A Little Story
Yeah, the last few days had been hectic.
He had really and truly tried to kill himself on Saturday. His parents didn’t love him, and his friends didn’t care. He’d wanted so badly to go up to the lighthouse and jump off of the high granite rocks but he was always too much of a wimp to pull something like that off. So, he tried to kill himself the old fashioned way, and just like the time he’d tried before, he failed. But, with the large bottle of pills untouched in his closet, his indecision about it seemed to be present. It wasn’t that though. He wanted pain. He wanted to know he was going.
Sunday brought an interesting lot of nothing. He could have done his geology work, he supposed, but who did that outside of work? He busied himself instead with creating a new story about someone who was worthy of love and respect. Someone like he couldn’t find anywhere. So, her life went on, and he hoped fervently he’d meet someone like her.
He thought he had, once, but he wouldn’t dare try to get close. She wasn’t the type for personal relations, or so it seemed. He just watched from afar, hoping that nothing more awful would happen to her. She made him laugh; she made life almost bearable for him. Only in her presence though. She had told him where she lived once, and when he’d gone, she’d said repeatedly that she didn’t want him to come back. He couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not, and dared not ask just in case it was true. Just like the time she’d said she hated him.
The package for his brother was due on Monday, and the deliverymen came. No one was home, so the delivery would have to wait until the following day, but the duties et all massed to sixty dollars. Still, he was happy the package came, as his brother had made him spend three months looking for the item at a reasonable price. He hated dealing with merchants for other people; he always got ripped off and he could stand it barring the fact that it wasn’t him who had to be satisfied.
They day went as uneventful if not more so than the Sunday. Some more reports to write, and his mother bothering him about doing some online transactions for her. He didn’t want to, and she didn’t like that. He had signed up for a math class to add to his workload earlier that day, as he apparently couldn’t get his BFA at his chosen institution without it. This also upset him, as math was by far his worst subject.
He was continuing his story with the radio turned on that night when one of his friends contacted him. He’d felt less and less sure of himself by the day around them, as two of them fought incessantly and he knew not what about. The others merely became quiet at the sight of him, causing him to become more and more insecure. Then, lo and below, there was an e-mail in his inbox. “We need to talk.” He thought it was it. No one was talking to him ever again. He replied, and all of the other man’s replies were very official and to the point, serving only to escalate his worry. He had suggested that they enter a private instant messaging session. The moment he said yes, his computer froze.
After restarting it, he was met by an instant messaging window that spouted “About time!” in large font. He apologized twice, but the damage was apparently done. All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe. His friend said he had something important to tell, and he wasn’t supposed to. He told his friend to go ahead. He couldn’t possibly make him feel worse.
He then found out he had completely misunderstood. It was about a secret. A secret kept from him for months and months. A secret all of the others found extremely upsetting when revealed. So now, he was torn between being happy, though it would obviously need to be repressed due to the feelings of everyone else, and being disappointed that he wasn’t trusted enough to be told before. He stayed up through the wee hours of Tuesday morning, rising at 6:20AM for work on five hours of sleep.
This secret, though he didn’t find it to be a very bad thing in the least, plagued him all night and through the day. He couldn’t focus on his work (the girl he cared for told him it was due to the one-track of the sleeping mind) and before he knew it, he was home and had accomplished nothing. But, thankfully, the parcel had arrived.
His mother then commanded him to look up the status on her current buy. He said he didn’t know, but knew with dread that it would be up to him to find out. His brother came home, and he walked quickly out to see the joyous opening.
The package was wrong. Instead of the real thing, his brother had received a cheap knockoff. And it was obvious that his brother blamed him. “They’re the wrong ones.” He said curtly.
He had taken enough for one two-day period. “So? You have a problem, you can take it up with them.” He then left at a brisk walk, hurrying out of there as fast as he could. He finally made it to his place of relaxation and he lay there, on a gift from an old friend from what seemed like eons ago, taking in the sky in as many calming breaths as he could. He cried.
When the harsh October wind became too much for his freezing body, he took a walk around the area, gathering rocks he thought looked neat. The idea came to him to create a special gift for any friends he had left, and he vowed to return later--- with a windbreaker--- to gather more.
He was delayed. His brother stayed on the computer for five straight hours, causing him to have to start his gift a little early. He was surprised that he was actually pleased with how it was coming, and got in his Jeep to get some more rocks. He drove back the little path --- he was glad he had a Jeep, as some of the low cars he had seen would not navigate the roots as well --- and arrived at his destination. It was far too dark for the time of night it was, and the wind and sky were angry. When he went over with his flashlight to gather some more rocks, the wind pushed him farther back up the hill. “Okay,” he said, “Stay away, I understand.” He continued for a bit longer before the wind gusted up again, sending him to his knees. “Okay, I’m going!” He vowed to come back on Wednesday, and piled in his Jeep, navigating the unlit path passably well.
He piled his rocks when he got home, sorting the good from the bad (which didn’t take long, as there were no more than seven) and he started his work. The test had worked, and they would all be beautiful if his mother just had the tool he needed. He went to check, and on her way, his mother commanded his brother off of the computer. He assumes his brother thinks it was he who asked, as his brother refuses to talk to him now. He thanked his Mom for the much needed took and started working, only to find that he had to let the project sit a while longer. So, he went on the computer. Hours later, he was up too late once again, talking in secret to half of his friends, and in public to the others. He hated doing this, hiding. One of his private friends sent him a link to an amusing video, and that made him feel a bit better. The last thing he did before leaving the computer was beg the same two not to fight.
He was dismissed to bed with again six hours of possible sleep left, and went. He didn’t fall asleep for two hours.
Three hours after that, he was awaken by a vicious cold. An hour earlier than he would wake up had he a good night’s sleep. He got up anyway, and walked sickly around to start his day, hoping to talk on the computer some more at this ungodly hour. He realised with more sickness that in over forty-eight hours, he’d had less than ten of sleep. He could barely walk. His friends joked about him not needing sleep, and he was off to work once again.
He spent Wednesday (so far, that is) ¼ awake. He could not tell you if his life depended on it what went on in any of his meetings, and he yet again got nothing done. He feels so desperately miserable about everything, and no one understands because a lot of his stress is due to a secret. A secret that he believes the source plans to tell him within a week. Very ironic, considering no one wishes to say a word for many months, and then everyone’s rushing to tell him at once. He also has to plan the next four years of his life by the middle of January. All of these thoughts plague him whilst he is still sleepless. He is told by another one of his friends that her progress has been set back six years, which is one year short of suicide attempts.
He does not want to say that he only needs to be set back four days.
He had really and truly tried to kill himself on Saturday. His parents didn’t love him, and his friends didn’t care. He’d wanted so badly to go up to the lighthouse and jump off of the high granite rocks but he was always too much of a wimp to pull something like that off. So, he tried to kill himself the old fashioned way, and just like the time he’d tried before, he failed. But, with the large bottle of pills untouched in his closet, his indecision about it seemed to be present. It wasn’t that though. He wanted pain. He wanted to know he was going.
Sunday brought an interesting lot of nothing. He could have done his geology work, he supposed, but who did that outside of work? He busied himself instead with creating a new story about someone who was worthy of love and respect. Someone like he couldn’t find anywhere. So, her life went on, and he hoped fervently he’d meet someone like her.
He thought he had, once, but he wouldn’t dare try to get close. She wasn’t the type for personal relations, or so it seemed. He just watched from afar, hoping that nothing more awful would happen to her. She made him laugh; she made life almost bearable for him. Only in her presence though. She had told him where she lived once, and when he’d gone, she’d said repeatedly that she didn’t want him to come back. He couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not, and dared not ask just in case it was true. Just like the time she’d said she hated him.
The package for his brother was due on Monday, and the deliverymen came. No one was home, so the delivery would have to wait until the following day, but the duties et all massed to sixty dollars. Still, he was happy the package came, as his brother had made him spend three months looking for the item at a reasonable price. He hated dealing with merchants for other people; he always got ripped off and he could stand it barring the fact that it wasn’t him who had to be satisfied.
They day went as uneventful if not more so than the Sunday. Some more reports to write, and his mother bothering him about doing some online transactions for her. He didn’t want to, and she didn’t like that. He had signed up for a math class to add to his workload earlier that day, as he apparently couldn’t get his BFA at his chosen institution without it. This also upset him, as math was by far his worst subject.
He was continuing his story with the radio turned on that night when one of his friends contacted him. He’d felt less and less sure of himself by the day around them, as two of them fought incessantly and he knew not what about. The others merely became quiet at the sight of him, causing him to become more and more insecure. Then, lo and below, there was an e-mail in his inbox. “We need to talk.” He thought it was it. No one was talking to him ever again. He replied, and all of the other man’s replies were very official and to the point, serving only to escalate his worry. He had suggested that they enter a private instant messaging session. The moment he said yes, his computer froze.
After restarting it, he was met by an instant messaging window that spouted “About time!” in large font. He apologized twice, but the damage was apparently done. All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe. His friend said he had something important to tell, and he wasn’t supposed to. He told his friend to go ahead. He couldn’t possibly make him feel worse.
He then found out he had completely misunderstood. It was about a secret. A secret kept from him for months and months. A secret all of the others found extremely upsetting when revealed. So now, he was torn between being happy, though it would obviously need to be repressed due to the feelings of everyone else, and being disappointed that he wasn’t trusted enough to be told before. He stayed up through the wee hours of Tuesday morning, rising at 6:20AM for work on five hours of sleep.
This secret, though he didn’t find it to be a very bad thing in the least, plagued him all night and through the day. He couldn’t focus on his work (the girl he cared for told him it was due to the one-track of the sleeping mind) and before he knew it, he was home and had accomplished nothing. But, thankfully, the parcel had arrived.
His mother then commanded him to look up the status on her current buy. He said he didn’t know, but knew with dread that it would be up to him to find out. His brother came home, and he walked quickly out to see the joyous opening.
The package was wrong. Instead of the real thing, his brother had received a cheap knockoff. And it was obvious that his brother blamed him. “They’re the wrong ones.” He said curtly.
He had taken enough for one two-day period. “So? You have a problem, you can take it up with them.” He then left at a brisk walk, hurrying out of there as fast as he could. He finally made it to his place of relaxation and he lay there, on a gift from an old friend from what seemed like eons ago, taking in the sky in as many calming breaths as he could. He cried.
When the harsh October wind became too much for his freezing body, he took a walk around the area, gathering rocks he thought looked neat. The idea came to him to create a special gift for any friends he had left, and he vowed to return later--- with a windbreaker--- to gather more.
He was delayed. His brother stayed on the computer for five straight hours, causing him to have to start his gift a little early. He was surprised that he was actually pleased with how it was coming, and got in his Jeep to get some more rocks. He drove back the little path --- he was glad he had a Jeep, as some of the low cars he had seen would not navigate the roots as well --- and arrived at his destination. It was far too dark for the time of night it was, and the wind and sky were angry. When he went over with his flashlight to gather some more rocks, the wind pushed him farther back up the hill. “Okay,” he said, “Stay away, I understand.” He continued for a bit longer before the wind gusted up again, sending him to his knees. “Okay, I’m going!” He vowed to come back on Wednesday, and piled in his Jeep, navigating the unlit path passably well.
He piled his rocks when he got home, sorting the good from the bad (which didn’t take long, as there were no more than seven) and he started his work. The test had worked, and they would all be beautiful if his mother just had the tool he needed. He went to check, and on her way, his mother commanded his brother off of the computer. He assumes his brother thinks it was he who asked, as his brother refuses to talk to him now. He thanked his Mom for the much needed took and started working, only to find that he had to let the project sit a while longer. So, he went on the computer. Hours later, he was up too late once again, talking in secret to half of his friends, and in public to the others. He hated doing this, hiding. One of his private friends sent him a link to an amusing video, and that made him feel a bit better. The last thing he did before leaving the computer was beg the same two not to fight.
He was dismissed to bed with again six hours of possible sleep left, and went. He didn’t fall asleep for two hours.
Three hours after that, he was awaken by a vicious cold. An hour earlier than he would wake up had he a good night’s sleep. He got up anyway, and walked sickly around to start his day, hoping to talk on the computer some more at this ungodly hour. He realised with more sickness that in over forty-eight hours, he’d had less than ten of sleep. He could barely walk. His friends joked about him not needing sleep, and he was off to work once again.
He spent Wednesday (so far, that is) ¼ awake. He could not tell you if his life depended on it what went on in any of his meetings, and he yet again got nothing done. He feels so desperately miserable about everything, and no one understands because a lot of his stress is due to a secret. A secret that he believes the source plans to tell him within a week. Very ironic, considering no one wishes to say a word for many months, and then everyone’s rushing to tell him at once. He also has to plan the next four years of his life by the middle of January. All of these thoughts plague him whilst he is still sleepless. He is told by another one of his friends that her progress has been set back six years, which is one year short of suicide attempts.
He does not want to say that he only needs to be set back four days.