He Was Different

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Think back to the day that you first realized that not everyone inhabiting this Earth was exactly the same. That thought is an extreme oversimplification of this work. Enjoy.

Submitted: December 30, 2010

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Submitted: December 30, 2010



He was different.
He knew he wasn’t like the others; it was obvious from the beginning of his existence.
With a name like Roger, how could it not?
What an ugly name.
It just stands out, like an ant marching mindlessly across a blank canvas. But it was not just the name that made him different, oh no, it was so much more.

Roger always looked, felt, sounded, thought, believed, expressed differently than people around him. Take religion. Roger never believed in God. In fact, Roger was against God. Why, if this man or woman or BEING, was so powerful, could it not stop suffering? It was all around Roger. Everywhere he looked, but especially in the mirror. Roger believed that if God was up there, he was using him as a guinea pig, to try new curses on, to see how much one man could suffer before he reached his breaking point.
Roger was very close to his.

Expressed differently.
That is one thought Roger could rant on for hours on end. He would sit in his room, alone, wondering what he was going to do with himself. When Roger’s friends were sad, they cried, and they did so in the company of their friends. They watched movies, movies that raised ones spirit. They went out, they had parties.
They smiled.
Roger did not.
Roger secluded himself from the world. Sure, he cried. But the tears that fell to the ground were not enough for him to escape his feelings of dread, agony, sadness, pity for himself and the world.
But blood could run for much longer.
Tears eventually gave way; one could run out of tears.
Blood was always there, flowing and pumping through the veins, rushing to where it was needed most. And for Roger, it was needed most outside his body, where he could see it and enjoy it. He really did enjoy the blood. The color was beautiful. The deep, dark, limitless red that only blood could handle. With this deep, rich liquid flowing down his arm, Roger finally felt that release that his friends always spoke of. Movies didn’t do it for him. Friends didn’t do it for him. Parties didn’t do it for him. The only thing that could rescue Roger was his knife.

His only friend.
The one who was always at his side.
At a moments notice, Roger could run the blade across his skin, feeling his grief dissolve as he carved intricate patterns of dread into his willing and understanding arms. His knife was sympathetic. It understood what he was going through better than any animate object could begin to imagine.

The whole world was seen by Roger as his self-harm was seen by the world. No one understood.
No one understood, and no one will ever understand.
This was the only conclusion Roger could come to.

Sex was a big part of his life. It was always on his mind, being the freshman in college that he was. No one understood it like he did though. Sex was seen in college as something to do, something to be proud of, something to brag about.

Roger saw sex as something more than that.

Sex was a mental escape from the suffering that his mind endured on his journey through life. He just loved the feeling he would experience from sex; he couldn’t ignore it. When he and a woman were together, eloping and moving and writhing around each other like a snake with its prey, he could not help but appreciate the enjoyment he got from it. The entwinement of human bodies, the thrill of knowing that one could not get any closer to another being than the position he was already in, fascinated Roger. Many women Roger had been with did not feel the same way, and that was why he was no longer with them. How could he share his life with someone who didn’t understand him? Roger realized that he was doomed to never find the right person fore he had a problem with everyone. He could always find something. There were a few women in which Roger remembered quite well. They were amazing, giving him feelings that words could not begin to describe. But in the end, they all only wanted a quick, good time.

Roger had a reputation on campus for being a philosophical sort of man, always expressing his opinions in his classes, usually stumping his professors. Women fell head over heels for him. He knew many of his classmates by first and last name. He chatted with them often. It wasn’t like he was a recluse, he just didn’t agree with many people and chose to keep things to himself. But that day, that one day where Roger lost all control, will be burned in the memories of all who knew him for years to come.

Roger had found an amazing girl, a transfer student from a college in some exotic place. Unlike the other women, she wasn’t attracted to him. He approached her in the halls and played his usual tricks on her, seeing if he could spark a reaction in her as he sparked a reaction in other women.
She was different.
Roger did not see that gleam of attraction in her crystal clear blue eyes that he had seen in all the other women he had been with. Her eyes seemed asleep.
They needed to be awakened.

For the next few weeks, Roger spent most of his time chasing after this mystery woman. He would leave her romantic notes and say romantic things. But nothing seemed to work.
Then Roger’s day finally came.
His newest distraction was walking down the hallway with a rather bleak expression on her face, one Roger had not seen before. He approached her and asked if she needed something, a friend, someone to talk to, someone to listen, anything.
She turned toward him, gently swinging her smooth pale face up to his level. Roger could not get over her beauty at that instant. Her bright red hair followed the motion of her head, seeming to hold its place in the air all by itself. Her eyes carried with them a glow that Roger had never seen before, one that made him hunger for her love. She slowly looked back down. Her whole body was shaking. Her books clattered to the floor as she released her white-knuckle grip on them. She fell to his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly.
He was startled at first, but he eased himself back into normalcy quickly, like only an expert could do. He hugged her tightly, letting her soft sobs be muffled by the presence of his reassuring embrace. Roger pushed her away for a moment to pick up her books and then led her back to his room, hugging her as tightly as he could along the way.

Roger’s room was a sight to be seen. It was clean, yet messy. Roger kept neat messes all throughout his room. Piles of stuff here and there, scattered in just the right order. Roger placed his books and hers on the desk next to his sleeping cat, which was humming softly in the fading daylight.

She made her way to his bed where she lay down, first taking off her shoes, then her socks, and finally slipping under the neatly made king sized bed that occupied the corner of Roger’s room. Roger made his way over to her, contemplating how to handle the situation. But once he lay down next to her, it all came naturally. They talked and talked, well into the darkest part of the night. But no matter how Roger phrased the question, he could not comprehend why she was upset. She simply wouldn’t tell him.

They had sex.
Loving, passionate, lustful sex which Roger had not yet experienced in his twenty-two years of existence. They had sex once more.
And again.
And again.
With each time, the feeling of love rose up inside Roger, intensifying by the second. He couldn’t describe how he was feeling if he had all the time in the world. By morning, they were done talking. She was lying across his bare chest, looking into his eyes, he gazing back at her. Her eyes wandered from his for a brief minute, then came back. He wanted to know what she was looking at. She pointed to the cuts on his arm. He had to break eye contact. If he shared this secret with her, he would surely lose her. She could just be another person who doesn’t understand him, another person who blows away in the wind. He said it anyway.
He told her how he felt toward the world and how he dealt with it. He told her how the pain was an escape, a sanctuary of joy in a desolate desert of devastation.
She understood.
Roger was in sheer disbelief. He had not heard these words escape the mouth of anyone before with as much meaning as her words carried. They sat there a bit longer, feeling in love. They both had an eleven o’clock class, so they had to get moving. Roger and his love said goodbye and went their separate ways across the vast campus.

Roger was feeling happy for the first time in many years. He even decided to take the long way back to his room so that he might enjoy the sights the campus had to offer. He passed the science building, the tallest on campus, towering over the others like a wise tree stands over a sapling. He passed the history department, the smallest building on campus. It was miniscule compared to all the others.
Behind the on-campus store, he saw shadows.
Two shadows.
Three shadows?
Definitely two shadows.
They were moving rapidly, like they were dancing a complicated and mesmerizing jig across the landscape. He ventured closer.
And still closer.
He could hear voices now. Loud voices. One male, one female. The female sounded frantic, panicked, worried. Roger could hear no words, but he could tell something was amiss. He hid behind the corner of the building. The female voice was getting closer. He could hear words now.
No, I swear! I didn’t see a thing! You can trust me, honestly! Let me go, please! I won’t tell a soul!
The voice was the same desperate voice Roger had heard this morning while laying in his bed with the amazing girl.
It was his love.
He knew it was.
It had to be.
He wanted to step out, but he was frozen in place. He could not move. Petrified with fear that his love was in some sort of danger.
A loud bang.
Water on his face.
A loud thud.
Panicked footsteps heading away from the building.
Water? But it wasn’t raining.
He looked down to see what the thud was. There lay the body of the girl he fell in love with just this morning. Three bloody holes pierced her body.
One in the chest, one in the arm, one in the head.
He realized now what the water was. Blood. Her blood. Splattered on his face and body. He did not know what to do. He stared at the dead corpse of the once beautiful woman.

That settled it. There was a God, but he was as sick as a child with a magnifying glass, a sunny day, and an anthill. He wanted to see Roger suffer? He wanted to see what the breaking point was? Fine, that’s how it will go. Roger ran to his room, not worrying about the books that fell out of his hands on the way. He needed to show God that this was the last straw. A man could take no more than this.

He flew up the stairs of his dorm, all the way to the tenth story. There is climbed out the door and walked across the roof to the edge of the building that held his stories, the building whose walls could tell the story of the pain and suffering Roger had endured. He looked down at the dimly lit sidewalk. He was going to jump, and that would end it all. It would show God who was in control of whom. Roger was set out to prove he controlled himself.

He backed down from the edge of the building. He walked to the door that lead back down to his room.
But then he stopped.
He stood, frozen, remembering all the pain he had to go through in his life. His parents died by a drunk driver. His brother drowns while the nanny was supposed to be watching him, but the goddamn nanny was too busy smoking her meth to give a shit about his brother. He loved his brother. He loved his parents. He loved his newly discovered, and now dead, lover as much as he loved his family. God was a bastard, and Roger was done being screwed with. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the edge of the building and hurled himself off in a fantastic, uncoordinated leap. Roger hung in the air for what seemed like hours before he finally felt the cold concrete smash his skull and ribs. He felt the blood pouring from his body; he saw the blood pool around him. But, was it blood? No, it was his sorrow. His sorrow had escaped and was now pooling around him.

Roger hazed in and out of consciousness. The world would get blurry, and then quickly come back into focus, then the image would be lost. Roger’s last view was that of the ambulance pulling up, siren screaming, lights blaring, and the medics running toward the broken man known as Roger. But it was too late. Roger let himself go, pushing his consciousness toward the realm of nonexistence. He had done it. He had proved God wrong.

Take that, God.

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