***Kenny
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"Dude, that's hilarious!"
"That's probably gonna be taken away from you. You know that, right?"
"A gun would be cooler."
"Aha! Have your Batman costume in your pants too?"
Mostly though, no one mentioned it. Just one of those strange fashion tends maybe. I slouch. My hands are in my pockets. I don't even try to laugh along anymore. Not that I'm not amused by their ignorance, I'm just tired. So tired.
It just hangs innocently out of my back pocket. Butters even complemented my on my awesome "lasso". Of course no one would come to the conclusion that it is, in fact, not a joke. It's not even a test. Just an acute curiosity. Ironically though, I can't seem to pay much attention to the things around me. I don't hear their laughing anymore. It's just a white noise. Hazy and desaturated. I wonder if I can even distinguish color anymore. Everyone's face looks the same.
I forget the about the bus. I walk against the traffic of teenagers. I feel my own eyelashes against my cheeks as I blink. I feel my teeth behind my lips. Feel the oxygen go through my nose. Feel the heat of peoples bodies and they brush against my arms.
The air is cool and crisp. It tastes like Spring. The winter snow crunches beneath my worn-down Converse. I turn and watch the imprints behind me getting smaller and smaller. Soon it will snow again. The canvas will be wiped clean.
Mom is lying on the couch, her face covered with her hands. All the booze in the world won't make her feel anymore needed. I crouch and duck through the gapping hole in my door. No point in using it any other way now. I let myself fall onto the tattered mattress. Face pressed against the torn sheets, I lift my hands to my backside.
Nothing.
Panic-stricken, I shoves my hands into all my pockets. No. No no no. I groan and tug at my bangs. The security blanket was gone. That was my escape. The door without the gapping hole. The one that locked from the inside so no one could follow. I slide down to the floor and sit in silence. There's always more than one door.
I walk over to the small dresser lying on its side. I tear out the drawer and watch as its contents scatter. I pick up Dad's old, rusty razor. The blade had broke in half making it come to a jagged point. Best gift the old man had ever given me. I smile as I slowly bring it up to my neck.