hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

reckless endangerment

tw:// massive drug use of all sorts, implications of death, sort of nonconsensual touching

george walked into the run down trap house and his nose instantly twitched up at the overwhelming scent of weed, alcohol, and sweaty bodies whose stenches were disguised under a variety of pungent antiperspirants.

these types of places were squat houses for the "lowlifes", as society may call them. the ones who dropped out, went to prison prematurely, ran their lives on evading taxes, constantly have to move from place to place, and spend every second of their short existences on benders.

they were probably the definition of "getting in with the wrong crowd", but it could be argued that george was no different from any of them. he'd been told so many times in his life that he has "so much potential", and "could get so far", but none of that seemed within reach to him. not anymore. how could he believe that he was going to do great things with his life if he's merely 18 and already so far gone?

for so long, he'd delayed his unavoidable fate. he'd let himself get his hopes up just to get them ripped away, time and time again. he'd always held on for a little bit longer simply because he was in denial. he didn't want to believe that he truly was alone, and that nobody cared, so he always waited. he always put himself through a little more suffering. through that pointless waiting though, he came to the realization that it was never death that scared him- it was dying alone. but on that night, george accepted that nbody was there to save him, and decided he wasn't afraid. he'd finally accepted that life just isn't fair for some people, and sometimes it never will be.

so here george was, in an abandoned building, in the sketchiest part of town, at a party. his plan? to fuck up his life one last time. he wanted to lose touch with himself and reality for a night. wanted to not be so in pain, and if all of that ended up killing him? then so be it. he told himself that he wouldn't hold back anymore because as a wise person once said, "live every day like it's your last", so that's what george would do. he would unleash everything he had, and fight with his utmost will until he either dropped dead, or felt better, and it was just a matter of whichever one of those came first.

walking in to the dilapidated building, he noticed all the boarded up windows and the previously white walls that had since turned a greenish color under the mugginess and persistent musk filtering through. every wall was filled with graffiti left by visitors who made sure to leave their mark on the place, up until it'd inevitably get torn down. george mentally noted that he'd be sure to participate in the tradition before he leaves.

the old wooden floor boards that made up the ground were sticking up, or rotting in a majority of the area, including being covered with littered trash. none of it sounded very appealing on paper, but the vibe you can get from being in such a place, just knowing that you're surrounded by a bunch of likeminded people, is freeing. nobody at these types of shindigs gives a fuck about absolutely anything, and at the moment, that was what george craved.

he stood at a makeshift counter (that was really just a stack of wooden crates with a white sheet draped overtop) hovering and dragging his fingertips along the multitude of different alcohol bottles. his finger stopped on a short, stubby bottle of pink whitney. he figured it was small enough to get away with just taking the whole thing for himself, but packed enough punch to let him feel something from it.

he found himself randomly mingling and oversharing with strangers who crowded around the beer pong table, but he didn't mind it, as all of them proved to be fun company, and soon none of this would matter.

currently, he was in a group of around 10 or 12... he couldn't quite count, and they were going around the circle giving away bits of their shitty lives. on each person's turn, the room would have to give the person their undivided attention (to the best of their intoxicated abilities), and the person would get to complain about any chosen thing. after the vulnerable admission was over, the whole group would shout 'cheers!', and get one step closer to forgetting their life's issues.