Chapter 1.
Life is a rut. Walking the same path everyday, never leaving it. You may take a step out of the rut once in a while but, you will quickly go back into it. My life is just a routine that I repeat everyday, I have come to accept this and do not mind taking this worn out path. It is the path that is laid out to me, so I must take it. It is my destiny to keep going along this path that so many other have taken, their foot prints all matching together, my foot prints shall do the same. Life is just a path that we all take, no matter how long or short the path it, we follow that route because it is the most natural thing to do.
Walking in the rut of life is a boring life. Each day I do the same thing over and over again. My mornings are the same everyday; I wake up by my alarm clock, get dressed, brush my teeth, get my things, and head to the bus stop. At the designated area where the metal death contraption that takes us to a building that I call hell, I wait patiently. I do not speak to anyone to try and pass the time. Instead I just listen, listen to the wonderful music that brings color to my otherwise bleak and gray world. My fingers gently tap on my sides as my beat of the song goes through out my entire body. I block out the sense of hearing with the blasting music that comes out of my head phones, in order to block out the miserable sounds of this place called earth. With the bus finally arriving, I climb aboard, shuffling down the narrow aisle, to the seat that I always take. The seat right behind the heater, so I quickly warm up when it is cold out. As the bus begins to move, I look out the window letting my imagination take me. What are mere minuets seem longer, being stretched out as my imagination takes me from this awful reality and puts me into a place where it's pure bliss. People get on the bus with out me knowing, but no one sits next to me thankfully, never disturbing me as the metallic casket on wheels takes me to the prison that lasts six hours. As the bus finally comes to a halt, the two skinny doors that keeps us from the outside fold open. People stand up and seem to rush to the outside, which seemed pointless to me, we were all getting there.
Once I get off the giant metal rectangle that rides on four circles, I head inside, the only good thing about this prison is that there is warmth. I make my way down the crowded hall way, dodging people as I make my way to my locker. Once putting my things away, I head to the cafeteria where the food that they serve is worse then pig slop. I don't eat, I just sit there at a table, to rest my legs for the up coming battle that I have to go through for a straight six hours. I never understood why people stand out in the halls, crowding around a circle like they are about to watch an illegal cock fight. Why stand there when you can be sitting down, why strain your legs and wear yourself out so early in the morning. Why exhaust yourself before the torment begins. They clog up the hallways like the blood stream of someone who has sever obesity. They make it impossible for someone to get by, they do not care though, for it has no effect on them.
The bell rings loudly over the intercom, indicating that class was about to begin. I do not hear the bell that sounds like the dying screams of some poor animal. My music is still blasting, wiping out any sound that tries to make its way into my ears. I only notice this has happen by people rising up and heading to their designated class rooms. Rising up from the cold plastic chair which I rested on, I turn off my music, letting the horrible sounds that reside inside this hell hole rush into my ears. I try to block it out but it is no use as all I hear as the sounds of people, shouting over each other trying desperately to be heard. Humans are greedy and needy creatures, all we are capable of doing is taking and claiming them as our own. Humans do not care for anything else besides themselves. I have learned to see this horrible place for what it really is.
Through out the eleven years that I have spent, spending six horrible, treacherous hours in this captive prison, where I have no say, I have learned to blend in with what ever is in back of me. To blend in with the crowd. To keep silent and stay to myself, since having an opinion means social death for you. I pay attention to my classes, not to the clowns that try desperately to get attention in class since they do not seem to be getting enough in school. I may not be the smartest, but I get good grades. When it is time for the school to serve us pig slop, I slip away into the library, the only place where I can find the little peace I can in this school. I do not enjoy the looks I get from the librarians, their eyes hold pity when ever I enter the library at lunch time. I ignore them by putting on a fake smile. I have become proud of the fake smile I effortlessly bear on my face. For many years I have become accustomed to bearing.
The bell that rings at the end of the day doesn't sound as bad as the one that tells us the day is just starting. The same sound is produced, but this time it does not sound so bad. Gathering my belongings I push through the crowd that clogs the hallway, making my way outside into the fresh, easily breathable air. I make my way back onto the metal death contraption and blast my music, bringing color back into my world. My mind takes me to another place, a far away place, and before I knew it, I was at my bus stop. Once I get off, I hike my way up a small hill as a short cut, in order to reach my house faster and with less effort. Pulling out my key chain to gain entrance to my house. The key chain that is mine only contained three keys, one to this current house, one to my old house as a memory token, and one to a small safe that needs to be accomplished by a combination in order to open. I have been saving up money, what ever I could get. I can't find a stable job, my longest job lasted for three months. I'm saving up money for when I leave, so I can live on my own for a bit, or maybe I'll spend it on something else, I'm not to sure yet.
I enter my house, the house that seemed to have stand its ground for centuries. The shingles on the roof are falling off one by one, the painting on the outside are starting to chip off. The windows are dirty and fogged up, needing replacement, but will never get them. The inside of this small, ranch style house is filled with old furniture, and worn out things. The newest thing in this house was the television so my father could have a HD view of the team he placed money on loosing. No one was home just yet thankfully. Both of my parents have jobs, my mom is secretary, my father works on an assembly line. They both get out around the same time, who ever gets home first decides how the night will go.
I head down stairs into the basement, where my room resides. My room is bare, there is nothing on the walls, not even windows, I have an old, full size bed that I had since I was 10, a dresser that I have had longer then the bed, which is missing a leg, and a stand that holds a TV on top of it. The only decorative part in the room is the television, I rarely use it, I spend most of my time on my laptop that always rest on my bed. Unplugging the head phones that was connected to my iPod, I connect it to my laptop, as it starts up. I am always on my computer, other then when I have to eat and bathe, or have to interact with the family. My computer and iPod are the two joys of my life. They are the joys of my life for one simple reason, and one reason only. They let me escape reality.
They let me escape reality, this pitiful thing which I am trapped in. I am forced to live out a life sentence in this cruel thing. There is nothing good about reality, I am bound to this earth by it. I am forced to live in this God forsaken land where each day there are crimes, crimes which should not happen. Rape, murder, kidnapping, and so many other things which no one should have to grow up fearing one of these things may happen to them if they are not careful. No one should have to suffer from having something like that happen to them. Who ever does such an unspeakable crime should be tortured for the world to see as an example, not place them in a comfy little cell where you give them three meals a day and let them interact with other people. Why do that? What kind of message are you sending. Some people can even get away with it. There was a case not to long ago, some rich kid punk that was 16 ran over 3 people while he was on drugs. They let him go claiming that his parents never taught him right from wrong. That should never happen. I hate this reality that I live in and wish to escape it. I never thought I would. Soon I would be taking a step out of this rut that I live in and start down a new path.
