face to face / dear evan hansen

one: the park

there is a boy. he is dimly lit by flickering street lamps, a looming warning of what is about to happen. everything is quiet except for the faint rattle from his pocket.

is it dark. the moon isn't providing much light, and the park is scarcely lit anyway. something about budget cuts. but he likes the dark, so he doesn't really mind.

he is tapping his fingers on the side of his leg. anxious habit. helps calm him down, sometimes. this is a time where it's not working. no relaxing song comes to mind. his mind is too full of other things.

the bench is wet. it was raining a few hours prior. soggy leaves are stuck to his boots. the world holds its breath as he sits down. a sweaty hand and a corkscrew open a bottle of red wine he stole from his parents' liquor cabinet. quite pathetic, really.

the red wine matches the gloominess of the scene, as it's too dark to see the passionate scarlet. now it's more of a thick, black liquid that is ready to drown this hunched boy.

he cringes as the pills he produces from his pocket rattle almost like an alarm. the serene, tranquil quiet was so nice. it was nice to be away from yelling and slamming doors and pounding headaches from crying.

he slowly shakes the chalky pills into his hand. he stares at them, realising the colossity of what he is about to do.

inhale, exhale.

and now, he is gone.