Welcome to Paradise // Billie Joe Armstrong // #Wattys2017

Last night on earth

It's mid January and the winter has finally kicked in. The air outside is cold and visualizes my breath into a little cloud. The snowflakes falling from the sky are whirling playfully around me until they reach the ground and mold together. The rooftops are covered in a thick layer of the white substance. Everything looks far beyond any winter I have ever experienced in the shit hole I live in.

My thoughts are interrupted as I feel something cold and wet hit my face. I glance down at my clothes and notice I've been hit by a snowball. The cold ice is now melting and slipping through my jacket and I shiver when it makes contact with my skin. "Come on, pussy" Billie shouts from a distance, while making another snowball to throw at me. A smile appears on my face and I quickly pick up some snow to shape into a perfectly circular ball. When I look up I notice Billie is about to throw his next batch at me. Quickly, I hide behind one of the trees for protection. With the freshly made snowball in my hands, I sneak up to him. "surprise, surprise, Mr. Armstrong" I yell before shoving the batch of ice in his face.

I have clearly taken him by surprise, but before I can burst into laughter Billie has returned the action. My face is now completely covered in snow. "Throw up your arms into the sky" Billie whispers as he turns himself towards me.

His arms are wrapped around my waist and I stare into his emerald green eyes. "you and I" I finish, smiling shyly, before he pulls me in a little closer, our foreheads now touching and our lips just millimeters away from each other. This is the closest we've ever been and I can almost taste him now. His smell of fresh coffee and tobacco puts me into some sort of outer world, but right before our lips meet I'm being sucked into reality by hearing a loud, whining noise.

"Aileen McDermott!" "do you think you can manage to keep your head in the real world for once maybe?!"

Mr. Grimson. Great.

I look up and find the entire class staring at me, including my maths teacher. His hands are folded in his side and he's looking at me in a way only teachers can look at you. The face of anger with that slight hint of disappointment that's supposed to make you feel embarrassed of your actions. Well try again, loser, I think to myself.

"Sorry" I mumble under my breath as I continue staring out of the window.

"I want to see you after school, McDermott" Mr. Grimson commands before he continues teaching and I continue daydreaming.

The hour passes slowly, nothing unlike usual, though. When the bell finally rings, I grab my backpack and sprint out of the classroom, hoping to avoid a three-hour lecture of Mr. Grimson on how bad it is to daydream and not pay attention in school. The guy thinks he's the center of the universe.

As I'm walking to my next class, philosophy, I notice the absence of students in the hallway. This place is always a complete ghost town, I know, but... something really feels off. I take my turn to the C-block of the school and catch a glimpse of a girl standing against one of the lockers, heavily breathing and coughing. Her face and shirt are covered in sweat. Looks like someone's had a long Sunday night, I think to myself.

It takes my surprise that the students in the classroom are all present. I wonder about the scenario in the hallways for a moment before I shove it to the back of my mind. The classrooms all have the same damned look and the same damned atmosphere. The cracks in the brick walls reflect the damage they have had to put up with over the past few years. The worn-out carpet has various stains and spots in it that I'm sure benefits us all if they remain unidentified. I walk over to my seat all the way in the back of the class. Drawings and random lyrics are scribbled on the surface of the table, mainly all of them coming from me. The other side of the table is filled with the remains of flavorless chewing gum. I sit down and grab the earbuds out of my backpack. I plug them in my ears and tuck the cords behind my hair, so that my teacher doesn't notice I'm listening to music. The sweet sound of Whatsername by Green Day fills up the sober energy the room has been radiating since the day it was built. The same energy I've been fed up with for five years now. I can't believe it's been so long since my beloved mother decided to bring me here.

It was right after my father decided to hang himself and leave me and mom alone in our tiny-ass house. And what happened after, well. The usual I guess you could say.

Mom found a new boyfriend and we didn't get along very well. I started getting an attitude and that's when she decided it was for the best if I were to go to a "more strict school". And so thats where I went. And it's where I still am. I have my own dorm room, Fridays are pizza days and I don't have to do my laundry, so all isn't that bad. At least I don't have to see my step-asshole -whom I refuse to call dad, since he isn't one- everyday. Green Day in particular has helped me a lot to cope with my everyday issues. I only have to put in my earbuds and turn up the volume to numb out the sound of the noisy people around me. I have never been one to express my feelings very well, that's probably why music is so important to me; when words are lacking to express my thoughts, it's the music that speaks for me.

When my teacher enters the room, I open my book and my note block to create the illusion I'm actually doing something. I lower the volume of my music so I can hear if the she, for let it be a miracle, calls my name.

Mrs. Rivera walks up to the large board holding a piece of chalk. She starts scribbling things down passionately and with a speed that is almost impossible to keep up with. With every letter she writes, more of the vastness of the crayon changes to powder and flutters in the air. It reminds me of snow.

God is dead.

Written by Friedrich Nietzsche in 1882. It's always been one of my favorite quotes; short and powerful. Unfortunately, my mom is catholic and would never allow me to speak such words out loud.

But that's her loss more than it's mine, I think.

* * * * *

I look at the clock; five more minutes until the end of the class. My philosophy teacher is almost finished with her on-going story about positive and negative nihilism, when the sound of shattered glass catches her attention. And the attention of all the students in the room, including me. The ear-crushing sound is followed by a minute of complete silence. And nothing but the screaming of hormone-filled teenagers and middle-aged teachers after that.