So this was written on New Years Eve and I was having some morbid thoughts about life since I was in beautiful Hawaii and stuck inside doing a project for school that was due the day I got back. Anyway, it's short but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
Countdown to Hope… Or Not
Ten…
The seats warm when I sit down, probably from the Nameless Man (let's just call him Bob) that's been sitting here all day with a cold beer in his hand, resting it on the side table (without a coaster under it) or on top of his potbelly. I scoot over on the ramshackle leather love seat to the colder side.
Nine…
There's an infomercial on right now with some type of container only for $19.95 (plus shipping and handling) so I switch to a broadcasting channel.
Eight…
I think I see at least five kids from my school at the local square where all the festivities in a small town like Tree Hill are held. Needless to say, there's a cup (of alcohol, I'm betting) in each of their hands.
Seven…
They're all smiling and laughing, holding each other as they tilt their heads back. I wish I could look that happy but it hurts to smile.
Six…
I used to wish I could be one of them. Didn't everybody? They walk down the halls and you just feel their presence, everyone being awed by them. Why? I don't even know how to explain it. You just know that they had it. And that made all the difference.
Five…
I cursed myself for thinking that. Who cares who they are! I remembered what they did to me and how I'm now home alone on New Years Eve, watching them watch the fireworks. They did this to you. They ruined your reputation.
Four…
I think of my mom, doing all the work of the house: the cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids (or me and my younger brother), and taking double shifts every night at the local diner where she's getting paid in leftovers from clients and barely enough money to make rent.
Three…
Why does she even need Bob anyway? Does he provide security or comfort? I guess the thought that he'll always be there for us is the thought that pleases her most. After all, he lives in our house without a job and sits on the couch all day drinking beer. He will always be here alright.
Two…
Men are jackasses, all of them. That's not a generalization or a point to be proven wrong. It's the truth and I have 17 years of my fatherless childhood, temporary "dads", broken hearts, and a photo to prove it.
One…
I see the King of Jackasses on television right now, on the mini "Kiss Me" Jumbotron they set up near the main fountain, with his flavour of the month. No, scratch that, his flavour of the week. There's no way they're going to last. Men never take relationships seriously.
Why the hell do you think there's so many divorces anyway?
Why do you think there's a picture of me sucking King Jackasses dick?
Why do you think I have so many bumps around my mouth anyway?
Happy Fucking New Year.