(A.N- This is going to be a pretty weird little story, and fairly out of character, well only for Troy. But I suppose it could be considered in character, because it isn't Troy really, it's Troy after pretty much going around the bend. Anyways, I don't own High School Musical, and all that nonsense, because if I did I would just kick Gabriella out of the whole thing... anyhow. Here we go!)
Chapter One- Naive
Troy Bolton bit his lip in excited anticipation, the cool metal of the gun on his palm. His expression grew to one of evident happiness, an expression that had become unfamiliar to his angelic young face in recent times. His hands were sweaty and nervous, shaking even. The feeling of the gun in them stopped that, doused in a sort of relief, the end was near. He clutched the weapon to his chest as did a child with a favorite stuffed animal, a comfort and security blanket against whatever harsh world existed outside the confines of his naive mind. He only wished he could be so naive.
But Troy Bolton had graduated from that phase, when he still believed the good in the world. He was over that. The boys breath became faster, what a rush it was to finally enact this, which he'd been planning for so very long. He had indeed graduated from his young mind, but not from his young body, he was still in his senior year at East High.
Whilst his classmates smiled at their prospects, just beginning the final chapter in their days as children, and all to eager to move on. Troy could relate, he wanted to get out to. A part of him though, wanted to stay in the almost utopian world of high school forever. Almost utopian. Perfect, except for one boy. Troy.
He knew his classmates were happy, they were glad to be american, glad to be in upper middle class families and thoroughly enjoying suburbia. They were eager to escape and become themselves. He himself found his own person to be stuck on the other side. While his friends explored the unrestrained future ahead of them, he felt everyone was telling him where to go, what to do, what to think, who to be. How to live.
That was what lead Troy Bolton to this very moment, on November the nineteenth. The day when everything would change. Gun clutched tightly against his bare and sweaty chest, barrel pointed at his neck. One might walk in on Troys smiling face, his body in this position, wondering when he would blow off his head and finally end it all. Suicide though, was the very last thing on Troys mind. On the contrary, he wanted the world to see the suffering he went through, and to finally empathize. Though he doubted empathy existed any more than the Tooth Fairy, if the world had managed to get itself into this position. Surely creatures capable of caring for others couldn't start wars, make bloodshed, kill a forever innocent child as the little one cried and begged not to do it. He was just going to have to do it himself, and create it.
The smiled still etched onto his dry and cracking lips, he pulled his shirt over his head, then zipped on his sweater. He was wearing bright colors today, if only so they would expect it even less. He chuckled to himself a little bit, his voice deeper than usual somewhat unfamiliar to even himself, as he got a look at himself in the large mirror over his mother's wardrobe. A huge mirror, that to him represented the vain, self centered and cruel perception of the world, he vowed to end it. He was chuckling though, because one couldn't see the gun in his pocket through the thick red fabric. Above the pocket, the Wildcat logo emblazoned his chest in a clean white shade, all the more suitable. What was more enthusiastic about his school pride than helping the students in learning what the real world was like.
He still smiled in a twisted sort of way as he exited his parent's bedroom, where his father kept the gun. How foolish were they to think that they could simply leave the weapon and a stockpile of bullets in their own house for "emergencies". He just wanted to day to them that in some places the police could be trusted enough that the population wasn't even allowed to have loaded weapons in their a child present too, he scoffed, they were quite naive themselves.
He didn't even flinch as he left the door, rounded the corner and almost bumped into his mother in the corridor. Even if she saw the lump in his pocket, she was much too dull to realize just how very disturbed Troy had become since beginning his last year of schooling. Much too blind to see past the cheerful, popular facade that he wore constantly. That was with the exception of at home, when the mask was removed. He spent hours after school filling countless notebooks with pages and pages of tiny writing, crude yet disturbingly accurate drawing of the things he would dream about. Dreams filled with blinding anger.
She kissed him on the cheek as he left for school, he smiled brightly at his mother. She felt proud, once again, that her son had turned out so perfectly. In almost every way he was, in his opinion, he was merely much better, much more enlightened that the rest of the world, they were simpletons, capable of evil and only evil.
Cool morning air swept through Troy's lungs, filling him with hope. He wanted to do this, get it done and not be shot down in the process. He had to walk twenty minutes to get to school, his father was the coach and therefor drove there every morning, taking only minutes. He constantly offered to drive Troy, because the boy had accepted the ride without question every day of the past three years, only this year had he opted to excuse himself, saying he was much too old to be driving there with dad. He could have driven himself, but he preferred the time he got to think in solitude.
Still deep in thought, his hand in his pocket gripping tightly to the gun, he arrived at the school, forced from his blissful thoughts by the bustle of activity around him. There were a lot of shouts and greetings "Hey Troy!" or "Morning Troy!", many of that sort. Everyone wanted to greet him. Not because they really knew him or enjoyed his company. He was merely an accessory to them, being seen chatting with the popular guy was a status symbol, they weren't greeting Troy Bolton, they were greeting smiling basketball guy with the good hair and the muscles and the swooning girls. He hated them.
In a particularly good mood this morning though, because of what he was about to do, he nodded and smiled patiently at each and every student who waved at him as he made his way towards his locker. Wearing his wildcats sweater, no one could see the secrets he held just beyond their view.
Chad nudged his best friend playfully on the arm "Excited for later?" he asked. He was of course referring to the game this evening.
Troy's eyes wondered off into the distance, a glint in them and a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, man. Really excited!" he laughed a little too long to be normal, as if it was all some tremendous inside joke. He walked off towards his homeroom, leaving his friends behind, laughing. Troy muttered to no one in particular "Really, really... excited."
What do you guys think? It's the first day of winter break, and this thought occurred to me as I was shoveling. I'll probably work on this as a bit of a project over the break, so expect a few more updates quite rapidly. I plan on taking this one pretty far, so I'm fairly excited. Please Review and Tell me what you think!
