Malcolm's Draft

A Story by Keden

A few pages out of the life of Malcolm.

September 28

“Who are we? Why are we here? The most retarded questions any man, woman or child has ever asked themself. We seek the meaning of life so that we can vindicate our own motivations - But what are you going to do when you find out that you've been doing the wrong thing all your life? Something pointless, something so utterly and completely useless that your entire life turns out to be a waste and nothing you did was ever a god damned thing. What will you do then? You see there is no universal answer to life, and the only thing you have to do to find out why you're here is to live your f*****g life, not linger on empty questions that'll never get you anywhere."

He lingered over the page for a few moments longer, the luminescent gaze of his desk light watching him steadily. Reading over what he wrote again, he nods ever so lightly before closing the diary. The clock says 23:14, my God is it that late already, he thinks to himself as he gets up. What a mess his room is, such a bloody mess, and he barely manages stumble across towards the bathroom, the darkness no help at all. The door is locked, out of habit rather than necessity, his room already having been sealed off from the rest of the dorm. The light in the bathroom is so freaking bright that he winces as he peers into the mirror, and seeing himself doesn't make him feel any better. Ten minutes later he's out and clean, as clean as can be anyway. Oh that goddamn noise next door again, those damn kids! Reluctantly it comes back to him that he is himself, by all standards, but a 'kid', but somehow his irritation is no less for it. "Oi! Keep it down, would you?!" He raises his voice, angrily as usual, and is only met by vague replies and a faint decrease in volume. With a crash he lands in his bed, hands in front of his face, tiredly pulling the blankets over his head. Another day at an end, another day he survived.

Damn it all. A job, he still hadn't found a damned job. And he didn't want to - Why should he? Working for some spoiled ingrate who likes bossing people around all day was absolutely not something he looked forward to. "Hey, Malcolm!" And so reality comes crashing down the door again. Another class, another day, another grunt of annoyance. The teacher had called his name, least he thought it was her, eyes scanning the room lazily. Half the people were too busy dozing off themselves to care, and the other was curiously peering at him. And there was she, miss Hannigan. What a b***h. She was already back to writing on the blackboard, some s****y story about some writer that he was never going to care about. It was quite ironic, really, when he thought about it. He loved to write, nothing gave him more peace of mind, and yet when it came to other people's writing.. He simply never cared. It didn't work that way for him.

"What the f**k is she talking about now..?" - That was John, one of his few friends, leaning in from the side. He shrugs lightly, muttering: "F**k if I know man." John laughs quietly to himself, as he always did, he was certainly far more cheerful than Malcolm himself. John's attention was also quickly diverted to the pretty girl at the front of the class. Blonde hair and blue eyes with plenty of air to fill up the whole ensemble. He didn't know her name, nor did he care much. He wanted to know, or he had wanted to once upon a time, but somehow talking to women had never really been his thing. John, of course, suffered from no such faults and was happily exchanging looks and mouthed words as the clock ticked on excruciatingly slowly.

"Saved by the bell!" Someone says loudly, abruptly when the sweet release of the last minute of class finally washed over them. B***h Hannigan gives the class some more homework, but only half of them are listening, and even fewer than that care at all. He gets up and follows his friend to the front of the room, albeit at a distance. He watches John talk to the girl and wonders, as he always does, how that wiry fellow with the greasy black hair always had managed to talk to girls so much more easily than he ever had. Another shrug, another moment of doubt passes as he gets out of the classroom. The hallways are even louder, but there is sun outside, thank God.

It's twenty minutes later, he's outside, on the grass with a couple of others. Two girls he knew but beyond a polite hello and a few conversations when he was drunk, had never once spoken to, had joined the group. He leans back on his elbows and looks about at his friends, or what he should call his friends at least, even if one was left to wonder if they know him at all. John was there of course, laughing heartily at something utterly moronic the brunette had just said. Then there was Henry, a poor looking fellow with fairly long brown hair and spectacles to challenge Dumbledore's, desperately trying to keep up with John as they chatted to the girls. And then you had Peter.. Peter was something special. Leather jacket with the collar up, greased up hair, a cigarette between his lips - He looked like a bad 80's caricature, and yet somehow people seemed to be drawn to him. Peter didn't talk much, he preferred to look around from behind those dark sunglasses, and yet the girls were pining for his attention and the guys for his opinion. Malcolm shakes his head lightly, a light grin passing over his lips at the sight of this little group of so-called friends.

"Hey Malcolm, you need a job, right? With your mum's s**t and all that?" He was spoken to, unexpectedly. Quickly jerking the headphones back and around his neck: "Sorry, what?" A light blush rising up quickly from his stomach to his cheeks, though he knew damn well that he never actually blushed - He only thought he did. "You, you need a job, don't'cha?" A quick nod and Peter sat up as well, everyone's eyes now on poor Malcolm as the kingpin spoke to him: "They need someone down in that antique shop, so I been told anyway. Might be just the thing for you mate." With that he lay back down as if his job, his good deed for the day were done. The sunlight seemed all the warmer all of a sudden when Malcolm realised his cheeks were warm, even though he had never blushed. The girls gazed at him, their cruel eyes sizing him up in a mockery of appreciation. He could only nod and mutter a few grateful words before pulling up his earphones again and listen to music again to try and escape the group's awfully painful attention.

October 3

His head turns toward the window to peek outside. A clear blue sky and far too much sunlight is all he finds out that window. People are laughing outside, at least he thinks he can hear them laughing, in unison with the birds' chirping. Malcolm, poor Malcolm as he calls himself in his head, shakes his head and turns his attention back to the screen. Another e-mail from his dad.

"Please Malcolm, won't you write more than a single line next time? I haven't heard from you for ages. I'm really worried something's wrong and I miss you.

- Dad"

He'd gotten several e-mails like that over the past few weeks, each time shrugged off with a sigh or briefly replied to with a line that he was well and busy. How could the man still be so persistent? They hadn't had proper contact in years now.. The last time, Malcolm remembered it vividly, was his birthday three years ago. He had still lived with his mum at their old place. It was an early saturday morning, Malcolm never got up that early, except for when his dad was in town. Even then it had been months since they last saw each other. But he was up at nine and ready by ten, even though his dad wouldn't be there till eleven. When the horn finally honked he jumped up, rushed to give mum a kiss on the cheek and get out. She'd been grouchy all day of course, none too pleased that Malcolm was spending a day with his father. The relationship between his parents had long since gone downhill.

But Malcolm had gone out all the same and gotten in the car. It was a big silver-coloured rental car with new leather seats. Typical. They hadn't said much while they were headed for his grandparents' place, save for the usual pleasantries that seemed far too stupid for a father and a son who hadn't seen each other for months. Malcolm's father had looked older than when he had last seen the man, much older. Grey streaks in his hair. It was strange, as if he were a memory that had grown old. His father had long ceased to be his father.

They spent the day sitting around the coffeetable at his grandparents', his father's parents, talking about silly things. Who in the family was getting their gardens remodeled, what pets had died, the inevitable mention of something that happened far too long ago and then, of course, his school. God it was boring, but it was family, right? And at least, later on, he'd get a playstation three. The first new computer-type-thing that he had seen in nearly six years.

His eyes came to rest on the thing, the PS3 that his father had gifted him those years ago. He was left to wonder whether it had been just one of many attempts to buy his love and attention a little while longer. There is just doubt now, and wonder, about how he himself felt about his father. Malcolm hasn't got the faintest clue how he feels - There is nothing there, he hasn't had a father in practically twelve years and at the same time.. How can you not love your father? Doesn't that make you a terrible, terrible person? He just shrugs it off, he must, or rather he is left with no other choice. No one else even has a clue what's going on there. His mother hates the man, as do his brothers, and anyone else doesn't even know Malcolm's father exists. It's a strange thing, he thinks to himself as his eyes return to the screen.

"I'm fine dad, don't you worry, I'm doing well in school. Hope you're doing well too.

- Malcolm"

Three hours later he's at a bar, a beer in his hand and the guys around him. The music's far too loud of course, why wouldn't it be, and their slurred speech is hardly understandable over the loud noise of the Party Animal's latest attempt at ear-rape. So he'll just have another beer, but as he turns around, he is struck by an utter cliché. Right across the bar she is, a woman that makes his draw drop at a speed faster than light and his heart jump so fiercely he's convinced it'll burst out of his chest. "Oh Lord.." is all he thinks to himself before the black-out sets in.

He groans, terribly loudly. Strangely enough this illicits some responses, and as his eyes open to bring the room into view, he realizes he's not quite alone. He pushes an arm off himself and gets to his feet, stumbling to the wall before turning around. "What the-..." The arm he pushed off himself was Henry's for some reason, the guy hadn't even woken up yet. Between them had lain a cheap bottle of vodka. A little further away, in Malcolm's bed, is Peter, lounging and reading a magazine as usual - For some reason he was wearing his sunglasses, as if he had slept with them on his face. Then there comes another groan and John's voice echoes from behind the couch that Malcolm and Henry had missed.

"Oh maaan... Where am I...?"

"My appartment dumbass, where do you think you are?"

Malcolm says with the hint of laughter in his voice, though it's instantly dispelled when the headache he has comes to knock him back to reality. Peter peers down over his magazine, pretending John's presence was the most normal thing in the world, and he grins slightly.

"Nice."

Peter says. Then there comes a strange squeal of panic, and a girl's head comes into view. She's pretty alright, dark curly hair with beautiful red lips, though she keeps her eyes closed for the time being.

"John, somehow you've gotten prettier over the course of last night."

Malcolm remarks as he peers over his shoulder, by now he's busy fetching himself a glass of water and a whole lot of aspirine. When he's done he finally turns around again, leaning against the sink that portrudes from the wall. To his left Henry is, still fast asleep, and for a moment Malcolm wonders to himself whether he should check the guy's pulse before a snort escapes the kid on the ground and all is proven to be well. His eyes then trail to the couch that towers over Henry, and to the girl's face who has by now been joined by John.

"And you are..?"

Peter asks, extending a hand. She seems to be taking it all rather well, shaking the hand and offering a hazy smile to go along with it.

"Sienna. So uhm... Who are you guys again?"

This is followed by the most uncomfortable silence ever, but then, almost simultaneously everyone breaks into a fit of laughter. Poor Henry is awakened by this and he grumbles to himself while we, Peter excluded, double over from a headache. Sienna however, quickly begins looking through the room. She even stands, and after John wolf-whistles softly, she begins getting dressed. Few who care, and a little while later she and John wander out while the rest of them have breakfast. Uncomfortable silence over a nice bowl of cereal, who wouldn't love it? Then Henry, who clears up pretty quickly, nudges Malcolm and grins ever so slightly.

"So, Mal, what ever happened between you and that girl last night? Where'd you leave her, huh?"

Malcolm nearly manages to choke on his food, coughing before he manages to blurt out an answer, the question even having drawn Peter's attention away from this week's finest gossip in his magazine.

"... W-What... Girl...?"

"Oh come on, the one you were staring at half the evening! You got us all this drunk just so you could have the courage to talk to her man, don't tell me you don't remember her. You said she was, and I quote, the bwost bwjoetifoel woeman, you had ever seen"

Henry nearly splurts some of his cereal and milk over his shirt, just as well, as it's stained in several kinds of alcoholic drinks and what appears to be glue of some kind. Malcolm continues to eat nervously between sentences, glancing at Peter for confirmation at some points when Henry doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

"I... What? There was a girl sure but I thought I only saw her for a minute..?"

"No man, you stared at her for twenty minutes downing shot after shot and then you asked each and every one of us to borrow lip balm for some reason." Peter says with a hint of disgust, as if the memory still haunted him.

"Yeah and then you went over to talk to her! Yeah you were all excited, it was like half an hour later, she'd been making eyes at you too even though you completely failed at seeing -that-, of all things!"

Henry roared with laughter at his own account of the evening, taking a break to eat some cereal, already actively gesturing with his spoon and ready to tell more. But... Memories began to come back in short, annoying bursts, quickly to be interrupted by headaches again. He had indeed stared at her.. For how long? It didn't matter. He knew she'd caught him, she must've, because there was also the distinct memory of feeling terribly embarrassed. And then suddenly he was closer to her. For a second he could recall her face, laughing at him for some reason.

"... Was her hair long, nearly to her waist? Darkblonde, beautiful eyes? And a.. A big, big ring on her finger?"

The ring only came to him the second he was describing her, but she had waved it demonstrably in his face, he remembered now.

"I don't know about the ring man, but she was hot alright. You really don't remember what happened?!"

Laughter again from dear Henry, who generally seems to take as much pleasure from other people's social f**k-ups as other's do from his.

"Yeah I guess... How long did I talk to her for..?"

He asked with a hand in his hair, messy as it was, spoon hovering idly over the bowl of cereal.

"About two hours..."

The voice had been strange, yet familiar. Malcolm looked up at Peter, but the guy was grinning as he looked past Malcolm at the doorway. Henry too, sat openmouthed as he gaped at whomever had spoken. His head turned, almost as slowly as in a romantic movie, and he caught the first glimpse of that waist-long hair again.