Your name is Dave Strider. You are twelve years old. It is the first day of seventh grade. It is 4:13a.m. You haven't slept yet. You really do not want morning to come. You hate school. You hate the people you go to school with. You hate anything that involves leaving the apartment. It is a shitty-ass apartment, but it beats the outside world. You live in a world where refrigerators are for storing katanas and you can't look in a room without being stared down by smuppets.
Like most nights, you are laying awake in bed, thinking about whether life is worth living. Usually you can think of at least one good reason to be alive, but today you are drawing a blank. Your Bro hasn't been around much lately. Your best friend John has been talking to some girl lately and seems to have forgotten about you completely. You really like John. But you shouldn't. You are a boy, which means you are supposed to like girls, not other boys. You don't see why this is a problem, but people in school seem to have a big problem with it.
You wonder if John even cares at all. Does he care that you are hurting, that you have liked him all along? You wonder if it's irrational of you to have these feelings for someone at such a young age. Maybe you will be like your Bro and never be in a committed relationship. He dated a girl for a while, when you were really young, but you barely even remember her. Since then, it's always just been you, Bro and Cal.
You feel like you should tell someone how you've been feeling. You are trapped. You are slowly suffocating in your surroundings.
There is a knife in the bathroom. You have been thinking about that knife a lot lately. You kinda see it as an escape. It's your way out if things ever get too out of hand. You really hate that you think about these kinds of things, but you find it necessary.
