APOCALYPSE

October 14, 2010
By , Two Rivers, WI
Here I sit. They see me every day and still they know nothing about me. I blend in easily, I guess with the manila walls and cardboard cutouts of former presidents. Those that know me recognize me as that weird kid who sits in the corner and sings quietly. I look all around and see the smiling faces of my fellow high school students. I see the warmth in their eyes as they pass notes and constantly smooth their hair, how I envy that warmth. I don’t feel warm anymore, I don’t feel anything. The emptiness consumes me, but it doesn’t hurt like you would expect it to. I feel like a balloon, nothing but air on the inside. No, I feel more like half of me has died and the other half is damned to listen to Mr. Pott talk about the Spanish American war for the rest of eternity. Why didn’t he just take the rest of me when he stole my soul?

I’ve seen the devil. He uses his charming smile and smooth words to distract you while he slowly steals all that you hold dear. He smiles as he murders you slowly from the inside out. I know he thinks he has won, but even as I sit here in history class I am planning his detailed demise. Revenge is the one and only reason I live, I will make maggot food of the man who raped and pillaged my body. He will be killed by the monster he’s made. Blood runs through my veins, I breathe air, but the inside of me is so mutilated that it is no longer human. Suddenly, my skin feels like plastic, the room is getting smaller.
“What was the question again?” an unfamiliar voice blurts out. It took me a few seconds to realize it was my own. Do I sound like that? I don’t remember sounding like that.
“Whoa…..calm down. I was just wondering if I could borrow a pen or pencil…..Uh… Are you okay?” Of course it was Travis, the one and only person who isn’t afraid of me. He is so naïve, so innocent; I wish I could be like him. In another life he would have been the man of my dreams, but sadly I don’t dream anymore either.
As I hand him a pencil, I can’t keep from adding the comment:
“You are lucky “

He smiles and utters “thanks”
I wonder if he will ever realize that I wasn’t talking about the pencil.





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