Dear Journal,

It's rounding up on the seventh hour of a new day. Another night has passed by so quickly. They seem to be getting shorter. I don't know, what... or how... or why... but I can't sleep unless I know that tomorrow has come. Mother is so... bland these days. Never a nice thing to say. Always working. Tired. Katie, she's lost herself. That computer is her life now.

I like to think I'm still holding on. The death of my father was uneventful.

So I sit here, every morning, and I watch as a world goes from that muggy shadow of void to a bleeding pastel canvas of greens and blues. The blues are my favorite. That haze. It allows me to drift into sleep most mornings. Some morning I just lie there looking around as the whites of my painted walls reflect that milky morning blue.

I think it may just be my favorite color.

I stir my tea, sip the warmth, then rest the cup on the banister of the window behind the couch before pushing open the panel and letting in some fresh air.

Hmm... we have new neighbors.

Nothing new. The house across the busted gravel excuse we have for a street alternates every few months. A new family, you wonder where there from. You wonder why none of them speak English. You wonder why they have six cars in the driveway. Then you find something else to wonder about because... it's really none of your business.

I could sit here all day... but I'm exhausted.

A lot of people would think I'm a rough kid. That I don't follow the rules because I always smell like pot, I never listen, I don't make nice with the other students in the halls of whatever school it is that I attend; Go falcons! Or whatever.

Suddenly, my mind falls on one thing.

It's nothing really. Just literally the only thing in the whole world that's ever managed to get under my skin. His face enters my mind and I cringe. Those rouge lips and disapproving brown eyes. That smirk. I could deal with all of that if it weren't for that deep cut of a phrase he uses every damn time he looks at me; "Do you ever shower?" How rude.

Yes I shower... I practically boil myself once a night because I can't stop thinking about how dirty the world is beyond this gate. Beyond the protection of the gentle giants I watch blossom every morning into pines and chest nut trees, hydrangeas, birch, and oaks, holly bushes, and that crystal blue pond we have in the back.

So my jacket smells. I don't wash it because it's all I have left of my father. It smells like he did. Which- yes it was fowl- but it was him. It's the feeling of him coming home from work and scooping me into his arms or crawling under him as he worked on that beat up mini van downstairs in the basement. (A mini van I'm still working on.) It's like when the moons full and my thoughts swarm in the middle of the night I look up and talk to him.

Even if he never answers there's something so soothing about speaking out loud to a world that doesn't speak back in words but in the whispers of wind, in the chirping of birds, in the June bugs melodies. It's music. The world speaks to me with music.

A car starts up out side. It's from the house of the every changing caramel drizzle on top of our blended latte of a neighborhood.

A boy, about my age, only begins backing up with the exhaust fires off like a shot gun and the air fills with muggy smoke clouds and he curses as he beats on the steering wheel. He steps out and slams the door shut.

A woman, much older than him, perhaps his mother, steps out into the yard and crosses over to him.

His distress seems to melt when he looks at her. Must be something about that understanding smile. My mother doesn't do that- smile. She hasn't since father's passing. Can you blame her?

She's handing him something.

He seems really excited about it.

I shouldn't be spying on my neighbors it's wrong but even as I look down at my feet, or moreover the object next to my feet (A glossy orange cover book I've been reading off an on for a couple of days) and lean down to scoop it up, I can't help but hear the sound of a different kind of engine start. I look up for only a second to watch the boy speed down the driveway of Diamond drive on a bike before he's gone and the story across the street comes to a close.

That'll probably be the only thing I ever know about the neighbors in this round of exchange. In a month or two, they'll be gone and some other family will take their place. Sad... but what can I do. I'm not that important in my own family let alone our neighborhood.

A neighborhood owned by the legendary Ms. Diamond. Ruler of her own empire. A cosmetics company. Why on Earth would a woman with that much power but property and sell it out to people like my mother or the immigrants across the street. Doubt I'll ever know. James Diamond, her expensive (albeit beautiful) son is what any rich kid is; a snob to people deemed less than he.

I'll give him this. His broad, strong, silence, is somewhat... respectable. Still, he sits with the Gods at the lunch tables and in the classroom. He dines every night on goose and caviar. He polishes his lavish gifts from admirers. He owns things that don't come out to the public for years.

I can't stand him. Just like I can't stand the kid across the street. Just like I can't handle the science geek in first period. They have something I don't. Something I'd kill for if I didn't enjoy swimming in the haze of a vacant life. They have other characters in their stories. I just so happen to be the only character in mine.

Kendall Knight. A lone wolf in his own mind. A smelly, rebellious, punk to the rest of the world. I guess I can live with that. No ladder to climb. No one to impress. No expectations. Just me and my delusions.

I'm tired... I think I'll try and get some rest. Big day this afternoon; Mother has taken the liberty of signing me up for some bullshit sport. Hockey. Beating the shit out people and trying to keep all my teeth on a thick sheet of ice with deadly weapons on my feet. Doesn't get any manlier than that. At least she's trying. I guess I'll give it a shot. Maybe- I don't know maybe it'll be good for me. Release all that confusing pent up anger I hold towards who ever it is I hate.

The neighbors? The kids at school? The summer for drawing to a close? My mother? Myself? Most likely the latter. He's starting get on my nerves. The haze is gone, I missed it. The suns screaming now and I know getting to sleep will be as easy as pulling dog teeth out of my forearm. I can do it. I've done it before.

Till then...

Kenny.