(no subject)
Marco was lying on his bed, the windows closed, and the blinds down. Tiny bits of unflitered light trickled down into his room.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked in the mirror. He looked like shit. His shiny dark hair was oily and pasted over one of his eyes, giving him an accidental Italian emo boy look.
Marco sighed and walked over to his closet, feeling the need to get dressed and go for a run. He pulled on a pair of black shorts, and a white t-shirt. Walking down the stairs he yelled "I'm going for a run!" to the blob sitting on the couch that may or may not have been his father.
As he always did when he saw what his news did to his father, he felt a tidal wave of guilt. Trying his best to ignore it, he headed outside and started running. He didn't know where he was going, but he just kept moving, needing that rush that running provided. Colors started to blur together, green, blue, flashes of red or yellow.
Breathing hard, he slowed down, realizing that he was standing in front the the tree that he and Dylan had been at a few days before. He took deep shaky breaths, and sat down underneath the tree. He missed Dylan so much, and it was so hard to hang out with him, or even just whisper "I love you" on the phone. Tears began to prickle at the corners of his eyes, and for the first time in daysm he cried. He cried for everything, for him, his father, for Dylan. When he realized it was getting dark, he stood up, and headed back home to a house that was silent, unloving, and his.