shhhhh.....keep it quiet.
I probably shouldn't be showing this, but its to good not to share with the world, or so I believe.
Jeremy P.
Tales of an Agoraphobe
Chapter 37: …A Hero’s Bubble, A Coward’s Shield…
"He’s a troubled young man", they whispered with superior smirks of disdain. They were loud and brash, and Sam was the biggest prick of them all. Armed with humour of vicious intent, he found pleasure in sticking to the stereotype, avoiding maturity at all costs. The flimsy visor shielding his handsome mug was trite, and so was he. A shepherd to his sheep, his wicked ways became the standard which all would follow without question. The common agreement amongst the youth of today was that while rebellion once dominated adolescent behaviour, conformity was back in fashion. Venturing off into the world beyond teachers and detentions, one would forgo the opportunity to discover something about themselves, investing their time instead in establishing where they fit in, and where they do not.
A cold shoulder across the hall, Sam glimpsed a sight of farcical proportions. Sitting alone at the table for twenty, Our Hero was awkwardly hunched over his steak and kidney pie. Dishevelled as he was, he could look vaguely typical if he tried. He was smart, some would say. He came with big ideas and false hopes, but all that could be seen was the shell of a dream. Unshaven, unwashed and decidedly solemn, he was an enigma to all, and no one cared to solve his riddle. A black sheep of the flock, he was forever lost.
5:45pm- dinnertime. A pretentious parade of trivial procedures, it was generally well liked among the members of college. Gossip could be shared, half-truths passed off as religion.
"No one should take life so fuckin’ seriously!"
Our Hero heard Sam bellow from across the hall.
Alone at that crowded table for twenty, the young man secluded himself within a tight, spherical ball of harsh construction. Encompassing a five-metre radius, this bubble was transparent, hidden from the human eye, but the devastatingly depressive energy it spread throughout the enormous room was all the more visible as each day crept slowly forward. The bubble was tainted with numerous bruises of dissatisfaction and in no way impervious to those that surrounded, but its aura gave off the appearance of indifference nonetheless. It was a bizarre sight to withstand, Our Hero stood out intensely. He sat and ate quietly, as if the act of eating would offend others. The more time he remained surrounded by this bubble, the more effort was required to carry out the simplest of actions. Rising out of bed by midday became a chore in itself, for this protective bubble found great joy in solitary, self-reflective disparity. A shower was only inflicted upon the young man when he thought it necessary to maintain his humble existence. The smell of Our Hero was therefore vomit-inducing, but no one came close enough to truly take notice.
A walk through the crowd of hustles and bustles, our protagonist felt a stingingly numb sensation within his feeble gut. Delicately he slid past Sam, and for a moment did not feel afraid. He felt like one of them as he eavesdropped with open ears, prompting a response from a boy with no name. Our Hero mumbled a worthless reply and was consequently disbanded from all conversation. Sam laughed in excessive force, with contempt (and contentment) only obtainable through the greatness of acceptance. Our Hero cautiously turned his back to them and the pulsing of his veins returned to full throttle.
They were watching him he thought.
He knew that.
Some of the voices spoke amongst each other…
"Have you seen him about? Taaalk about social retardation…"
"I think he looked at me weird, the pervert…"
"What… a… fucking… loner…"
"Yes, very strange."
…while others were more direct in their manner.
get up you fuck you’re a mess and you know it useless fucking useless you wake up for what why the fuck do you wake up we don’t want you we don’t like you matter of fact we hate you and we always will there is nothing you can do you have been branded for life get the fuck out of our way and stop breathing our air you worthless waste of fucking space piss off to wherever the hell you came from
Subtlety was never their forte. They had a point though, he supposed. He had to get back to that place of origin, where he could find some peace. But Our Hero didn’t know where that was, because the truth of the matter was, if he was once there, there was little certainty of him ever returning. Our Hero would simply stand meekly by, and what could have been will never come, as what will be will always be what happens when nothing ever really happens.
It must be told, in fear of deceit, that Sam really wasn’t such a bad guy; just a bit slow they would say. Nobody genuinely respected the dimwit, and in all honesty, Our Hero was his greatest admirer. He looked at Sam and saw someone of little pride or pity. Sam didn’t care what the world thought, and this was marvellous, for our hero took notice of every stern glimpse and every cruel remark and felt all the worse for it. From this admiration bred envy and soon enough this evolved into uncontrollable hatred, and we return to our beginning where Sam is indeed the King of our dear hero’s world.
Sam never really knew he was there. You would guess that he didn’t even care.
Sitting alone in his dimly lit room, Our Hero sucked anxiously on an empty beer bottle and a soggy cigarette, waiting for the pain to end. Waiting for the day to end, in vain hope that with the set of the sun and the rise of the moon perhaps things will change. But surely enough the longer he sat the less it felt like going away. The bubble grew thick with fear; it throbbed with desperate hopelessness, clinging to his soul for air. Our Hero would succumb to the voices; he’s a troubled young man.