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SHORT STORIES

3. From dusk till dawn

Lilac strips cling onto the pale base of the blue morning sky. It looks as if God only brushed one coat of white paint over of the horizon. Centered in the middle, I feel the divinity, I see the beauty. The sun spits lushious rays of pantone sunshine. With this, windows turn gold, Antennas turn royal sceptres and streaks of sky sing in pastel colours. The grain of the waking sun’s radiance continues to burn amidst the fog of yesterday’s darkness – Highlighting the rose underbelly of the clouds above. Rich and vivid is the sight. As I reflect, I absorb the light of a fireball, and wonder: “Is there any life out there for me?”. The moon watches on deep within the blue above, illuminating faintly around itself. I turn. I wish I was braver. I script my thoughts out in my head, playing and acting out scenarios of me in love, in good company and in the eyes of celebrities I wish to be like. I ponder but as my thoughts fleet, my grip on this reality slips. I seem to be distracted from distracting myself so I let go, only to end up back where I started – on the balcony, leaning on the edge of the rail and at this point…

The edge of the world.

The birds won’t shut the fuck up. But the trees are alive. Stretching and waking to the tasteful calm of the soft morning glow and the crisp morning breeze. The air is cold but gentle – It’s not going anywhere. My mind drifts in it’s place. Looking at the navy hills in the distance, I ask: “What’s wrong with me?”, ” Is it me?”. It’s as if my emotions have a hold on me instead of me having a hold on them. I wish it would’ve been my mother holding me like this.

God…

Melancholy, I lean back and look on, wheezing – in, out, in, HOLD; and smell cold, and.. *sniff* …somewhat dry… blowing in the air. The backdrop of the pearlescent sky torches the valley of council estates to my right with a certain lustre, almost as if a chrome-en-rose, as I continue to watch – awed, amoureuse. As I hold my gaze, I hear singing and footsteps… I turn. The birds drift through the peach skies in tandem while down below the squirrels roam the peach streets – in tandem. The scene is static but the street lamps twinkle within the layers of the suburban landscape. This moment is brief, but enough to say

‘good morning’.

Everything seems to fade one way or another. Day to night, night to day, friend to friend, lover to lover. Surely one of them was the one… Right? RIGHT? The sky dresses itself in an even pinker pink, intensifying in vibrancy and increasing in exposure as the sun shifts her whisper of gold up to a shout of egg-yolk orange – shining her now-saturated rays directly onto my cum-soaked bedsheets, bouncing of my blue walls and the frank ocean poster that decorates it. Those same walls saw me cry looking at my phone screen. Stomach churning and working from an adrenaline shot – all for the price of “We need to talk.”.

[No one liked that]

My green tea just mildly burns my tongue as I take a small sip from my mug with my head bowed – still looking at the sun rising between London’s legs. I wonder – to no surprise: “What the fuck is going on?”. I laugh with the intent to cry and the silence hears me. I hold my head, losing my self-control. Did I ever even have it in the first place? FUCK!

“I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING FUN GOD! I HOPE YOU GET ENJOYMENT OUT OF THIS YOU SICK TWISTED FUCK!”

I cry.

The tears stream down my face, dripping from the underside of my jaw only to drip onto my stained, somewhat-white t-shirt – imprinting onto my chest, turning my top into the saddest graphic tee I think I’ve ever seen. How do I celebrate my creation? Well, I only grovel down to the ground. Turning away from the sun and hiding behind the suicide-guard, I scratch my knees along the unfinished concrete that is the floor of my balcony. I end up sat down – limp, weak-willed and submissive to the horrors of my past that continue to haunt and torture me. Nice. To no surprise, I’ve given up. My soul is exhausted and defenseless. My emotions, as always, have won this battle. I don’t even want to see what the war looks like… No prospects, no school, no job, no money but a chest infection, an iphone I use as an alarm, a gram of weed and a mum who loves me way too much to tell me what she really thinks. I have 800 followers on Instagram yet I follow 692 of them – So much for being a leader instead of a follower… How the fuck did I get here? I was a kid… A kid. My mental health started playing games and now I’m a grown up? Am I the only one who’s seeing a flaw to the logic? It’s so funny… I would laugh if it wasn’t so fucked up. I’m not even crying anymore at this point… I stare at the wall, deadpan, wanting to drive my face into the plaster but too afraid of the pain to actually do it. Now one sits alone without talking but saying enough with one’s silence. One has hit one’s creshendo once again… But how? Why? Why do we fall? Why do we die every night of our lives only to rebirth the moment our brains ‘feel like it’? Not even healing the pain within our hearts, or fixing the mess in our minds but forgetting about it until it comes to hit us again, and again, and again until it kills us or we kill ourselves. My childhood trauma laughs at my fate. I haven’t smoked weed in 2 weeks. Might be the reason why I feel like shit. FUCK. Worst part is, I don’t feel as sad anymore and I hate it. I think I like being depressed. I think I I D E N T I F Y with it.. Jeez… How fucked does one have to be to feel this way?… My therapist says it’s normal and has a fancy word for it. I’d remember it but I never listen anyway – hence why I’m here: on the floor, reciting past regrets and living in the shadow of my 5 year old self. My life seems to have taken of on an offroad direction but my life hasn’t even started yet to do so for fuck sake.

*Sniff*

The lord works in mysterious ways..

I seem to have reached such a point of indifference that there’s no point of me sitting down and feeling sorry for myself. But then again, what’s the point of living anyway?…

I get over myself and stand up. The sun has been here this whole time and didn’t even say anything… If it didn’t give me light, food and oxygen I’d say it was as bad at understanding me as my friends… I dust my knees and shake my bathrobe trying to find myself but I’m still here; All I’ve lost is 50% of my phone battery. Don’t ask how. I never know to even answer myself… Being relatively clean and basking in the last moments of the morning’s dying rust, I swipe right the green and oozing mucus drying and flaking just above my dry and flaking top lip. The Sun sees this a funny moment to hit my face with sunlight and essential vitamins. I giggle a little bit, the bastard haha. My cigarette is almost out but I smoke anyway; Between tokes I smile and dance a little bit, barely keeping my balance on my sliders as I introvertly kung-fu kick the air, somehow almost splitting my white boxers. 99% cotton? More like 99% ass.

hehe..

Oh shit! My cigarette has been burning this whole time… I toke again. With smoke in my eyes, I squint like a man who’s seen it all as I watch the world I know change before my very eyes. The world has not yet heard me wail; neither have my mum or the neighbours next door. The cycle continues. Will I eventually give up? Will I work towards my dreams? Will I find love? Of course not. Stay tuned for the next episode tho. It’s gonna be a whammy. Probably won’t even cry. Just straight down to Rock Bottom. As I finish wailing and smoking, the clouds de-pink-ify before me. Sunrise overdrive is now over. The cotton candy clouds are now retarded marshmellows. The dead autumn leaves are now visible. The squirrels climb the trees to see the world as it is. I already have. The Hybrids and Corsas below seem to be moving as if they were possessed. The cranes in the sky stand firm, red at the tips, ready for the day. The greys, blues and browns of the city take shape and take their place within the land’s cityscape. The window lights turn on. Oh no. I see trains, I see lights, I hear iPhone alarms.

The people are awaking.

The solitude I thought I was enjoying has been taken away from me by the cold dead hands of time. Instead of giving me what I want, it’s given me what I need: Living people. I’m not a fan but medicine is medicine… I’ve learnt now, even as a man who’s seen it all: I can’t change, but the day of the calendar can. Today is here. The party is over. The birds sing their final song on the BT telephone lines. They dance once more. The butterflies flutter and twirl through the emerging pollen like fighter jets. Ponds ripple as the wind dies down to only a kiss, reaching outwards towards the land that hugs it. My city shows me her true colours as I did from behind the concrete slab of my balcony. I have the graphic tee to prove it. The squirrels recluse as the houseflies come out to play.

Hello.

Good morning.

Nothing happened.