Chapter two: Jesus of Suburbia act I: Jesus of Suburbia
Journal entry 2018/10/17
I'm the son of rage and love
The Jesus of Suburbia
So it starts. My story isn't something new. It's your typical hero's journey. Call to adventure, facing obstacles, the big revelation then a happy ending. Though I wouldn't really consider myself a hero. Not really a villain either. I'm nothing. I'm just a person. A person who has made a lot of mistakes in his life. Do I regret them? Maybe some, but I guess that just builds character. But I digress. You're probably wondering by now what it is I'm rambling on about. Well my story begins just like any other story. From the beginning.
Stan looked at himself in the mirror one finale time. His hair unkempt, but in a way that it was intentional. His skin was pale and sickly from the lack of sun seeing as he hardly ever leaves his room during the day. Eyes heavy with sleep as dark rings hung loosely on his face like bags filled with restless nights. At least he was dressed semi decently. A t-shirt with torn jeans and a pair of sneakers. Honestly what more does he need?
"Stan? STAN!" He heard a rough voice bawling out his name. Stan grabbed the edge of the basin with a tight, whitening grip and lowered his head, gritting his teeth.
"What?" He yelled back. He wasn't in the mood for this mess. Not again. He knew exactly what was coming. He could smell the rancid stench of cheap booze fulling the room as a distraught figure stood by the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Randy probed, slouching against the bathroom door frame trying to keep his balance.
"I'm going out." Stan responded bluntly, not looking up. The site of his drunk father made him sick to his core. Not a new thing though. This has been going on for years since he was a kid, it just had gotten worse.
"Again?" Randy stumbled over his words "Is that all you're going to do with your life? Is party with those cunts you call friends?"
"Are you planning on drinking yourself to your death every night?" Stan retorted back, feeling a small smirk forming on his face.
Randy scoffed "Why do I even bother. You'll always be a useless little shit. You won't amount to anything. Biggest mistake of my life."
He was right. I was useless. I had no direction in life. And I didn't care. Why should I? My father's an alcoholic and my mother suffers from manic depression. If my parents can bullshit their way through life then why can't I? I've been doing pretty ok so far. When I was a kid I had big dreams and ambition and a love for life, but as I got older and my friends and family started deteriorating I just got to a point where I didn't care. I didn't care what happened to me or my family. I didn't care about my future. I just... didn't care. It's like I've been moulded by apathy. Life is pointless so I might as well have fun where I can
"Love you too dad." He spat sarcastically. Stan heard Randy grumble before leaving the room. He sighed
He left the bathroom and walked passed his parents room. He saw his mother sitting on the bed, crying. His best bet was because of his dead beat dad.
As much of a downer as my family is I still felt a lot of sorrow in my heart for my poor mother. She's always tried so hard keeping this family together. I could see her waning every day, physically and psychologically. It's as if her physical form is being dragged through the ground and filth her mind crumbling to dust. I knew what it was like. I suffer from depression too though I was far more successful at supressing it.
He knocked lightly on the door.
"Mom?"
She didn't respond. The air was thick with emotions and it made him sick. He tried again
"It's going to be okay, mom. I promise."
Still nothing. He sighed, shaking his head. That was the best he could do. Once she's in this state there's no coming out of it. It'll probably last a few days before she's back to her old self. That is if his dad doesn't fuck it up again. He gingerly closed her door and made his way down the steps.
The television was blaring through the bottom half of the house. Stan searched for his things listening to the box with half an ear.
"…and yet another teen found dead in the streets of South Park the police officially announcing it as an epidemic…"
Randy, who was currently sprawled out on the couch, scoffed. "Bastard kid probably deserved it"
Stan just rolled his eyes and went on his way.
He grabbed his keys, his wallet and his phone and made his way out the door. He looked up at the night sky, shivering as the cold icy wind bit his skin. He lit a cigarette before walking his usual route.
My life isn't perfect. Neither are the people around me. But I try to get by. I'm not living my best life, but I have fun on occasions. Hanging out with my friends trying to make the most out of a bad situation. I can always count on my nights out with Kenny and the gang to cheer me up. It's all I have left. They'll always be around no matter what.
Or so I thought.
