Emo Nation

He stood by the window gazing into the deserted grey street. Nothing was moving and everything was grey.

Grey and bleak.

Grey and bleak.

The only colour was of the tiny yellow flower in his hand. Clouds swirled around the rooftops like a wolf. Searching and hunting for its prey.

Searching and hunting.

Searching and hunting.

For some reason he could spend hours just staring out into the empty fields beyond, looking for something that could tell him why he felt like this. Why he felt so empty. But nothing ever did. Every day was the same. The same high, the same lows. And there were a lot of lows. He could never quite put a finger on what he loved so much about the way the sky seemed to just open up whenever he looked at it. He wasn’t sure if it did this to other people. He didn’t care. Sighing, he walked away and sat on his floor, staring up at his fairy lit ceiling. They danced around like drunken dragonflies and span on their toes. He didn’t mind them doing this, it made him feel strangely calm. He liked this calm. The calm that flows over you like a huge black blanket pulled over your head. You’re told not to worry because it won’t make any difference. And he was used to it now anyway.

“Get up.”

He did so reluctantly and walked to his chair where he sat down heavily.

“Yes?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

“Oh. Right.”

The door shut and he was left alone once again. He never properly understood why his parents married if they didn’t love each other. Glancing towards a sharp implement, he knocked it in a drawer.

I hate myself.

It was true. He did. He hated everything about himself. Everything from his fake coloured hair to his addiction to self-harm. Everything.

I’m so, so sad.

There was a knock at the front door, which he ignored. Somebody downstairs answered it and called him down. Dragging his legs behind him, he stumbled to the kitchen. His mother stood next to a tall dark-haired man.

It’s true what she said. Everyone does go through life silently scared.

*****

“I don’t like talking about myself. Otherwise I’d tell the truth when I say I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Crap small talk isn’t it? ‘Hello, how are you?’, ‘Oh well, you know, I’ve tried to kill myself every night for the past 3 days, not much.’”