Boredom hummed through my head like a vacuum cleaner.
Boredom is the name of my best friend. Who died four years ago. Immediately after her death, I didn't feel grief. I didn't feel anything. At the same time, I didn't feel numb. I felt... normal. Like she was still there. Like everything was still happy /And only now was the lack of her presence haunting me. I still didn't feel sad. I felt... off. I felt scared. I felt fear.
It was unpleasant to say the least, and it was eating away at me. I wanted it to stop. I wanted my oddly named friend to stop invading my thoughts every second of the day and every moment during the night.
"Please," I murmured.
"Stop," I mumbled.
"Don't do this anymore," I pleaded.
But the uncomfortable thought of Boredom kept on raging like wild fire inside my head.
I called my new best friend Becky. It went to voicemail;.
But it wasn't Becky's voicemail.
"Becky is dead," Boredom's voice said. "And now so are you."
With that, not feeling any pain at all, I died.
I held the limp body in my arms.
"Don't die," I whispered, but it was too late.
Tears fell from my eyes and dropped off of my chin, plopping on the little boy's dead body. I looked at his face.
"Too young," I whispered even softer. "Too young."
He was only eight years old. Why did my little brother have to get hit by a car and die. I couldn't believe it. I screamed at the top on my lunges, in agony. Why, oh why?
I stared at the little boy's face, suddenly putting on a face of stone. To pretend to have no emotion was easier than revealing your real emotion. I heard my mother run over to me and my dead brother.
"Joseph? Is your brother all right? What happened?" My mother was frantic.
"Kaden's dead, Mom."
Then, I woke up. Oh, thank god, it was a dream. Or was it?
"Joseph, come quickly! It's Tommy!" Oh no....
I sit down on the sofa, coffee mug in hand. I close my eyes and take small sips of the glorious warm treasure I hold in my hands. The fireplace crackles with warmth and everything, everything is so, so beautifully warm. I snuggle into the heat, wrapping it around me like a goose feather blanket. I breathe in the warmth and it goes down my throat like chicken noodle soup on a cold winter's day. I listen to myself breath, and I fall asleep, lulled into dreamland by the warmth. Suddenly, I awaken to bright, burning light in my eyes. Then I feel the heat. This time it isn't comforting, it's searing, it's painful. It cuts through my flesh and bone. My flesh is burnt to a crisp, like ashes, because they ARE ashes. My bones are brittle, black, and can be snapped over somebody's knee. Everything goes black and I realize I am dead.
Shadows, dark dark shadows, lurked in the distance. I felt my heart race. I almost wanted to cry from fear. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was not pleasant. It was a knot of fear that I was feeling. The shadows lurked closer, closer, and the feeling got worse. It was not only a knot of fear, but now it was a strange tingling all over my body, like I could feel the shadows scary presence. I whimpered but nobody could hear me. I begged the shadows to back off, to leave me alone, the back away, to not come near, to not come closer. The shadows refused to listen. Instead, they crept even closer. Then, in a quick motion, they swooped me up and engulfed me and all I could see was black. Terror set in and I felt horrible. I screamed for help. I clawed and flailed around, trying to find a wall that I could grab onto, that I could find purchase in so that I could escape this horrific nightmare. The shadow had no walls though. I cried, but my tears were wasted. I felt myself falling deeper, deeper, deeper still into this beastly shadow. I didn't know what to do. I was in despair, trying to sort out what was actually happening, even though I couldn't manage to. Then, I saw a smidgen of light. I grabbed for it. It disappeared. Then, suddenly, the shadow let me go. I was left sweating, crying, on the ground, in deep, utter confusion. The shadow smirked at me annoyingly and cackled at me cruelly. I fled and found a river where I washed my tear-stained cheeks and tried to wash away the feel of the shadow engulfing me, to no avail. Will this nightmare-shadow ever let me go?
Sometimes I wonder what Paradise would be. I think that paradise would be like Neverland, where you've never heard of the word murder or the word crime and where everything is just fun and happiness and love and laughter and Dora and Barbie and Transformers and Teletubbies and nothing else. In paradise, all the news would be happy news, no bad news. In paradise, you would never be sad and because you'd never be sad, you'd never die. You'd stay young forever and never grow up. plus, your life would be an adventure. A fun one with exploring ancient lands and discovering fairies and treasure and you'd never get hurt on the adventure. In paradise, everything would be free and we'd be in Kindergarten forever. No work, no banking, no need to not have fun. In paradise, everyone would be innocent and happy and free and nobody would have to grow up.
I am a butterfly. I flit from flower to flower, rose, tulip, back to a rose, then to another rose, and then to a petunia. I land on each sweet flower and suck it's sweet, tasty nectar into my mouth. Then I carry the nectar to another flower and give it some of the nectar. Then I give all my nectar away to the other flowers. Then I'll take more nectar from a different flower and start all over again. Sometimes I keep some of the sweet nectar for myself. I keep the sweet, sticky, tasty,nectar that is my food. Then I fly. Not for any reason, just for fun. I flap my delicate wings, and I flutter them. Sometimes, if I'm feeling brave, I'll land on a human's shoulder or head or hat or hand to rest. I'm usually too shy too, but if they don't scare me and stay very still, I visit them and land on them until they scare me off. Some swoop net at me like they're birds and I'm a worm. I'm scared of those nets, so I never go near them. Still, I love being a butterfly.
I walk along the bottom of the beautiful canyon. It is nice. Suddenly, the earth rumbles. It shakes, and I fall down. Rock tumble down to crush me. I scream, but nobody hears. Then the ground opens up and swallows me and I tumble down like a leaf. I scream, I screech, I yell for help. Nobody can help me though, even if they hear me. I'm caught in an earthquake. I'm terrified. I'm scared. The falling feeling in my stomach is exhilarating, but scary right now. I flail my arms, trying to find walls of rock that are hopefully on either side of me. Nothing is there. Is my arms did find rock walls on either side of me, would I be able to stretch my arms and hold my body up, or would my arms just break because I'm falling too fast. I want to cry, but I'm to scared to even cry. So I let myself fall. It's dark. I think that the rocks fell on the top of the hole that I'm falling in and blocked out the light. I want to do something, but I can't. So I just fall, and fall, and fall. Falling, falling, fall, fell.
I lie down in the cool grass. I study the fresh dew on the grass and roll around in the mix of green and water and grass and dew until I am soaking wet and laughing hard. I kick off my sandals and stand up. I run through the dewy grass. When I'm too tired to run, I close my eyes, twirl around, and fall to the ground. I laugh until I can't laugh anymore. I'm not laughing because something is funny, I'm laughing because I'm happy. Extremely happy. I love being happy. I love the meadow I am in. I sniff the air and the air smells fresh and coo; and smells like rain. I stand up again and walk through the meadow, feeling the cool grass and fresh, wet dew on my bare feet. I crouch down to study the dew on one of the blades of grass. The dew makes the grass look beautiful, like a painting of green sprinkled with crystal fairy dust. It's beautiful. I whip out my camera and take a picture of the beautiful, wonderful sight of the one blade of grass with the dew on it.
I start drinking the cool liquid. It is fizzy and juicy and delicious. It's not alcohol, it's better. It isn't a drug, it's just a drink. I pour the drink down my throat, let it cascade down my throat like a fizzy, bubbly waterfall. I take sip after sip of the drink, letting the sweet liquid run down my throat and get spilled on my chin and my cheeks. I pour the drink out of the can and into a tall cool glass. I pop some icecubes in there. I bet I'm making you thirsty. I'm making ME thirsty. I am letting this sweet, fizzy drink go down my throat again. It helps to cool me down and keep me cool in the hot, hot, humid summer sun. It helps me stay sane in the heat. It tastes delicious and my friends love drinking it too. It's unhealthy for me, but I can still drink it sometimes. Like right now. I drink and drink and drink until I'm done my glass. I have more of the drink and drink it until I'm done my can. I am drinking cans and glasses of sweet, delicious, fizzy soda/pop.
I am carrying a balloon. It is red and shiny. I hold the balloon by it's glittery silver string. I let go of the string and watch the balloon as it rises up, up, up, into the blue, cloudless sky. I close my eyes. I suddenly become the balloon. I am scared because I know that I will eventually pop and I know that I am floating somewhere unknown. But I am happy. Happy to be floating, floating away from the worries that humans have. Balloons have no worries. When they are scared of something, it isn't a worried scared, it's an excited scared. So I'm not flying, but I'm floating up, up, up. A bird comes along my path and looks scared of me. It tries to peck at me, to pop me. But a sudden wind whooshes me away. I ride on the wind and rise and imagine that I am smiling, even though balloons can't smile. I am happy and I am red and floaty and I am a balloon. Too soon I pop and become a human again. I loved being a balloon.
I sit on the stump. The stump is rotting, I can feel the rot as I sit on the stump. I can feel the rot for some strange reason. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the forest. I hear something whirring loudly, I hear something else crawling over my feet. No, I don't hear it, I feel it. I open my eyes. It's a dog. The dog is black with white spots on it and it is staring at me with cold gray eyes. This dog rattles me. I run away from. I run until my legs are too sore to move another inch. My legs can't carry me anymore. The dog finds me and comes up to me again. It looks at me curiously. It's long pink tongue comes out to lick my face. I smile. I don't understand why I didn't like this dog. This dog is sweet and cute. Probably not enough sleep. I walk the dog home and fall asleep by the fire with it, snuggled up with it, my cold skin warmed against it's warm, soft fur.
The ground is rock hard. I fall down on it and a thought fills my mind. Then the thought leaves. I feel happy here. The ground turns to mud. I sink into the mud, let it cover me, let it consume me. I feel special but the feeling is fading. I sink deeper into the mud. I close my eyes and fall asleep. I dream of nothing but dirt and mud and plants and everything that has to do with nature. My mind takes on a life of it's own and imagines everything from nature. My mind is growing, bursting with thoughts. The mud is cool and soft and wet and smell nice. The mud cushions me, it makes me feel happy. The world is quiet while I sink deeper into the mud. My thoughts make no sense, but I don't care. I sink deeper, deeper. I don't want to come back to reality but I slowly am. I might be coming out of the mud. The mud is my dream world, my odd little dream world. When I came out of the mud, I would be back in reality. I wanted to stay in the mud, but I knew that I couldn't stay there. So I let myself be spit out of the mud and I fell onto the cold, hard, dark, rocky world of reality.
I smile and the sun comes out. I frown and the rain starts. I don't smile or frown and it isn't sunny, or rainy. Just cloudy. I control the weather. I smile at the thought and the sun comes out. I keep smiling until I exit the building that lets me control the weather. Then when I frown, the sun stays out. It doesn't turn rainy. I walk into the building again with a frown plastered on my face and the rain starts. I smile and walk out of the building and it's sunny. Who else can control the weather? Can only I control it? Or can anyone else control it? Can only certain people control the weather? Or can everybody control it? I don't know. I look at the sun, the bright, perfectly bright sun, out of the corner of my eye. The sun is very bright. Not too bright, but bright. I don't get what is so special about that building that let me control the weather, but the building was special. It just was.
The rain pours down. It smothers my skin. It makes my rain feel like it is mush, like my skin is going to become water like the rain. I tilt my face up to feel the rain, trying to let the rain wash away these memories inside of me, these screaming, savage, terrible, memories. The rain usually makes me feel better. It usually clears out my lungs, fills me with happiness and bliss. Today it doesn't. I try desperately to force the rain to wash me away, to wash me down the storm drains were I can forget my memories and I can sit in bliss in the shadows, away from the sun or anything or anyone else. I want the rain to wash me away. I will it to. It won't. The rain feels like tears, like the tears I can't cry today. I'm too scared, too shocked to cry. The rain replaces the tears for me but the rain doesn't make me feel better. It seems gloomy today. The rain is too warm. I want it to me cold. I want it to be cold enough to sting my skin and replace the emotional pain with physical pain which hurts far, far less. Right now, I let the rain fall down on me though it doesn't help me. But the rain gives me an excuse. An excuse for something that DOES help me. But I don't remember what helps me anymore. I feel numb.
I plunge under the water. I launched myself into the water, and now I'm in the water. I can breath fine, so I breath. I swim under the water, breathing the water in, letting fresh, cold, ice cold water fill my lungs. I let the water surround me. I let it embrace me, and I embrace it. I float through the water. Then I go like a rocket through the water. I just rocket through the water. I kick my legs. A jet of water pushes me forward, pushes me fast through the water. I I can't heard a thing. I only hear my heart beat, the rain above tap gently on the water's surface. I want to stay down in the water forever. I can if I want to. I'm not a mermaid, but I can breath under the water anyways. I feel excited under the water, but sluggish on land. I consider living under the water, never coming up. But I can't. I need to stay on land. I can't remember why while I'm in the water, but I can remember the reason while on land. The reason is unknown to me right now, but it won't be when I go on land. I feel like a mermaid right now. I'm not through. I have no tail. I have two legs, legs that touch the sand at the bottom of the water when I go deep enough into the water. My hair isn't red, but I feel like Ariel, Ariel the Little Mermaid. My jet black hair floats around me. The sharp darkness of my hair is soften by the water. The water makes my hair float, makes it look light and pretty, and not harsh. On land it looks messy and severe and doesn't look beautiful like it does now. I close my eyes and fall asleep, letting myself sleep in the soft muddy sand of the bottom of the water.