Crown of Thorns Chapter 2
This routine I was used to. Each night, he would beat me. Cursing me
for killing his wife, my mother. Some days it would only be a slap, but
others he would really give it to me. Each day he would stay away from my
exposed parts.
I didn't shower at gym. Didn't want to, people would give me shit about
it, but I didn't care. Hell, if they saw my 'unexposed parts' they would
probably freak, and that is all the much better. "Oh, I fell," won't
explain all of them.
"Hey, man." I turned to see who was talking. Miles walked up to me.
"Hey, Miles. How's it going?"
"Yea, fine man, fine. And you?"
"Just fucking dandy. What brings you over to my side of the locker room
today?"
"Just wondering where that funk is coming from."
"Fuck you."
He jibed me and started laughing. Oblivious to my pain, he continued.
"No seriously, why don't you shower?"
"Because."
"Need a little more than that man."
"Just..."
"Shy? Got a small peter?" he said in a sarcastic voice. I glared at
him.
"No, I'm packing more that anyone in this room."
"Yep, I trust you. What ever man. What ever you do, use some
deodorant, and maybe some clone."
"Screw you."
"You wish."
'Damn right?' I thought. "Ha."
"Ohhh, nice comeback."
"So, what made you decide to give me a hard time today. Or is it like
this everyday, and I'm just too dumb to notice."
"Chill, I was just kidding."
"Sorry, it has been a long time since somebody talked to me as a
friend," I apologized. Miles wasn't that bad looking. He was much taller
than me, about 6'3" and big and beefy. You know, the football types. Big
guy, kind heart sort of thing. He had dark hair, light tan, and ocean blue
eyes.
"What about that Danny guy?"
"Besides him."
"Ohh, well, I guess, I'll take that as a compliment." Just then the bell
rang for the next class. "Got to go, don't be late now."
"Like I actually care." I don't think he heard me. He was out the door.
I finished applying my dose of chemicals to cover my smell and went to my
next class, Art. If there is one thing positive about Adv. it is
expressionism. I can draw what I want when I want, no questions asked.
And believe me, I drew. I put it best this way. Through my hands I
release my dreams, my emotions, my life. One of the more drawings
which is hanging in the display case signed anonymous is one I call Crown
of Thorns.
In the there is a with a thorn crown on his head. Much the
same of Jesus, except no halo. There is a panic in the boy,
expressed through his face. Coming toward him are two people. One is a
strong hairy person with clenched fists and an angry look. This is the
face the cowers from. There is another from above with a hand out
stretched. Just barely out of reach. And in the back ground as a faint
image, like a watermark is the face of my dream. The image is the one of
the boy's mind. Created a fantasy to take him away where his friend can't
and the enemy can't touch. This image is my life. If somebody were to
know it was me who drew it, they would know my dreams, emotions, and my
life.
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"DAD PLEASE!!!!"
"Shut up faggot!" he yelled as he hit me hard in the stomach. I
collapsed onto the ground. He walked around and kicked me in the back.
"That will teach you to steal food from the fridge. You will eat when I
say you can." Under his breath he whispered, "God damn son of a bitch." I
don't think he realized the irony in that statement. Behind him he closed
the door. I felt alone. Even with the friends I did have and the new one
I made so unexpectedly this morning, I felt so alone.
I wanted so much to have a normal life. Just the simple pleasures.
Like a fun weekend, and decent dinner, maybe even a hug. I can't have
them. I will never have them. Depression set in. I started to cry. 'I
wish that I could be normal. I wish that I could have a and a
father that love, I wish that I had life much like my friends, I wish that
I could like girls. God, is this so much to ask. Are these requests a
burden to you. What is it. Are you fucking testing me. Is this a test.
See how much one kid can take before he kills himself. Maybe, that is the
answer.' I painfully got up. By now the house was asleep. I walked to the
bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Tears were streaming down my
face. There in front of me were bottles of medications. 'May cause
dependence', 'Take two every two hours.' Bingo. I looked at my image in
the mirror. Amazed at what I was about to do. There were dried tears
across my face. I had bags under my eyes and I looked pale. My hair was a
mess and I just looked like shit. I turned my head in disgust. I sat on
the tub and took a handful of pills. 'Well God, you won. I have nothing
to live for. My life fucking sucks. People say there is always somebody
out there worse than you. Well I haven't met any.' I popped two pills in
my mouth. 'Just the beginning.'
It was then that I heard a bed rustling. I quickly stuffed the pills
into my pocket and ran to my room. I softly closed the door behind me. I
heard my get up and piss. I sat on the edge of my bed.
Thankfully, I no longer had to look at myself. For the longest time I just
stared at them. Each one a sentence of death. 'What the hell am I doing.'
I tossed the pills across the room. Each one making a stuttering sound as
it skipped across the floor. I buried my head in my hands and cried.
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