I DO NOT OWN EARTHBOUND

Hello! I'm back. Maybe. Possibly. Depends on how well my motivation and diligence work together. In any case, I figure that since I've really only ever taken to writing indie high school AU's, I should probably just embrace it. I mean, that's what John Hughes did.

Anyways, this entire story will take place in Ness' point of view. It's a cheap little high school AU. And like all cheap high school AU's, it comes with a few risky lines of prose. So for your benefit:

CONTENT WARNINGS: Swearing, References to Sex/Porn, References to Alcoholism.


Ness' Really Long and Pointless Exposition

Although I have a near limitless supply of thinking time these days, I always find myself coming back to the same simple wonder:

It's so crazy how fragile life is.

I'm not talking about mortality. No, that's an entirely different novel in itself. I'm talking about life on the individual scope. Life as it truly is: a cluster of experiences and events all slapped together on one big, convoluted timeline. Because my life is- or rather, was- perfect.

See, leaving my last year of high school, I was lucky enough to be one of the few kids who actually felt okay about this whole "growing up" thing. I'm not saying I was like, excited to need Viagra every time I wanted to relieve some stress, but I had no quarrel with the way my life was going. In fact, up until the last day of senior year, my life had been going just about perfectly according to plan.

I should probably confess that I'm the kind of person the pitifully unorganized tend to call a 'control freak'. And unfortunately, I'm obliged to agree with them.

I'm not saying I can't handle having my plans rained out or something. I'm also not saying that everything always has to go my way 100% of the time. All I'm trying to get across here is that I find security in the expected. And if something doesn't go my way, I'd like to know the exact consequences I would face for that outcome.

I'm not a complicated guy; I like plans, and I like set-ups, and I especially like when I'm the one orchestrating them.

Even my summer (which to any normal clueless senior would've been a sprawling vastness of infinite opportunities) was heavily structured. My three months of relative freedom would be dedicated to conditioning for the upcoming college baseball season so that I could take my promised position of substitute pitcher for the Cornell Big Reds during the upcoming year. In between, I'd probably attend some obligatory social events, do some lifeguarding for extra cash, and spend some time with my friends.

After summer, I'd go study law at Cornell. I'd get my license and pass the Bar Exam, and then I'd walk out of college with a decent job already lined up for me with my Dad's business as part of his legal team.

And as according to status quo, I'd find someone nice to marry, and settle down with my spouse, two kids, and our dog (preferably of a conventional breed, like a Labrador). And we'd all live out the remainders of our mundane lives behind our fishbowl of a picket fence.

That was the big plan for my life- the one I'd been setting up since middle school. I know it's not exactly heroic or worthy of an epic or anything else like that (to be honest, it's probably adequately boring enough to insert a drinking problem in at any point of its course), but believe me when I say that I know white suburbanites who would cream their pants over a life like that.

And more importantly, I was happy with it. It was predictable, and safe, and it was everything I'd ever dared to want for myself. It wasn't an easy road by any means, but it was a road I'd never get lost on so long as I followed the map.

And let's be fair- it's not like I haven't had my fair share of privileges to help me along.

For one, I've always been decently handsome and well-spoken, so at least on a social level, the favor of my peers and superiors has always leaned in my favor (don't let your mom's feel-good speeches mislead you- looks really are everything sometimes). And on top of that, I'm athletic and I hang around Ninten Itoi, which has earned me a nice staked claim at the top of my school's social hierarchy.

I think the only thing that kept me from being the model poster-child for white bred douche-bags who end up peaking in high school was my astonishing lack of a partner.

Don't get me wrong- it's not like girls don't like me. I've gotten quite a few admirers to exploit for Instagram likes. Hell, I've even had a handful of guys tell me that I bend them. (I've gotten more unsolicited dick-pics than our school's cheerleading captain. That's what I get for being my school's favorite bisexual. Seriously, do you know how tiring it is to be the only openly bi and ambidextrous guy on the baseball team? I've heard the "Wow, Ness really swings both ways!" joke so much, it's almost as unfunny as a Seth McFarlane cutaway gag).

So the problem there wasn't with me. Or rather, it was, but it wasn't with me being unattractive or flawed to the point of being un-dateable. Instead, the problem lied in my inability to find any one person captivating enough to make me want to involve myself with them.

See, despite my popularity and the way I have with words, I'm not much a people-person. It may sound pretentious, but I actually prefer reading books over having conversations. And I think it's because words, not unlike love or kindness or blowjobs, just happen to be one of those things that are easier to take in than to give out.

But I'm off-topic. Because the whole point of this really long exposition was to mainly accomplish two things. Listed for the reader's convenience:

WHAT NESS' REALLY LONG (AND KIND OF POINTLESS) EXPOSITION NEEDS TO ACCOMPLISH

1.) Show the reader how sparkly and meticulously planned Ness' life is.

2.) Really put into perspective how completely and totally Ness fucked up that perfectly good life in the course of twelve hours.

So if you're wondering, that's what I was marveling about before I went on this whole tangent. How fragile life's course can be. And that's why I should've been terrified as I walked out the doors on my last day of school. Because investing any personal security in something that can be ruined in twelve hours is just one disillusioned swing short of suicide.

And if you're reading this and wondering how on earth I could stretch the course of twelve measly houses into an entire novel… well, firstly you should be warned that I narrate in the same manner that a Gatling-Gun fires its rounds.

And secondly- I envy you. I envy you, and your boring life. I envy every sorry loser who's ever gotten their biggest kicks watching pay-per-view porn on the living room television while their parents were away.

Frankly, I wish I had the honor of being you; even if you got caught, and had to explain to your parents in a very awkward sit-down-conversation why you were watching "21 Hump Street" with your pants at your ankles, and your bare ass on the nice leather.

Because believe me- it's not like I'm dying to tell this story to my future kids around the hearth. Hell, the only reason I'm even talking about this now is because there should be some plausible explanation as to why I'm stuck in prison for the next two years of my life.

So I guess after wasting over one-thousand words on this stupid prologue, I owe it to you to jump right into the story.

So let's begin. The first hour of my downfall starts promptly at 2:15 PM, at the exact moment that the last school bell of the year set me free.