I took this really cool course in 11th grade called "Contemporary English". You basically learn all the thing you have to in English, but through Hip Hop and urban culture. Coolest ever. This was the first assignment I completed. The italics are supposed to be the mirror speaking. (:
Today is Tuesday. I think.
It doesn’t matter what Tuesday it is, exactly; in what month it is, in what year it is, comfortably and normally, nestled (however, I will tell you that my sixteenth birthday is supposed to be somewhere in the near future). And you know, the fact that it was Tuesday, doesn’t even really matter. Nothing matters. None of these words are important, so I would much rather you just put this pile of wasted trees down, instead of wasting your time labeling me with “Teenage Angst”. All this is is black on white, a filler of blank space. Lord knows, these days, all my life has been is blank space; everything melds together, repetitive and in routine, with little-to-no surprises. All this is, is self-medicating. I once heard that trees have ears, but I’ve never once heard of a Spruce with a mouth, so I figure that this is the only safe way. The only secure way. The only way.
I will always remember the first day that I met her. Her family had just moved here, and I was the first thing she saw.
Who would have though a relationship could take such a turn? There were no signs; I never could have guessed where this was going. It wasn’t something that was immediate, like a flick of the light switch, turning our room from night to day. It was gradual, like our light bulb, dying, from the second she twist it into its home. I guess it’s kind of that way with everything, don’t you think..? We’re all dying, from the second we’re twisted into our homes. From our first breaths. From the first seconds our eyelids open, to expose our minds to color, to expose our minds to truth.
Every obstacle I’ve come to approach in the last 6 months has been my enemy. Anything in the last 6 months that has approached me has been like an enemy. I’ve somehow managed to find the negativity in everything, as if there is no positivity in existence.
It only took glances to trigger my change. It started with flicks of the eyes surrounding me, and turned into all of the whispers, giggles, et cetera, making home in my brain the idea of it all being aimed towards me.
After that, everything’s a blur, like I was knocked to the ground. I don’t remember anything in between. But I seldom leave my room now, and the only thing I ever really look at is my ceiling; my ceiling can’t talk, can’t look back. My ceiling can’t hurt me.
Now, she seldom leaves her bed. She’s the only thing that I ever see, and while her state saddens me to incredible heights, I can’t look away. I’m locked in, unable to turn in another direction, stiff as a mirror And she’s rubbing off on me; every time she stands before me, I am her reflection, only displaying to her what she’s shown me. Melancholic, and silent. Regretful, as I always tried to show the truth of what she truly was, but I could never find the means to personify myself so I could express it to her in words. Her view of the truth was always different from mine. It used to be buried, deep beneath the thick wall that was her skin. But she’s now dug so far beneath, that anyone who catches a single glimpse of her will understand what her perception of the truth is. No double-takes needed.
I have decided that today is the day. To others, it’s like I’ve been in vacation for the past few days. No one sees me, my parents don’t even come to check on me, knowing they’ll receive no response. I’m the only one who sees myself, through the surface of my mirror, as smooth as still water. But I want to make it disperse, the water, the mirror, the image, all of it.
I can see something in the way that she looks at me. It’s different. Almost filled with relief, it seems. I take in as much as I can, committing it to memory. Maybe this is happiness. Neither of us has seen that on her face in so long, it would be hard to tell.
So, dear friends, dear family, please know this is not your fault. Some could say it was all me, including myself. I’d hate to place the burden of blame upon someone.
I think that if I hold it in my eyes, tightly enough, I’ll be able to present it to her again, someday, when she really needs it.
Everything reaches a point where it is deemed unsalvageable by the universe. The light bulb in my bedroom burnt out a week ago. I haven’t found the means to replace it, or the odd hope people had in me, to try and will it back to life, knowing it would be an impossible feat. I barely even noticed, to be quite honest. Night and day will fade in and out as they do, and I shouldn’t try to control it. This is why I was always a fan of natural light. It’s gradual, not immediate. Slow, and as it should be. People are always trying to control the time of day, turning day to night, or night to day, with just the flip of a switch. There are some things that just can’t be controlled. And then there are some that can be controlled, but shouldn’t be.
Suddenly, the light overtakes her face, like a tsunami. She is overjoyed, and I have not seen her look at me with such happiness since six months and a day ago. I savor it, like rations on a slave’s taste buds. Try to cradle it, as to not let it get damaged.
I would like you to know, friends, that in my last moments, I did not feel pain.
Even more suddenly, the sheet that once coated her mattress is covering the glass of my face.
I was overcome with relief.
It does not matter what the last sight to my eyes was, so much as what it wasn’t.
And just like that, the last thing I ever saw was night.
Do not worry, for it was quick, and painless.
Like the flick of a switch.
Like the flick of a switch.
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