hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

assumptions

tw:// graphic depictions of smoking and panic attacks

george pulls a strained face at dream's strange behavior, brushing it off and taking his seat in the classroom. realization strikes him like a harsh slap to the face as he remembers that he hadn't been turning anything in for the past few weeks in any of his classes, due to his sanity being so close to nonexistent.

as if on cue, a sing-songy voice calls out across the room. "geooorge, you're not off the hook young man!", groaning outwardly, he sluggishly makes his way over to the teacher's desk while refusing to meet the man's eyes.

"mr. nichols. he'd be understanding right?'

"ah, mr. davison, nice to have you join us today. you know- i actually wanted to speak with you last week, but you left class too early. so, i see here that you're failing, and behind on multiple assignments in my class. that's a bit concerning to me, especially so early on in the year, so i suggest you get on those", he said with an ounce of passive aggressiveness.

"right, got it", george mumbles solemnly. he has always wondered how teachers could have such lack of sympathy. they can't truly be that oblivious as to what their students are going through, can they? they were all teenagers once too, yet they refuse to cut the kids any sort of slack. obviously george would like to be able to get his assignments done. nobody enjoys having to deal with failing grades, piling work, and endless lectures, so it has never made sense to george on why teachers speak in such a matter-of-fact tone. he was quite aware of the fact that he wasn't doing well, they didn't have to rub it in. and so sadly reaching over to grab a stack of his missed work, he makes his way back to his desk.

he can't bare to look his teacher in the eyes, as he knows he'd just be met with a face of pure arrogance and disappointment, something he'd grown tired of. with a pitiful frown, he plops back into his seat, feeling entirely defeated and disconnected from his body. blank staring at the wall was not a good way to spend his class time, yet he couldn't find it within himself to move or pick up his pencil.

the rest of his classes up till lunchtime went the same, with having to sit through and listen to the same spiels about how he needed to try harder, followed by the same spaced out stares. he felt pure disdain for himself, as he knew that he hadn't gotten a single thing done in over 4 hours. regardless, he trailed behind the swarm of students all piling in to the cafeteria.

he never did eat the school lunch, in fact it grossed him out a bit. he didn't see the point in paying for a meal that he likely wouldn't finish, or that would end up getting picked off of by the other vultures supposedly called teenagers. so rather than stopping inside to waste time, george pushed straight through the crowds of people and made his way through the back exit doors.

that was one small freedom that george liked to endulge in. he liked to go outside during lunch time and sit on the bleachers to contemplate.

the stands were always empty other than the occasional musty pair of teens sucking face on the top row, which he chose to avoid.

this was typically the time of day where he'd stare out at the empty football field, imagining having a different life. he'd think about all sorts of things ranging from his mother, all the way to what it'd be like to fly. other times, he'd find that his head was entirely empty. or just the opposite, that certain days he just couldn't deal with the overwhelming pressure. on those overwhelming days, he'd attempt to only focus on what he can sense. the foggy air settled over the football field, the cool temperature of the metal bleachers beneath him, or the slight breeze hitting his neck.

today however, he found himself thinking of dream. the mysterious blonde who was blissfully unaware of how much he'd impacted george. the blonde who was an interesting mix of differing personality traits, all layering in to create a beautiful symphony.

the same blonde who had only spoken three words to george all day. who asked george to meet up, implying that he was looking forward to seeing the brunet. but if dream wanted to see george so badly, then why wasn't he here? why did he not try to look for george? surely it wouldn't be very hard, he's the only one that sits outside on the daily. unless he was really just that unnoticeable, really that insignificant.

george didn't want to think about that. didn't want to let his mentally ill rationale take over and lead him into a spiral of dark, twisted emotions. so instead, he reached into his back pocket with a harsh swallow and pulled out a cigarette. shaky hands flicking the lighter's wheel, feeling the warmth emitting from the bright flame, providing for a comforting contrast against the bitter, gray surroundings.

he tries to block out his patronizing thoughts by focusing in on each of his actions. the feeling of addictive smoke entering his lungs, on filling his mouth up with clouds of gray, the slight burning sensation pooling in his throat, or the restraint coming from his ribcage as he'd inhaled for too long. he slowly lets the withheld clouds billow out in small 'o' shapes, admiring the beauty of something so toxic. he lets the smell of tobacco sting at his nose, finally feeling a wave of tension release from his body.

though even through that, his thoughts prove stronger than any substance. they push their way through the barrier of smoke george had filled himself with, puncturing tiny holes into the emotional walls he'd attempted to build up. they break their way through, his mind once again filling with unpleasant thoughts of not being good enough. thoughts that he never will be. the thoughts prove to be resilient fighters, as they don't stop at george's brain. they continue to invade into his eye sockets, blinding him of any stable rationale, causing his brown eyes to prick with tears.

placing both his hands over his ears, george cries out in frustration that he can't go one minute without going through gut wrenching anguish. he tries desperately to drown out the sound of his thoughts by thrashing his legs against the bleachers. seething in pain through gritted teeth, as pure self hatred consumes him. he wants to increase the pressure his hands have against his head until he disappears, until he pops, or disintegrates into nothing.

attempting to ground himself again by studying his surroundings proves futile when he barely even has the ability to breathe. lungs burning, ears ringing, and a terrible eerie static are all working together to simultaneously drive george to insanity. he feels he can't take it all much longer, his conscious has become too unbearable, he's nearly past the point of no return.

that is until a warm hand lands upon his shoulder.

________________________

(1209 words)