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.

Absurd?

he held her in his arms. She was homeless. She was bleeding. She was dying.

She painted the sidewalk a dark shade of red.

He called for help. He tasted his tears. He cried for help. Somebody. Anybody.

Nobody.

She died in his arms, and all he could do was cry for her.

They just walked by. Some turned to look. Some even said something. But they all walked away. No one wants to be a hero.

The sirens never came.

He buried her, all by himself. No one helped. No one wanted to. No one cared.

They asked what was wrong with him. He slammed his door shut, and locked himself away from the world. They were concerned, but called it a phase.

He emerged from his self-imprisonment, with red eyes and sight set on something. He never spoke a word to them. He left that place, never coming back.

In a field of dry grass on the outskirts of the city, he found his fury. Let it burn inside him, and finally burst into a great blaze. The match was only an instrument of his wrath. If they thought him helpless, powerless, he would prove them wrong. If nobody cared, then he didn't care either.

She was dying! Yet all they can do is watch!

The blaze kept him company. It embraced him, holding him in its arms. Then finally consuming him. He left with a sadistic smile. The flames matched his eyes.

He could only bring pain to those that had only given him pain...

Author's note: Read something in the newspaper. Forgot what it was thought :( But no this did not really happen, at least to my knowledge...

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.

Bye

Why does no one say "bye" or "goodbye" at the end of phone calls anymore? They just hand up when they feel the conversation is over, while i'm left speaking to no one. did i miss something? I hate it when they don't speak during the conversation too, I don't know if they hang up already or what. I'm left to wait on the phone like an idiot until I ask "hello? you there?". I don't know, the whole thing pisses me off. It's like we're so short on time that we can't waste our breath to say a "goodbye" or something like that. It's like we can't afford the time, can't afford the minutes.

Future

I hate it when they ask me who I want to be. Can't I just be me? Can't I just live in the present? Why does it always have to be about what I will do? Why can't it be about what I am doing? Is the future so damn important that it takes priority over the present?

One can get so lost in the future that they lose sight of the present. She could be calling him, but he wouldn't notice because he's already planning the marriage. There's no love there, no substance, nothing. I'd hate to live like that.

And what will they do when their plans crumble? When everything just falls apart, can they deal with the pain? The reality? If you live in the present, you still have time, to change the future, to change your future...

How Far?

I stalked her home. All the way from school. Every single step of the twenty blocks she walked. She never saw me. She never noticed me stepping in step with her, breathing in breath with her. She was mine, and mine alone. No one else would have her. I will never let that happen. She will be mine, she will die mine. She always opened her window rather than turn on the AC or a fan. Something about saving money. I climbed in through there. I thought she had heard me, I fell in pretty loud. But I heard the water running. She was in the shower, singing. It was hard to make out from downstairs. Creeping up the stairs step by step, it seemed her voice got quieter and quieter. Maybe she knew I was here. Maybe not. I got to the door, and put my ear against it. I listened. The water was running, but no singing. Then the water stopped, and I could hear her slide the shower curtain open. My heart never beat faster. I opened the door...