See ya

April 15, 2018
By Emmancipation BRONZE, Seattle, Washington
Emmancipation BRONZE, Seattle, Washington
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Once in third grade.

Another after my parents “jumped in front of my car” -The truck driver that ruined my life.

Another a couple months after I started high school. But this one is real. Burn all my stuff.

     These houses look so tacky. Down parallel streets, every house the same. I dread living in this concrete jungle. Where is my room to sulk around at night? Where is my Miami life? This place looks like a retirement community, not exactly what I was expecting. Nonetheless, I have no choice. My only surviving relative is here, and here is where I must go. I just wish it wasn’t Grandma Tridly. I’ve never even met her. But the government doesn’t give you a choice in these things. No, the 16-year old  who already had a job for a year straight and knows how to take care of themself doesn’t deserve to be alone. They need to be rounded up and put in random relatives houses until they’re 18, then they’re thrown out into the world with no guidance or future prospects. Great system. Thanks.
     I could tell I wasn’t going to like this from literally the first second I laid eyes on her. She looked as if she had spent the last 5 days getting ready for this. Her fake nails were glued on tight, her fake eyelashes applied immaculately, her fake eyebrows pasted on with perfection, her fake clothes unwrinkled and unstained, her fake smile plastered on like paint on a wall: unwavering and unchanging.

      I hate her. No question in my mind, this will not work. I desperately glance behind my shoulder. He’s left. Damn. Her house looks like the 1900’s threw up into furniture, tile floors, and decorations. Who puts a green rug on grey tile floor anyway? Needless to say, she suffered from a heart condition, and passed about two months after I arrived. I hate to say it, but I like it. No, I don’t hate to say it. I love it! One less hypocritical, commanding, idiotic adult in my life. I figure the less the better.
     The only tragedy is that I get to see my social worker again. I swear he’s literally the worst in the world. I get to fly from Miami to New York(only place close that has openings in their foster care centers) with him. Great. I can’t wait to spend more time with my least favorite person.
     I’m roughly shaken awake by my companion in the seat next to me.

     “We’ll be landing soon. Just wanted to let you know,” he growled. He then proceeded to open up the armrests, giving ample room to stretch out into my already cramped airline seat.

     “Hey, why are you sleeping on a flight to New York anyway? It’s not that long of a flight.” I chose not to respond. I try to make it a policy to not talk to ignorant assholes as often as I can. The view out my window looks so nice. Too bad I’m trapped in this metal pill box. I put on my headphones and hope to crowd out the collapsing world around me with my shattering eardrums.
     We, no, I land, pick up my stuff from baggage claim. Not that I have much to pick up anyway. Both of my parents are dead, and they left their will to some random charity. So thanks. Glad to see your hard work to make my life better doesn’t go unfounded. Most of my bag is just clothes, so I’m not worried that it isn’t showing up. All of my possessions that matter are in the pockets of my ripped jeans and on my head. I have plenty of time to spare, but apparently my escort doesn’t. He keeps glancing at his fancy, expensive watch, as if he has somewhere to be. We both know that he doesn’t, but still, you have to pretend to be a busy man when we’re the only ones still in the terminal. Whatever. It’s not like I need a change of clothes anyway.
     Riding in Charon’s car. I’ve decided that I’m calling him Charon. He ships me across the country to hell, except with an airplane instead of a boat, which would be hella cool. This trip is taking forever. I guess it’s God punishing me for my past sins. Yeah, i’ll go with that. 

    “Think you’re gonna make it past a couple weeks?” he jests. Ignored yet again.

     “Hey, take your headphones off!” I think not. He shuts up. He’s supposed to be focused on driving and not killing me. I’ve heard New York drivers are crazy.
     This building looks it’s burned down more than once. The outside of the brick is charred black. It looks like a haunted house, not my house. “Well kid, this is it. I’ll see you in a little bit once I get back from my hotel. I still have to check in, unpack and call my wife, as well as take a shower. I feel filthy. Have fun out there.” Thanks. I’ve heard somewhere that people like him are supposed to help my life, but right now it’s falling apart at the seams. Screeching wheels. Contending to catch the clutch. Good. He’s gone. I sprint as fast as I can through the heavy snow in the other direction.

     No. Breath. Lungs. Black. With soot. Slowing. Down... Losing... consciousness
     I awake about 20 feet off of a highway, on the other side of a cluster of bushes. I don’t remember this place. How far did I go? Where even am I? I quickly get redressed. Why is my makeup smeared across my face and where the hell did my underwear go? I only remember hitching a ride, accepting food and drink from him. I look at the position of the sun, construct a crude sundial, and discover that I have no idea how to read a sundial. I'm not sure, but it looks like about 6 pm. I should probably get back. I have friends in Miami. Friends in New York? None. I wonder, where should I go? Nowhere else to go but down. That’s where I want to go. Nothing, nothing in this world appeases me. Except maybe ignoring it completely. The only way I’ve found is wearing black, blending in, blaring the fucking music, letting out all of my diseased blood, and disapproving of everyone. The only place in the world I’ve found I can do that is Miami, home to the biggest population of resident idiots. I’m an idiot, if you haven't figured it out. They say there’s a lot to live for, but I don’t see it. I’m not going to see anything in a little while.

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