Compassion Wears Black
HDM: Welcome! Say hello to my special guest, Faery Goddyss:FG comes in her bed still asleep:
Audience:cheers:
FG:wakes up to applause: what the fuck?
HDM: I am doing this at 4:00 AM and you were still sleeeping!
FG: Well I'm not like Johnny and stay up:chases me with a hatchet just lying around:
HDM: ahhh:Bianca comes in and does a seal dance:
FG: aww:we start dancing along:
I feel like my insides are as liquid as the blood that spills from me...
I want to get away from here but he'll surely stop me. I'll run and he'll stop me. On the other hand, my leg is fucked up...it's between the bleeding and the excruciating pain that throbs every other second. All I can hear other than my heartbeat is Kyle's voice. It's so sickening, the kindness that comes from his accursed mouth. I want to vomit really bad. God, he's trying to pick me up, probably to his Hebrew Haven and so I live Happily Ever After and all that fucking bullshit. I pry open my eyes and look to see my escape root.
I elbowed him in the stomach and ran...
Why the fuck did I do that? I don't even know how hard I hit him or if he is okay. I'm such a fucking prick. I want to shoot myself for doing that to him. I can barely see the houses that run past me. I can't see where I am or which house is mine. I trip on a stone and I come crashing into the snow. The coldness against my cheek stings so bad. I want to get away but pain binds me to this rock. Where will I go? Wherever I go, there will still be pain and suffering. There is no such thing as happiness when it comes to my life or me. It's taboo in a sense...
Clearly I do not think of ending my life here and now. Maybe it's the only way and the right way. I wander to the next streetlight like a moth attracted to light. My leg throbs and I cannot stand its pain. I wish I could just saw it right off of my body. Hm, if I did do that I wouldn't be able to attract anyone for awhile. I can hear someone calling my name. I try to walk away but I fall once again. The voice gets louder as I drift into a unconscious state.
I feel a blanket draped across my chest. My eyes shoot open. I scan the foreign place I am in. It has pictures and other family things in this place. I hear someone coming so I duck my head under the blanket. I close my eyes and just listen. The person picks up the phone and I hear the dialing. The voice sounds familiar. "Yeah, he's here. Don't worry about it. Uh huh..." the person is a guy, that's for sure. "Huh? Yeah I'll give him clothes for school. Sure, just meet up at the bus stop, okay? See ya..." I open one eye to see the one that's holding me here in this heavenly sanctuary.
It's Stan?
He looks at me and just smiles. He doesn't look like what he normally dresses in at school, a gray t-shirt with sweat pants on. Normally when I see him, he has a million and some odd black shirts and pants with chains and other kinky shyt wrapped around. He looks, like himself. What am I to judge him? I was always convincing to the eye as a poor redneck so why should I have convinced myself he was an uber satanic Goth? My insides throb when I think of it so I stop.
"Kenny...are you that retarded?" I look up at him and squint my eyes. Do you say that to someone who was sleeping in snow and shyt? "Uh...yes?" I say with a grin. He just shakes his head and walks into the kitchen. He comes back with a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. On the plate it's some sort of a sandwich. He places it on the coffee table next to me. I grab the food and wolf it down. I drank the water faster, making me want to hurl. He just laughs at me.
"So, why did you elbow Kyle and run away like a crazy person?" he asks a different question. He sits down on the couch and just stares, waiting for my explanation. I just shrug my shoulders and look away. "Oookay, do you have a reason why you have gashes?" I feel anger flowing through me, who does he think he is? "Who are you, my mother?" I replied. He looks unshaken but drums his fingers. "How can I help?" he asks. "I don't need anyone's help..." I muttered under my breath. "Sure you don't, and that's why Kyle calls me in a panic because you left a trail of blood..."
Stan is different. He never acted like this before. He never pried in my business before, why start now? Does he feel like he has an obligation or just that Kyle is worried? It's always about his way of living, not anyone else's...especially mine. I don't see why he cares...now. "You don't care..." it slipped off my tongue and into the air. It wasn't soft either so he definitely heard it. "What?" he asks with an undertone of anger. "Kenny, I'm not like Kyle and sympathies, I want a straight answer NOW."
"Why? You think you have the right to know how or why I'm like this, huh!" I scream, "You never cared and neither did Kyle! Eric is a fuckhead so I didn't ever expect him to care!" Tears started to swell in my eyes but I don't care now...I want to get this out now before...you know... "Kenny...calm down..." Stan warned. "No! I won't calm down! You don't know anything about me or what I do or why I do it in the first place!" I yell. "Bullshit! That's easy for you to say, you don't know anything about my life! You just think I'm some satanic cult goth who doesn't care about anyone!" he retaliated.
We both fell silent. I can't believe I said that, or that Stan said that either. I don't know what to think, am I like the others that disregard us like trash? I- I don't want to be like that...not ever. So my things are shouting in my brain. 'Don't tell him anything' 'Tell him everything!' 'Run away' 'Stay here' 'Eat turkey!' That one was a little weird...but that's beside the point. What do I want to do? Obviously there are a lot of things telling me besides Clyde and Deirdre what they want me to do. I don't even know where my conscience fits into all the yelling. Sigh...I have such a headache.
We just talked for a long time. I did wonder if his parents would wake up to find out some strange boy is in their house. He explained they're away for the day so I was half relieved. He told me about how one of the Goths left their comic at gym and he started to read it. Eventually, he started going to places like Hot Topic and Zipperhead and listening to different music. He didn't want to do drugs, be in an orgy, or go to Goth Clubs and things like that. Peer pressure put him in the position that he didn't want to, quit football and become like the others.
"Stan, you're a smart kid...why did you listen to other dickheads?" I asked him. He just shrugs his shoulders. "In high school, you don't go against the current..." he said, "I either be one thing or another, I cannot like both..." I can relate to that, sort-of. I am in a family of stupid rednecks but I try to educate myself. If I had a dollar for every time I heard "Go back to your trailer park." I would be a millionaire. "Stan, to be great is to be misunderstood." I said to him. "Quoting the quack Emerson?" he laughs. "I'm serious! So you read Johnny but like football, big deal! Don't get convinced by dickheads that think you're like a plague!"
He smiles that genuine smile I haven't seen since we were in elementary school. I look at him and smirk. "Besides, all the goths are bi, do you really want to deal with them hitting on you?" We start cracking up, because we know it's too true. "Too true..." he sighed. I just quirk an eyebrow and stared. Then we start laughing like hyenas once more. We stopped after awhile and just fell silent. I know he's waiting to ask me, to ask why I have gashes on my back and bruises on my body. Why I don't say anything or ask for help. It's written all over his face.
"Kenny, do you want to be another statistic?" he asks. I look at him in confusion. What kind of question is that to start! "Uh...I donno?" I answered. He just shakes his head and laughs. "What kind of fucked-up question is that!" I yell. "You are a number...a number stating what general teenagers do." he started to explain; he still doesn't make sense. "You smoke, you're are among millions of people that do. You drink, another number. You have sex, another number." "What's your point?" I cut him off. "The point is, they don't care if you live or die. You are just a number that can be added or subtracted in their mesh of numbers." I look at him and furrow my eyebrows.
"I'm not the one that writes the statistic, Kyle's not one of the multi-billionaires who doesn't care if you rot in the ghettos. We care about you, you act like we are one of them." I look away. I cannot bear to hear him. He sounds too...true. "So you don't want me to be another number AND you want me to believe you guys care. You said it in one cute lil psychotic phrase!" I said sarcastically. "I'm serious, Kenny!" he says in retaliation.
"You guys don't need to worry about me. I'm fine! Really, I can do what I want and I won't get hurt. You worry too much..." He looks at me and stares. "Do you really believe that?"
I don't know what I believe anymore...
Making It
You study for years
Just to get a piece of paper
All the facts and figures
Come to a close
You have big dreams
To be a movie star
Or maybe a star athlete
Did they not tell you?
All those years of studying
Those years of dreaming
Doesn't mean anything
You will achieve nothing
Receive anything
It is all a miserable lie
End of Chapter VII
HDM: This focused on the side of Stan in which I didn't really get into. I like to bring other people into this story and see how they affect Kenny in the long run.
FG: Really? I thought it was just a writer's block HDM: Nuh-uh!
FG: Then why did it take you a week to think of a thing to write?
HDM: O.O;
Special thanks to Faery Goddyss for appearing, review and tell me what you thought!