Dabbles from him

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A boy's troubled mind and a friend he can't dare open up to.

Submitted: May 01, 2014

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Submitted: May 01, 2014

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As the two walked everyone disappeared from his sight, the school's mundane halls fell and a cosmic view appeared before them.
 
Well, at least in his mind.
 
 She was looking up at him, a smile plastered on her face. The smile was of minor annoyance to him, but for her he wouldn't mind the annoyance.
"Soooo..." She made the word last, clearly thinking of her next one.
 
 Oh God. He thought.
 
"You care about us." She said teasingly.
 
Shut up was her response from the boy and in turn she slipped her arm through his.
 
 He stopped and looked at her, she smiled at him.
"Let go." He stated.
She didn't. In fact, she seemed to tighten her grasp, she continued with her smile. He let out a small sigh, but that was all of his protests.
 "You seem to be in a good mood." She answered his observation happily, he didn't wish for her to shut up, a fact that gave him a great amount of discomfort. She talked and he listened. He talked and she half listened.
 
He wanted to tell her so much, to say that the voice was back and it wanted him to stop talking to her, to go back to being indifferent. To not caring, to seeing people as only toys to entertain himself with-though he still carried this mentality somewhere in the back of his head. That he was afraid of his own self because of how much he liked to see people in dismay, how at times it would take every ounce of willpower he has to not say something that would hurt her. That he wanted her to be in emotional turmoil. That he didn't because he didn't want to see her sad or angry and that annoyed or frighten him, which he wasn't sure. That he was so split on not only this, but everything, that being left alone made him think on these things which gave him painful headaches.
 
But he didn't and he probably never will, he'll stick to the fake conversations in his head.
 
She let's go of his arm suddenly and says she is going to go with someone else.
 
 Someone better, someone more prominent.
 
 Like always he's left to his own devices, never the first choice for anyone.
 
 He whimpers internally, but remains passive on the outside and gives a nod in understanding and wave of farewell. She leaves him behind and he festers in his own metaphoric filth of self hate and insecurities.
 
As she stepped away the stars no longer float beneath him, the galactic pool of cosmic bodies fades away, leaving behind the dirty white walls and red rusty lockers.
 
As she stepped away, he stepped back into his head, back to the voice pulling him into despair.


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