The ceiling was like a void, rapidly sucking Alfred into its' realm of emptiness as he squirmed under his blankets. Desperate for ventilation, he threw his blankets to the side and promptly sat up, evading the ceiling's hypnotizing eye. His eyes wearily trailed over the clock on the wall when gestured to him with its possessed hands that it was four in the morning. Just then, the shade of forlorn blue lingering in his eyes morphed into the glimmer of a fluorescent blue star hanging in the heart of the night sky. In all his excitement, he stood up and tottered towards his desk to pick up his phone, grimacing when he felt the strain on his muscles.
Inbox
feverishsparks: None of my works includes a preface. You would know that if you were a real fan of my work.
I was reading this yesterday, wasn't I? I didn't really notice how rude he sounded till now.
Reply
asterisk: Can't take a joke, can you?
Send
There, tit for tat. Oh god, when did I become so basic? Who still uses that expression?
Just then, a bar appeared below his message.
feverishsparks: That is only a privilege for good jokes.
He hit a raw nerve. Ever since Alfred was young, he has always tried to cover up his unhappiness with jokes. He couldn't stop making jokes. Whenever someone approaches him, he'll just make a one-liner and then they'll chuckle and walk away. It's always been his way of distancing himself from others. Also, he's never been brave enough to communicate his feelings and that's how he copes with life. And then this guy has the balls to tell him his jokes suck.
Reply
asterisk: Yeah, you're right. Sorry for making horrible jokes.
Send
Alfred wasn't joking this time.
Arthur laid his head on the table, his eyes bloodshot red from staring at the monitor for hours till past midnight. It's been a daily routine for him since he's started living on his own. Morning? Internet. Afternoon? Internet. Evening? Internet. Midnight? Internet. Though there's still 8 hours till the time he normally sleeps.
Inbox
asterisk: Yeah, you're right. Sorry for making horrible jokes.
He scoffed at the message, and promptly began to type out a reply.
feverishsparks: Well, you should be.
Arthur smiled to himself as he scrolled upwards to view the chat history, only to have a sort of nervous flower blossoming in his chest when he saw that there were just a few messages. Of course, Arthur himself had watered it with hope that the two would be able to get to know each other better. After all, he was talking to one of his favorite authors; he reckoned that he had to appear eloquent and witty. Things seem to be going well too. Contentedly, he opened the Microsoft Word document containing the newspaper article he had slogged his guts out writing the last few hours. It provided a unique take on politics and the way it would shape the future. Arthur was precocious and his parents knew it.
They hadn't given up on him just yet; at least his mum hadn't. Trailing his fingers across the opening of envelope, he breathed. They were giving him another chance — another chance to redeem himself. Whatever inside it was his last shard of hope and the only chance he would regret not taking.