a bit better. Moments like these that make me think, maybe I should be better. I pull myself out of my chair and go outside, going outside the building and into the daylight. I lean against a sun baked wall and watch nothing in particular, hands shoved into pockets. The door flips open and a familiar figure walks out.

“Yo, Jake.”

Kurt settles himself next to me, a good natured look on his face. He gives me a sideways glance and turns to the sky. The door opens again and out comes Christy. She goes on my other side and leans against the wall, her face holding out a smile. Three friends, just watching the rest of the afternoon go by. Heh. What serenity.

“We’re your friends, right?” inquires Kurt, though it’s more of a reassurance.
“That’s right, Friends, the three of us,” interjects Christy.
“I suppose so.”
“Suppose? Come on, man, you can put some more effort into it.”
“Yeah, really.”

I don’t say anything and they take my cue. I turn back to the afternoon sky and the light breeze. The feeling of it all. It’s nice. Pleasant. Something that makes me forget all about what happened before; just lets me concentrate on the now. I close my eyes; let a small smile grace my lips.

“Yeah, we’re friends. You’re my pals.”
“Better. Keep thinking like that.”

The two turn to me and grin widely. I let myself face them and return a small smile of my own. It’s not forced for a change. Christy pushes off the wall and grabs my arm, pulling me with her. Kurt laughs and follows and we start heading back into the class. I allow my feet to move and let myself follow along.

“We’re friends. Let’s keep it that way.” Christy smiles at me again. A smile that can brighten almost anyone’s day.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Kurt echoes.
“Sure,” I reply, but this time I let myself be enveloped with it.

Babe, that's excellent! You're an amazing writer, I mean it!

It's a wonderful piece, exactly the type of thing I used to write about my friends being there for me. Are Christy and Kurt your friends, or is it just a story you decided to write?

Have you got anymore pieces? I'd love to read some more of your work, babe.

Tis fiction based. It's not really based on any personal experience.