Red

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Clyde, a 15-year-old sophomore in high school, has been born with red eyes and is seen as a devilish being and a freak. He struggles to maintain a normal life and contemplates ending it all.

Submitted: December 11, 2014

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Submitted: December 11, 2014

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Introduction

 

Have you ever woken up, knowing that you are different in some way and you just hate yourself. Whatever it is, no one will let you forget it and you’re just infuriated with the thought of you. The instant my eyes open and I’m welcomed into the dark winter morning, I remember the hateful criticism that I receive everyday and I immediately fall back into my lonely, pathetic nightmare. For many people its their weight, their height, what they like or don’t like. But for me, it was my eyes.

From the day I was born, I was given the “gift” of naturally red eyes. However, it was more of a curse than a gift. Teachers gave me weird looks and wouldn’t even call on me during class. Whenever I attempted to make friends, they would see those crimson orbs staring into them and they would instantly run away. I tried everything to be happy, but nothing seemed to work. When I was around the age of 13, I tried looking to God for answers, hoping he could help me find a way out. However, the pastor of my church, horrified by my blood-red eyes, condemned me and said I was the “Son of Satan.” Feeling threatened and ashamed, I was kicked out of my church and to this day, I’m never allowed to return.

Peopled were petrified, my parents basically disowned me, teachers ignored me, and now I’m alone, isolated from this so-called society. I am currently in my sophomore year of high school, attending Geyser County High School in Beaverton, Oregon. My name is Clyde, but people just call me Red.

 

“Red”
 

I sat quietly in the tub, watching the water turn quickly from clear to red. My arms were purely crimson and the razor blade was dripping with blood. All I could think was that it would be over soon. Just a few more minutes and everything would go black.

The cuts on my arms and wrists were getting deeper and more blood started to flow, pouring into the bathtub and diluting into the lukewarm water. From behind the bathroom door, I could hear my parents were banging on the wood, unable to get past the counter that barricaded it. I could hear my little brother sobbing and yelling at me to stop. I didn’t care, it would be over soon anyways-

BEEP. BEEP.

Interrupted from my sleep, i jolted awake and quickly hit the snooze button on the small, emerald-colored alarm clock that rested on my nightstand. After a few moments, I let my arm fall to the side of my bed as I sat up to check the time. The clock read in bright neon characters: 5:45 a.m. I love to sleep cause I pretend that I'm dead. As i lay back to bed, I couldn't stop thinking about that quote i had heard from a song last night. It was from a song called Island Of The Misfit Boy by the band Front Porch Step. Story of my life, I thought to myself. I sighed and slowly lifted up the sleeve to my arm, inspecting the scars that lined my forearm. Some were fading and other were a freshly pink and irritated color. Wincing at the touch, I shoved my sleeve down and kicked my legs over to the edge of my bed. Slipping on a pair of black slippers, I grabbed my black chullo hat and made my way downstairs to hopefully scavenge some breakfast.

The stairs creaked after each step I took and I finally arrived at the doorstep of the kitchen. Just like any other morning, I was greeted by my parents fighting about some bullshit topic along with my little brother, Jack, who was too terrified to even eat his cereal. Ever since the incident with the church a few years back, my parents constantly fought over me. Most of the time they are drunk, and they smell of cheap liquor confirmed that this morning. Besides their arguments, the relationship between me and my parents was never the same: car rides were silent, they rarely showed up to any of my school events, they hardly said a word to me and most days they didn't even bother to feed me. As for my little brother, being that he was only 10, our relationship stayed stable and he was scavenge pretty indifferent about me. Hell, he even thought my eyes were kinda neat. If only my parents thought my eyes were ‘neat,’ I thought, scowling on the inside. Without saying a word, I took my seat at the table, mainly there to make sure nothing happened to Jack.

I learned how to tune out my parent's constant bickering so i was able to scavenge a bowl of Cheerios and enjoy it without being bothered. However, things quickly changed when my dad unexpectedly threw a beer bottle at the wall, shattering it and sending shards of glass in every direction. Jack screamed and my mom started to cry, crouching in the corner of the room. Without a second thought, i grabbed Jack and swiftly exited the kitchen.

"What the fuck is wrong with you people?" I yelled as we ran up the stairs. We stopped at our rooms so we could retrieve our backpacks and without another word we hurried down the stairs and rushed out the door, slamming it on our way out.

Every since my parents started their drunken fits, I always protected my brother. I constantly had this nightmare that my brother might end up hurt or worst of all killed from the aftermath of my parents, so I did everything to make sure that didn't happen. I walked him to school and back and I make sure he was in my sight at all times around the house.

Like every other morning in Oregon it was pouring rain outside. I stepped onto the porch and immediately felt the icy breeze caused by the wind and rain. Pulling my hood over my head and firmly shoving my hat onto my head, me and Jack made our trek to school. Luckily, it was only a five minute walk so I wouldn’t have to be exposed to the wetness much longer.

As we were crossing the street, i noticed a large yellow bus, parked at the bus stop. I'm just spread across the ground making friends with cement, Hoping that the bus won't miss me when it comes my way, the lyrics sang in my head.

“Hm, it’s that song again,” I whispered to myself, thinking about the meaning of those lines and how they could relate to me. Then, my dream came back to me and I saw myself, sitting in the bathtub with cuts up my wrists and blood flowing into the water. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it to come true.

Jack turned his head and looked up at me with puppy dog eyes. "What's wrong big brother?" He inquired. He's known about my depression and he always asked me what was wrong and what he could do to help.

"Nothin, Jack. Everything's fine." I said slightly monotone. He still seemed worried but he just shrugged it off and kept walking. I let out a small sigh of relief and continued my path, shaking my head and trying to free my mind of that dream relentless dream.

Jack's elementary school was right next to mine so i gave him a hug and walked over to mine. Outside the building, a big sign read Geyser Country High School. Snarling, I flipped it off and entered the school.

Everyday I hear the same conversations in the hallways, and I see the same people stare at me. Its like after a whole semester people are still surprised to see my eyes.

I arrived at my locker only to see pieces of binder paper crudely taped onto my locker that read in thick black sharpie: GO BACK TO HELL FREAK. In anger, I tore off the posters and threw them away vigorously. I scramble to grab my things and I hurried off to class. Can things get any worse? I pondered.

Before I could even take two steps, I was stopped by a large bulky figure. I looked up and it was no other than Gregory Connors, the school bully. He stood 6’2 with black under armour, dark blue jeans, and a red-black letterman jacket with his football number imprinted on the back in dark, bold letters. He’s the typical asshole quarterback you see in every movie, except he was real and not just some paid actor.

“Hey Red, where do you think you’re going.” he said, laughing with his other football friends.

“Leave me alone, Gregory.” I replied, nervously. I tried to run away from him but he shifted to stop me.

“Oh no, you aren’t going anywhere, freak.” He said with fire in his eyes. Oh the irony.

With that, he shoved me towards the locker, causing me to slam my head against the metal sheathing. I fell to the floor, rubbing my head. I felt a warm liquid run down my forehead and a sharp pain ran through my head. Before I could recover from the blow, he forcefully threw my hat away and grabbed me by my hair. I screamed in agony as he threw me over to the wall. With his strong muscles from football and my 100 pound scrawny body, he was able to throw me pretty hard. I collided with a metal trash can, again hitting my head and almost losing consciousness. Gregory finally spat on me and walked away, laughing and feeling superior. I coughed up blood and felt tears forming around my eyes.

I didn’t even bother to try to get up, I just laid there and sobbed. My head was bleeding, my clothes were ripped, the contents of my backpack were spread out along the floor. After about 20 minutes of agonizing pain, I managed to sit up and lean against the wall. I shoved my head into my arms and sobbed even more. Why me? I thought to myself, Why was I given this terrible curse?

I didn't care that school was still in session. I rammed myself through the front doors of the school and ran all the way home, tears flooding out of my eyes and face bruised and bleeding. My vision was blurred and my legs began to feel weak. It'll all be over soon, i told myself.

When i reached my house, i immediately bursted through the door and sped up the stairs. I ran straight to the bathroom and ran the water for the bathtub. While that was filling up, i walked over the a nearby cabinet and picked out a small, metallic razor blade. The blade itself was blood-stained and sharp. With the weapon in my hand and the tub filled to the rim, i undressed myself and stepped into the lukewarm water.

I sat quietly in the tub, watching the water turn quickly from clear to red. My arms were purely crimson and the razor blade was freshly bloody. I thought about all of the hateful things people have said to me, all of the death threats and all of the pain and suffering i have endured from them. They win. I give up and i just want it to end now.

I began to feel light-headed and weary. In the distance there was a shining light, slowly coming closer and clouding my vision. I closed my eyes for the last time, and everything went black.


 


© Copyright 2020 Devin Baca. All rights reserved.

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