Playground Bully

This chapter is exclusively Aden's thoughts... or more accurately his pain.

Death is not Romantic.

 

Whatsoever.

 

I used to be that poor decieved kid who labored perilously under the erroneous delusion that DEATH IS ROMANTIC. I wanted my death to be Romantic. I fricking IMAGINED WAYS I WANTED TO DIE, which I assure you, is an utterly morbid, gratifying past time that I would not recommend unless you are contemplating suicide and wish to go out with a BANG! and are fully aware of the fact that you will be taking your own life.

 

Because what we call heroism, dying to save someone else or whatever, at least in my view, has a perilously similar definition to the word suicide.

 

I have seen death. I have spent time in a hospital room, watching someone slowly die, and not even heroically because to be honest she's an a*****e and, okay, let's all just admit it, I want her to die. I'm a f*****g horrible child I know but I am not going to hide behind lies anymore, here is the Ugly Truth, TRUTH IS NOT BEAUTIFUL SHE IS AN UGLY, SQUIRMING BABY, and here it goes, I want Mother to die, can she just DIE ALREADY, I'm not going to romanticize her stupid death because her death wasn't heroic, we all wanted her to die, admit it admit it admit it admit it she was a f*****g a*****e and I hate her for what she did to me and what she did to Father and I. Want. Her. To. Die.

 

Death is not Romantic. Can I just tell you, as a person who is currently watching that exact thing happen, that Death. Sucks?

 

Like, a lot. Seriously. And if you're ever contemplating suicide/a heroic death (they are the SAME THING), here's my recommendation, don't. Do. It.

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We went to the hospital a bunch after that. Every time it was some idiotic, stupid disparaging remark about Father and his various shortcomings, it was rarely about me, mostly about him because I mostly didn't do anything but stand in the background and watch, watch as Mother took her claws and slowly ripped holes through his heart. I couldn't even stand up for him. I was scared, scared like the little kid as the big playground bully lumbers over and asks for your lunch money and then socks you in the face. I didn't want to get socked in the face and I didn't want to give up my money, so I was that kid who no one knew existed, faded into the background and hid up in the tree.

 

Even as my own father got beat up by the bullies.

 

I am a horrible child. Oh, I know I am. I collapse under the window in my room, and tears begin to slide down my cheeks. I can't even stand up to Mother. I let her scream at Father to save my own skin. I am the worst possible child you could ever have, why would anyone like you?

 

Oh yeah, I forgot, no one does.

 

Not even Mother.

 

Not even Father anymore, he barely talks anymore, he's starting to look like crumpling grey paper in the moonlight.

 

Not even the kids at school.

 

Not even me.

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At night the stars are bright, in the day the light shines harshly. In the rain I find Comfort and in the sun I find Pain. Friends bloom Jealousy, loneliness blooms Unhappiness. Faher brings Sorrow, Mother brings Fear, alone I culivate the worst thing of all, acknowledgement of the Truth. The hospital has become a place of Suffering. Life has become a place of Death. Happiness has become the absence of Sadness.

 

Aleksandr Vasieliev, I do believe Hate is winning the war.

Author's Note

Do you like the last paragraph? I do like the last paragraph :)

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the last lines. Complete chapter was well written and powerful. You create struggle and memory. Life lead us to strange places. Some are good and most are bad. No weakness in the excellent chapter.
Coyote