Test Anxiety

The beginnings of a journey for a superhero. Smart, loyal, and a bit obsessive, Theo looks to handle things the way he thinks they need to be done. And some doughnuts~

                Nervous. The other students were nervous; he could tell, even without looking up. The classroom was filled with the�"literally�"blind evidence of regretful anxiety. Someone was scratching along fabric, their fingernails threatening to tear apart the cheap cotton t-shirt. Several kids were kicking their feet or bouncing the weight of their leg onto their heel, clanking their shoes against the linoleum underneath. It was blatantly obvious to even his nose as he could smell the odor, more pungent than usual, on the soccer player seated next to him. He would’ve sworn he could hear it dripping down his temple and onto his paper.

            And himself? He had joined the choir of bouncing erasers strewn throughout the room. Rapidly beating the test in front of him. Fast. Trying to match his heart rate, though it kept changing. For brief periods it slowed to a restful pace, when focusing on the test in front of him. Biology, at the moment this meant enzymes and protein construction, and the thoughts of microscopic molecules and diagrams pacified him. That was the difference between him and everyone else sitting in at the worktables; the test was the only thing calming him. It was the others’ source of fretfulness, and it was easing his. Temporarily, because his heart rate kept changing. His focus kept slipping, over and over again, which was unlike him. His attention was normally a laser, pinpointed and hot enough to slice metal in two. They boy’s eyes dart up long enough to catch the positions of the clock’s hands, which were nearing twilight. The light was fading fast and he still had four problems left.

                The boy’s lids slid shut over his azure eyes for only a moment as stale air seeped through his nose. Then his eyes popped open once again and the air leaves in a sharp sigh as his lead connected with the paper. His focus was a laser.

He turned his test in at 2:56, with four minutes to spare. With his eyes free to roam without accusatory quips from the teacher about the honor code of test taking, they found the other students as he took his seat and waited for the bell, his own worry spiking hazardously, shrinking his stomach and making the lunch he’d eaten seem much too large. There was nothing to do after school; nothing but go home. He couldn’t imagine it though, going home and waiting, sitting and waiting for tomorrow morning to come. It was the weekend in a couple of minutes, and the weekend was good. It meant sleeping in and eating nothing but cereal and sometimes a little homework. Most weekends were good, this one would not be.

A soccer player in a light grey shirt with dismal pit stains from sitting still, an artsy kid in the corner with a handful of his floppy black hair clutched at the roots, a cheerleader with too much lip gloss already reaching for her bag to apply some more. Nervous. The Freshman Biology class around him was nervous to find out the results of their preparation and panic. The exam had concluded and they were still nervous.

 

He threw open the door to his apartment too harshly. That wasn’t accurate. This was his uncle’s apartment, but Uncle Jordon was on “extended vacation” in San Francisco. The rooms had belonged to the teenager since the court hearing when his uncle had promptly left. He was used to fending for himself, so it was preferred. Jordan was a good guy and all�"his uncle was giving him a monthly allowance in addition to rent, money for clothes and food and whatever else�"he just didn’t like anybody in his business.

Presently, he stood in the middle of the bare living room. This wasn’t where he’d lived with his mother, but the state of living was the same. He’d cleaned up at home after she’d gone, looking for feathers or traces of snow left frozen by the police. It would only get her into more trouble when she came walking back. Even then, he’d had this insane ideal in his mind of keeping her safe, like a child, able to guide her to make better choices. It was hopeless, and every counselor he’d spoken to had told him it wasn’t possible, but they were wrong. You see, the vast majority of people were idiots. Counselors meant well for the most part, just like teachers and mothers, but they were all ignorant. The absurdity that they came up with angered him.

In any case, they were wrong this time too. He knew there had to be a way. Hopeless or not, he knew it could be done. That same insane ideal had been toying at the edges of his usually-logical mind, had made itself into something much bigger, completely of its own will. The sun was already slanting through the window severely. He’d put off coming home as long as he could, running errands and such, but mostly loitering. The sun outside was setting, but it was dawn. He had about twenty-four hours to go and he could not help himself. Plans, variables, scenarios all played out in his head, automatic like a clock’s gears. Completely aware of the time, clicking along at the steady pace that he knows will land him exactly where he needs to be at precisely the right time.

A sudden knock at the door snapped him out of his reverie. The room is dark and he realized with a slight shock that the sun had set completely as he’d been lost in thought. The door swung open to reveal the teenaged boy on the inside with his head slightly cocked and a bemused eyebrow raised. On the outside was a younger boy with straight mousy hair completely covering one eye, slightly craning his neck to see the elder.

“Theo!” the kid exclaimed, like a puppy yips when expecting praise. No matter how many knots in his stomach, the boy reached down with a fond grin and ruffled his brown hair.

“Hey Gar,” he replied, his voice cracking slightly from disuse. Garfield slung off his backpack and held it in front of his chest for a moment, hesitant, before offering it up. Theo blinked.

“I-I brought this,” he said, confused. “…Like you asked?” he added when Theo still didn’t respond. He reached out and took the lego-colored backpack, holding the strap in one hand as he unzipped the main compartment to reveal blackness. It reflected light though, sort of like kelvar. And suddenly he understood a couple of things. First, he knew what the heck it was. And secondly, he knew that he hadn’t asked Gar to bring it to him. The kid was the only one who’d known it existed, and that was only because it had been the kid who’d given him access to his father’s lab.

“Thanks,” he said simply, balling up the fabric and pulling out, handing the bag back.

He looked so young as he stood in the doorway, caught between knowing his cue to leave and desperation. “What’re you doing tonight?” he asked, forced optimism tingeing his too-loud voice.

Theo glanced up from where his thumb was running over the rough wad. Gar had a bad home situation consisting of a spineless mother and a less-than-tender father. He was putting off his return, and the irony wasn’t lost on the teenager. He sighed and swept his inky hair off his forehead. A distraction would do him good, or at least distort the clock’s face, even if the gears maintained.

Garfield revealed two movie rentals from a side pocket of the bag, so they made popcorn�"on the stovetop, because microwave popcorn is “an abomination to civilization.” Theo didn’t object, and they cracked open a couple of sodas as the previews started for an old, Japanese kung fu tape. It’s basically an antique, originally done in Japanese, and the voiceover of the American actors doesn’t line up with the on-screen actors’ lips. So instead of the world being in peril, the kids laugh where they’re sprawled across the sofa. It came to a scene of evacuation, houses burning and families running for shelter. Gar got quiet, and a quiet Gar is unnerving to be around. He looked curiously to the kid and saw a dazed face. Theo nudged him softly with his foot that was propped by the kid’s shoulder. He jumped about a foot, grabbing the edge of his limp cushion before his eyes settle on Theo and his pupils receded. He smiled shyly.

“I wish I could live on my own,” he confessed. “Like you do.”

Theo didn’t know exactly what to say, so he moved his lips, but didn’t speak. “You will someday.”

“I don’t care about someday,” the kid snapped. “I want to now.”

“What about your mom?” Theo demanded.

“Mom’s brain dead!” he grumbles, and from the glare of the TV Theo could see tears glimmering in his eyes.

“Look.” He took a deep breath. “I wish there was something I could do, but there’s not. Legally, you have to stay at home until you’re eighteen. I’m sorry.”

A few minutes pass in silence as a roomful of men get shot up and otherwise killed. Out of his peripheral vision, Theo can see the small kid looking over his shoulder to the black lump on the counter in the kitchen. He’s quiet again for a while.

“Do you believe the rumors?” he asked so suddenly that Theo nearly choked on a kernel.

“About…?”

“About the heroes, of course!” Garfield’s thirteen, in the seventh grade, but sometimes he really seemed younger.

“I haven’t heard anything about heroes,” Theo warned. “They’re vigilantes, Gar, and there’s  a difference.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, they’re probably just a bunch of freaky nerds who’ve taken it too far.”

“Maybe some of ‘em,” he argued. “But there’s a hero out there. A real hero, not a cartoon or a comic,” he mused.

He viewed the world in an orphic way, though Theo couldn’t blame him. He’s just a kid, he needed something to believe in. Was it so bad if he believed in heroes?

In Theodore?

He shook his head to himself, though Gar thought it was directed toward him so he shrank back into his corner of the couch. He was no hero.

“You’re right,” he admitted, and Gar’s face showed his surprise. “There’s got to be someone at least trying to do some good out there.” His teeth glint devilishly from his crooked grin in the unnatural light. “Assuming the rumors are even true.”

Neither of them mention the pile of kelvar weighing heavily on both of their mind. They distract each other, settling back into a joking atmosphere, though Theo isn’t very good at ‘lighthearted.’ It doesn’t matter much, Garfield’s good enough for both of them. All Theo has to do is smile, nod, and play along to keep him happy. As they popped the second movie in�"a stupid comedy, much too crude in humor to be rated anything but R�"a popcorn fight erupted.

Despite the hilarity, Gar fell quickly. It was well past midnight at that point, and his laughter came slower at first, just a bit delayed. Soon enough, Theo would look over to share a chuckle and his eyes were drooping. No more than two minutes after that, he was asleep. The teenager studied him for a long time. What was he supposed to do? Wake him up and send him home? No, he left him there, turning down the volume but letting the movie run on and plucked the salty popcorn from the carpet.

 

                The nighttime changes people. It’s a fact, acknowledged by ancient civilizations though their myths and legends which offer explanations and modernly by psychological tales of brain chemistry and primal instinct. It doesn’t really matter who’s right�"but for that matter, they’re both equally plausible�"because the end results are persistent. Something about the absence of light or the blanket of darkness, and which is in affect makes all the difference. If you notice the absence of light, it may be fear taking over, or it could be that the lack of illumination makes one more comfortable. The blanket of darkness allows one an alibi for those who accept its existence. Secret personalities and hidden actions are shown in the dark. The latter can be malicious or affectionate in nature, depending on reputation. A serious, stubborn, or tough person might be afraid or unsure at night. Likewise, a polite and kind person might be the rapist next door with bodies stuffed under his floorboards.

                Though those are extreme examples. Last night had been some weird mixture of the two. Or maybe Gar had noticed the light leaving him and went looking for companionship elsewhere, even if the best he could do was a moody high school Freshman. The light of day had never much done it for Theo anyway, and the darkness had fit nicely. He let himself be tricked into the mind frame that night was a different world from day; he saw the darkness and assumed that no one could see him He’d made mistakes last night as he got too comfortable, the talk about heroes. Hell, letting Gar stay at all had been a mistake. Theo had been driving himself down a dead end avenue�"more like a racetrack�"though, he’d desperately needed the distraction. Garfield wasn’t supposed to know, though he’d needed access to materials and equipment.

                This was what Theo thought of as he walked down the street and the sun peaked over the industrial horizon, reflecting off the bulletproof glass of the skyscrapers’ windows. Gar was still asleep on his couch, and, not wanting to wake him, he’d gone out the window and scaled the fire escape to avoid the door’s avid shrieking. His was the third floor, so he slid to the last half story and jumped, landing on the balls of his feet, knees bent to absorb the impact. The momentum still was too great, so he countered it by rolling forward, over the left shoulder of his windbreaker and rustling the leaves strewn across the alley.  It was late fall, and winter was approaching early this year.

                He walked to the gas station on the corner at a leisurely pace. There was no hurry since he’d woken so early. Theo was so used to waking early for school he didn’t even set an alarm anymore, no matter the hour he goes to sleep. This morning he’d woken restlessly in his bed and, since his homework was complete, he’d gone in search for breakfast. One look in the refrigerator had told him that it would be a hopeless search at the apartment, but that wasn’t unusual. He rarely ate at home. During the week he dined at school for breakfast and lunch, and he bought dinner wherever he happened to be when he got hungry. Home was a place full of mind-drifting contemplation and sleepless nights; it was a place he tried to avoid.

                From the small store he bought a dozen assorted doughnuts, a carton of 2% milk, bacon, and orange juice. Gar was awake by the time of his return, and the blanket Theo had covered him with was folded neatly on the arm of the couch.

                “I bring food!” Theo announced in a pleased tone while the door swung shut. He set the bags onto the round dining table and lifted out the items, lining them up on the table.

                Garfield jumped up from his perch on the couch and bounded to the table, eyes alight, on the balls of his feet causing his bangs to flop into his eyes.

                “Sprinkles! Yesssss,” he said, drawing his ‘s’ out like a snake and letting his toffee-colored eyes flutter shut in pleasure.

                They both ate their fill of doughnuts and bacon, which was an admittedly weird combination for breakfast, though it hadn’t occurred to Theo at all until he had a mouthful of bacon and licked some glaze from his bottom lip. Weird, but not bad. Gar didn’t seem to think so either, so neither brought it up. The younger made idle chitchat; the sort of talk that Theo found pointless, but did his best to play along and give more than clipped one-worded answers. School seemed to be a safe subject, something they had in common at least. Gar asked about high school�"which was torturous in every sense of the word�"and Theo did his best to be truthful without making it sound like a campfire horror story. Theo also asked about the kid’s classes and told him how to manipulate the teachers best (“Mrs. Baker? Oh, Colleen. Sing on her birthday and she’ll give you a pizza party.”)

                Upon running out of things to talk about Gar departed hesitantly. Theo let him linger as long as he could, but, ultimately, his parents were expecting him home. The door shut and it immediately sounded too loud, reverberating off the walls and hitting him a dozen times over, just as his solitude.

 

                It beckoned. From the kitchen, the black snake hissed with his every thought. Hissed and rattled at his rapidly emptying stomach, tempting him with food though it guarded the scarcely-occupied refrigerator. Its shadow played a part too. The day wore on, the natural day outside, the one that shifted the sun and threw light. The same angles every day, at the same time. The original clock gears. But the shadows today were longer, and rather than grinding with the sun’s tempo, they jumped. Leapt out at him from the kitchen, consuming the others with its presence. Dark and heavy.

                So, shadows ringing in his ears, Theo thought. His mother got released today. Released from court-mandated rehabilitation. It wasn’t the first time it had happened but if Theo got his way, it would be the last. He knew how she would look today: hair a little healthier, circles all but gone from her clear eyes, clothes aligned and buttons straight on her blouse. Contrasting this picture was her shadow. Unlike the still frames of her short-lived ‘reformations,’ the shadow images all came to him in short clips, like a horror movie montage. A lot of the shadow images were of the empty house, just him. These clips are all shot from a low angle, skewed by the brown recliner blocking his view. It sat in the corner, making a perfect triangle to house his small frame because, eventually, she’d come home. Theo knew when to be scared. He knew that when her green eyes turned black that he needed to stay hidden. Or when she moved too fast, twitching and eyes darting, all of that meant she was using.

The normal her�"the real her�"was nice. Kindhearted. Even clean, she never invested much time into her son, but he needn’t be afraid of her. Coexistence was all he’d ever asked for, even as a child. She could get mad, sure, but when it was appropriate. Like other moms, she got mad if he didn’t look both ways crossing the street. She could also be quick-witted and the other adults loved her. Charismatic had been the word they’d used. It was the word that always got her jobs quickly. Using was the other word they’d used. That was the word that made her into Shadow Mom. Using was the word that lost her those jobs even faster than she could get them. He noticed patterns at the time, but didn’t understand them. His brain now put the dusky fragments together like a puzzle: she’d get better, get a job, use the money to buy crack, get a lot worse, lose her job. That’s when it got bad, when she got desperate.

Shadow Mom got drugs without money. Shadow Mom brought men home sometimes. So Theo hid behind the recliner. The men were slimy and self-righteous, and they outright confused the young child. They were rude�"and very often violent�"to his mother, but they gravitated toward her just like everyone else. They slapped her and then they’d coo in what sounded like a loving voice. Theo hid behind the deflated, russet-colored leather all the while, stuffing a small fist against his mouth to stifle the fearful noises. Some of the men stayed for months at a time, and they slept in Mom’s room, which upset Theo. Mom never let Theo sleep in her bed, even if he’d had a nightmare. One time he bit a man, he’d been short and stout and hadn’t liked that at all. He called Theo names that he’d never heard, and then stuck the end of his cigar into Theo’s neck. Mom got mad after the man left, and then she left and didn’t come back until the next morning. There had been a couple of beatings he’d taken and he could remember them if he threw his memory back to their very beginnings. He couldn’t have been more than three or four, and from her bedroom Theodore thought the stranger must’ve been hurting her from the sounds. He’d run in to help…

But Theo was smart. He’d always been bright, that was his strength. It hadn’t taken him long to find out the truth about his mother, or the way society viewed her. He had looked up to her, and it shattered him to find out that everyone else in the adult world viewed his mother as scum. So he asked her, repeatedly, to stop inviting the men over. To stop sticking herself with needles that drained the color of her eyes, the essence of her from her mind. To stop letting the men beat them both black and blue. Not because it hurt, because it made the good people not want to talk to them. As long as she kept on this way, the good people didn’t want to help.

Theo opened his eyes to face the medicine cabinet mirror in the bathroom. That’s where it had started, with him trying to keep his family afloat with simple requests. And this is where it had brought him, fifteen years old, standing in his bathroom wearing a skintight suit of Kevlar with torso plates darker than his hair. Not just the suit, but matching black gloves that went up the length of his forearm and calf-high boots. The last piece of the ensemble balanced on the faucet. Reaching forward, Theo got a sudden and overwhelming sense of dressing up for Halloween. Oddly enough, it disappeared as he secured the domino mask around his head. He designed it himself, Kevlar-rimmed with a filter screen over his eyes that magnified the light spectrum around him, effectively hid his eyes and let him see in the dark. Superhero masks he’d worn to trick-or-treat always skewed his vision, cutting of his peripherals. It wasn’t nearly as heavy either, and more protective than anything he’d ever worn before. Body armor plates made of boron carbide rested between layers of fabric, bulletproof and shatter-safe.

Unable to imagine waltzing out the front door in such a getup, the window slid shut behind him, clapping like thunder, throwing light and calling attention to his presence on the fire escape. It was dark out already, so he was sure nobody saw him, but still he flinched. Without a second though�"thinking about this too long or hard would result in him climbing back through the window and burning the suit, for obvious reasons�"he reached up and scaled the ladder. When he reached the top story he had to find a few footholds between the bricks before he could boost himself to the rooftop.

With a few bouncy shifts, he moved his weight from the ball of one foot to another and shook out his gloved hands. The springs rebounded higher and higher until he was jogging forward and then launching him off the edge. A miscalculation or amateur misstep�"he wasn’t sure which�"caused him to come up short. His hand found purchase on the parallel building top, but he wasn’t close enough, his face was about to smash into the brick wall. In a panic-filled adrenaline burst he kicked his leg out. Finding a toehold with his boot between bricks he swung his other leg up and around, letting the momentum carry him in a backflip. Unfortunately, this sent him freefalling in the middle of an alley. Luckily, it sent him freefalling in an alley and into a Dumpster. Blushing under his mask, Theo vaulted over the edge of the trash and scrambled up the fire escape. He sprinted forward much faster the second time and skidded to a stop on the next building, astonished by his living state. He hopped the next two without stopping and a slow smirk pulled at his lips.

                Buildings were close in this part of town, often no more than a few feet between roofs. Moving at a steady pace, he was halfway across town in half an hour before catching up to his train of thought. He skidded to a stop in the dead center of a roof. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, though his fingers got caught on the mask, with his eyes cast upward. You’re not a real hero, you don’t need a hero name, he told himself sternly. It wasn’t whether or not he required a name, he simply couldn’t give himself one. He was doing it to fool people. Fool them into thinking he was powerful, maybe even menacing. Certainly someone not to be questioned. You don’t name things that aren’t alive. Except sometimes cars...

                He started running again, focusing solely on his route. Luckily, he knew exactly where his mother would be. There was a restaurant, a little diner really, where they always went to eat the day of reunion. This was the first time he’d refused, and he knew she’d chalk it up to the fact that he was a teenager and an independent one at that. She was always clean for dinner, but afterwards he was sent home ahead so she could ‘have another beer and some peace and quiet.’

                Because Theo was so loud.

                Running forward, he placed his hand flat on the concrete ledge at the border of his current platform, rotating his hips so that his legs could swing up and over, launching himself feet-first onto the building across from Costello’s Diner. Crouching into the shadows, he approaches the ledge carefully, as if he’d suddenly been irradiated. He squatted on one of the many sandstone pillars and squinted. In the corner of his brain he thought it was too bad he hadn’t the money or resources to put a binocular option into the mask. His mother sat inside behind the panoramic wall, in a booth by herself. Theo squelched his guilt by reminding himself that he’s doing this to save her. Sitting next to her, drinking watered down coffee at nine-thirty would only be enabling.

                 With a demeanor calmer than he’d processed all day, he waited. Patiently composed as he trailed the figure clad in a dark, ratty trench coat. Scaling rooftops was harder when you’re trying to be quiet. Theo spooked a bat with his dull-thudded landing. It sprang up, wildly flapping its wings and throwing its body. His heart pounded once, painfully, as adrenaline flooded his veins. The flying rat screeched as it tore by his head. Theo crouched lower in response and looked up to the pest sternly where it flapped in place, keeping a level gaze with him. The kid in the costume pointed a warning finger to the bat�"which he realized was a dog-faced, fruit-eating breed�"and raised an eyebrow. With a final defiant cry, it flew toward Theo’s masked face, no doubt in an attempt to tear out his eyes. He crossed his forearms over his face in an ‘x’ and lay nearly flat on the roof, only to realize that nothing was ripping at his sleeves. He dropped his arms and looked back to realize that it had flown over his head, not toward. With a final scowl in the diseased creature’s parting direction and a groan for being so stupid, he began again in the direction he’d been heading.

                Stupid was right. While he’d been busy, she’d gotten away. She’d gotten away. His eyes started to dart through the street as he scaled building after building. Theo hopelessly looked through the crowds of the increasingly populated ground-level city. He’d made it all the way downtown and picked out four different drug deals going on, two prostitutes selling themselves, and almost one in six carried a gun. But he couldn't find her. She was the only one that mattered and he couldn’t find her.

                Anger and embarrassment stung the back of his eyes with a piercing heat as he propelled himself forward. Being quiet wasn’t a problem anymore; the tension in his muscles gave him inaudible control over his body and a discretionary gracefulness that he wielded wildly. Most of the buildings were connected now, sharing walls except for the occasional gap, the skylight to a dirty alley and the home of a Dumpster. Between his drive and the more favorable condition he flew forward, arms hovering slightly for balance. Theo’s eyes appeared calm from the cover of the white filter screens, but they really darted around in flashes of blue and black, scanning the avenue below for familiar traits: a dusky grey coat, black gloves, twiddling the money in her pocket fretfully, once dark and full hair, now brittle and washed out, swaying in the wind in its inflexible way. Nothing, there was nothing.

                His eyes swept the street again, losing their fervent glow and slowing down with a repressed grief. They come to a stop on one girl. She looked a couple of years older than he did, with bleached blond hair, buzzed in the back and bangs that covered about half of her face, and even though it was night he could see her eyes. Actually, what he was seeing was her purple cat eye contacts. Dark purple platform boots that went up her calves, a short denim skirt, and a too-small leather jacket over nothing more than a bra confirmed with near certainty what the next scene guaranteed.

                She stood with a knee popped and hands propped on her back with an air of superior composition as she spoke to a man. Theo’s inner child labeled him quickly as ‘slimy.’ Face visibly reddened, he was shaking with rage, smoking a big cigar and nearly biting down on it with the strain of his jaw. Theo watched the pimp give her an earful, and smirked to himself as he became increasingly frustrated. The gleam in her eye was familiar, though he’d never really seen purple eyes before. As far as she was concerned, she owned the world, and as far as the world was concerned, she was right.

Author's Note

First thing I've ever ever posted. ANY sort of review would be great! Encouragement would be nice, but constructive critisism will make me better :) Thanks!

Reviews

[Joe Walters]

Didn't get to fend through the whole thing but I noticed a few things that may be of use to you. -Your description is quite lovely, you paint a picture fantastically but may overwhelm audiences at times. I do the same thing, get caught up in the beauty of the language, but as it is sometimes pretty, it may cause readers to ask "is this necessary." That is when you catch them skipping over parts you'd rather them not. You have a natural talent for writing. That much is true and evident; but you mustn't get lost in the importance of editing. You actually write a lot like me, daring to test the reals of convention with your beautifully scripted scenes: things like "A soccer player in a light grey shirt with dismal pit stains from sitting still, an artsy kid in the corner with a handful of his floppy black hair clutched at the roots, a cheerleader with too much lip gloss already reaching for her bag to apply some more." sound great when spoken or read aloud, but it turns that this grouping of words isn't a sentence at all and can be questioned by a reader. I like to sit down, as a short story writer, and spend about a week on questioning each sentence. As a novelist, you may not want to do that, but you do want to take time and make sure your thoughts aren't getting lost on the reader. This work is raw, but extremely well written. keep workin!

[Tex]

You have Talent. I am 54 years old (male) and I was sucked into this piece. That you can pull me in at your age is amazing. (I did not read all of this, I am dyslexic and read slower than I speak) What I read was really good. You have talent. So my friend, get over your fear, and jump in. With both feet, Joe's comments are good I agree there are some rules you can't break or you will lose the reader, sentence structure is one of them, however the daring style you use is refreshing and intriguing. you have a writing carrier in your future if you apply yourself to your craft.

face the fear and just do it!

Go take the world by storm!