"Other Than Me"-Part 1
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"Loser!"

"Lesbian!"

"Go step in a cyber-cage and get a life! A virtual one, actually!"

I threw myself down on the bed after another long, disastrous day at school, where I wasn't welcome. Mainly because of my individuality. I didn't live in a world where others my age were able to express their feelings, and that's why I never felt welcome. We weren't able to dress differently, write and sing our own songs, or even ask to cry on someone's shoulder after a hard day. I was stuck in a world where everyone acted like they were high on drugs.

Everyone wore the same, bright and shiny plastic outfits, shared the same ideas, listened to the same music, downloaded the same items, and had the same expressions on their face…a crappy grin that looked as if it had been glued on because of bad teeth. I for one never understood what that phrase even meant. Getting "high on drugs". It was basically something my brother would know, since he's the expert on defining phrases for me. Actually, my "late" brother, Gordon. The mis-understood genius.

Gordon was okay to hang around with…considering that he was more different than those "GaGa" geeky gonzo people. He was a bit strange to everyone on Planet Mall...even to my parents. He would spout out these sayings and these "words" all day and night for some weird reason; it was almost like a disease. I always asked him what it meant, and Gordon would get nervous, form that stutter of his and give me some sort of excuse, claiming that it was all in his head, that his mind was making him say these things. It was pretty funny actually, to have him spout out these phrases at any time. Even during dinner, he would say some sort of lyric to an unknown song after he was asked to pass the downloaded bread basket or salt.

Other than that, he was okay…for someone who was a bit older than me. He would be a bit embarrassing sometimes when my circle of friends would see me talking to him before classes or if he came over to me during lunch or a free period. It bugged me for a while, but other than that, I didn't really care. He was my brother, and he was my only friend. I just remember hearing about his "death" like it was just a dream. The SP's were going through his things one night while I tried to listen to some stupid GaGa song on my laptop to ignore the thrashing and banging inside his room. It was a mess anyway, so it didn't really matter how much the pile of illegally downloaded crap on the floor increased. When they finished, my mother came in, sat down next to me and told me, without any emotion, that Gordon was dead. He had gotten into a fight with some Boyzone boys and was stabbed.

A tearful whimper escaped my mouth as I rolled over onto my back, replaying what they had said only a year ago today. Tears were streaming down my face like rain, streaking my face. I missed him. I know I shouldn't be missing him, but I did. Gordon was my rock, and my best friend. I was really angry at my parents and the rest of the world for what was going on. They just didn't understand how fragile I had become. I lifted up my bed mattress and pulled out a small, rectangular razor blade that I kept hidden from my parents.

They didn't know about my habits, and I didn't want them to know either way. It seemed better that way. The blade was my only friend, and sometimes an enemy. It was able to help my skin tear up instead of having me cry. That was the only point. As I rolled up the sleeves of my black hoodie, I heard someone pounding on my door heavily like they were going to crash through the wood. My parents were screaming for them to stop, begging them to take mercy.

"She's all we have left! You can't take her after you've taken away our son! You can't do this!" She screamed.

My eyes rose as I clutched the blade in the palm of my hands.

"I thought he was stabbed," I thought to myself.

The SP's banged on my door again, yelling that I was being charged for not following the rules: for not acting like everyone else, for not being a Gaga kid, and for trying to blackmail an employee at Globalsoft-which was such bollocks in my opinion. You are to appear in front of your door on our count, or else!" One of them yelled while my mother continued to cry.

I lifted up my bedroom window and slid outside, running as fast as I could down the dark streets without anything on my back except my black hoodie. My palm seared in pain, but I didn't really care. I didn't want to end up like my brother. As much as I wanted to join him in peace, I didn't want to end up like him: a rebel. I had finally reached a dead end a half hour later and gasped heavily after my run.

I slowly sat down to the ground and cried heavily for as long as I needed to. When I stared to place my head in my hands, I felt something wet on my forehead and realized that my palm had a deep laceration from the razor blade. I lifted up my palm and saw a deep, heavy line of blood that stretched across from the lower part of my pinkie finger to the thumb. I turned away after noticing the sight of red and instantly felt sick. I was only used to seeing thin lines on my arms and wrists, and the fact that the blade went too deep started to scare me to death. I was about to find a place to sit until I tripped over something hard and fell into this bright hole. I tried to grab onto something for support, but I somehow lost my balance and fell back first towards the bottom.

The back of my head started to feel heavy and my ears started to ring as I stared up at the hole. Nothing felt broken, but before I could temporarily pass out, I could've sworn that I saw a few people stare down at me in confusion and some worry. The last thing I had seen was someone with dark, jet-black hair who looked just like my brother. Maybe I was seeing things...

(To be continued...)