Its been awhile.. I don't own anything.
Mark laid on his back and stared up at the cracked ceiling above him. He was cold, freezing actually, he could have sworn he was turning blue. He pulled the thin blankets up closer to him, they were scratchy and cheap but they got the job done…barely. He let out a sigh that resulted in a thin white puff of air exuding from his lips. So this is life. He thought to himself amongst the dark shadows. He had been musing to himself silently for hours now; pondering the what if's and should have's. He was almost twenty-four years old now and he had nothing to show for it. Mark was never the risk-taker per say, he never "fucked shit up", he never got in trouble with the law, he never went to parties or had been the most popular person. He had spent most of his life in this one-horse town trying to be what he thought was expected of him, trying to make others proud. He hated it, he kicked himself for it. He would always hear people talking about their life experiences but when it came for his turn to talk, he could never think of anything to say. Did it make him a bad person, a loser? Not everyone can be outgoing…Mark wished he would have been a little more outgoing, maybe he would have more interesting stories to tell.
Mark looked over to his clock, it read brightly in red bold numbers 3:45. Damn. He cursed to himself. He needed to get some sleep, but as of lately his thoughts would keep him up until the early morning hours in which he would just lay there, wide awake and think about his life, that this was his life. His sad, pathetic life. He hated it, he wanted to scream. He often thought about slipping out the front door at night and just running. He didn't know where he would run to, but it would be far far away from here, or rather, as fast as his legs and beat up converse clad feet would take him. I got to get out of here. If someone were to read his mind, they would be surprised by what they heard. He never talked about it, he never talked about most things that effected him so deeply and emotionally. He looked at his hands and stretched his fingers out. These hands were meant to create. Mark hated talking about how depressed he was, even more then he hated when people would bluntly say that they were depressed, they just put on a brave face for everyone. They don't know the half of it. I know pain. I know heart ache. I know what its like to be alone, truly alone. I hurt everyday, but you wouldn't even know. Way too often did he feel that he was unappreciated, a waste of space, a nobody. When people needed him, he was there, he would give his last if it meant helping someone out, although when it was him in need of a helping hand or a listening ear, he stood alone, completely invisible.
Invisible. Its funny how one word could trigger so many emotions within him.
He heard a creak and directed his eyes towards the doorway of his room, . He stared motionlessly into the dark at the tall figure standing in his door way.
"Can we talk?" came the rusty, pleading voice of his roommate.