There's No Name to a Tragedy

That Christmas, he bled himself dry. They say they'll never know why. But he told them. He did them better, he showed them. But they pushed him aside, one of their own. They put him at the end of the list. That damn list. He burned it before he turned to ashes himself. There was no one for him. School hated him. Friends abandoned him. Betrayed him. His moments were inexplicable. He couldn't help the way he was born. It wasn't voluntary. Who the hell would WANT to move like THAT? Randomly. So while they were singing false carols and wishing lies to each other, he locked himself in the bathroom. He wasn't alone, his trusty razorblade was by his side. The only thing that never lied to him. Never trusted him. It just did what he wanted it to do. No questions asked. Just action. While they were giving out presents, he was giving up his blood to the drain in the bathtub. He had enough time to stare out the tiny square window. It was a half moon that night. He smirked. That other half, the light, he wondered what it would have been light. If he wasn't born with this, this, this curse. His life had been out of his hands, but now he could hold it firm and choke it to death with his own bloody hands.

He Said Goodbye

He dialed 9-1-1 on his cell phone. You could hear the air in the background.

"911 what's your emergency?"

"If I died, would you miss me?"

"What?"

He hung up. He called the police. Before the receptionist could speak.

"I'm about to jump."

"What?"

He cut her off. Closed his cell phone. Stared it down. Thought of her. He dialed the house number.

"Hello?"

"Emily."

"Hang on a minute, I'll go get her."

He heard her cover the phone and call "Emily! Phone!"

But he didn't wait for her.

"I loved you."

He hung up.

He watched a cloud float by. Last one. He called his "home".

Ringing. Ringing. Answering machine.

"Leave a message after the beep."

He knew it. That man wouldn't answer, probably suffering another hangover.

But he left his message.

"Your son is dead."

That was it. There was no one left to call. No one left. He threw his phone over the edge, and watched it shatter into tiny pieces on the pavement. The people looked up at him, high enough to rival the sky. Just a spot in the sun. But they watched him, ignorant.

He falls. Arms open for broken wings. He won't fly. But he'll land.

He didn't know what it all meant. No one ever explained it to him. But it could all mean nothing. He could be nothing. He would be nothing. No, just another one, to them. He'd see his mother soon enough. Maybe she could tell him.

Teenage Today

"I might be pregnant," she mumbled over the phone.

"Oh shit," I said without thinking.

She hung up. I hung up. We both needed some time to think. Turns out one night can ruin your whole life. There was no way we could keep this a secret. We couldn't raise a baby on our own, not while in high school. It just wasn't possible. There were options though. We could put the baby up for adoption. She could get an abortion. We could struggle to raise it on our own, the most troublesome of the three.

Her parents found out. They told my parents. My parents freaked out. They were yelling so loud that I thought one of the neighbors would call the cops on us. But there were no sirens, only yelling.

I called her again.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

There was a pause.

"I want to keep it," she said.

Just Living

My sister is spoiled. Rotten to the core. It's not as hard as you might think to say. My sister is spoiled. It's easy, you see? She's shown me nothing to deter my decision. She is spoiled. She is the youngest. I am the middle child.

My older sister is the perfect daughter. Perfect until it's sickening. She's organized to pencils and pens, polite to everyone, and moderate to wearing just plain old clothes out in public.

I am the middle child. I've said that before huh? There's nothing special about me. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing to write home to mom about. I played sports, or at least, I tried. I was just another guy passing through schools. I wasn't at the top, but I wasn't at the bottom either. I don't dress fancy. I don't dress raggy. I just...dress...casually.

My little brat of a sister is spoiled for sure. She'll make a mess and leave it for you to pick up. When you don't, suddenly it's your fault. She locks herself in her imaginary tower of a castle of a room. She won't tell what she's doing. She walks into a room and suddenly everything belongs to her. You want to slap some sense into her, but you can't. She's too little. But she's so spoiled.

Dad's always working, "providing" for the family. Yeah, sure, whatever. Tell that to my three step families. The flirt, I don't know why I had to be his son. I wish I had a different father, a better father, a decent father.

Mom is always drinking, attempting to drown her sorrow with herself in her elixir of alcohol. She does nothing all day but lay in bed, recovering from a hangover, only to drink again late into the night and early morning. She flaunts his money, maybe for revenge. But I think it's damaging. She's in the hospital now. It's not the first time, but I bet it won't be the last time.

Anyway, this is my life, my suffering for a sin unknown to me. I don't what I did to deserve it, but I'm doing my time. I'm just trying to make a life out of this.