One shots?

Spaced out

"Hey kid."

I clung to the folds of reality. Desperately trying to focus on my math homework. It wasn't working. His words and his mouth blurred again. The paper almost looking blank.

Then I felt his hands on my shoulders.

"Kid wake up! Pay attention. Last I checked you're here to learn. Not to nap."

I'm trying. But I'm slipping. Because each day I know that everything is fake. Because reality is a harsh lie. A slap to the face. Shaking my head I managed to pay attention. Just to finish my last class. Just so I could leave and go home. To do nothing.

"Aight class, your job is to complete the paper I gave you and turn it in tomorrow. This may not count for most of your grade but if you don't turn it in I will fail you."

That woke me up. And I glanced down at my paper. Between the lines of text and the empty space there was stick men with X's for eyes. Several lines of harsh black led. And covering the sheet were doodles of mass destruction. Destroyed skyscrapers. Dark blobs that I think I had called puddles of blood.

There was no way I could turn this in. But there was also no way I was going to ask my rudest teacher for another sheet of his oh-so precious paper.

So I glanced back at the clock. Barely a minute.

I put my stuff away as quietly as possible. Feeling the sudden tension in the air as everyone else scrambled to get away. Then it rang. And I was finally allowed to walk out.

I pulled out my phone and loaded up SoundCloud. Calmly untangling my earbuds. Playing the latest song that came to my fingertips. It was peaceful. No words. Just sound.

It was a perfect representation of how weightless I felt. Of just how useless everything felt. I blasted it into my skull. Deciding to take an hour to walk home instead of waiting for the bus.

My grey sweatshirt covered my body. And with a gentle use of my hands. My hood followed, covering my head. Immersing me into what I felt often.

Pure blissful euphoria. My hands tucked into my pouch. My backpack gently swishing against my back. It was... stupid. How could I feel so calm when I knew that everything was going to die. Why did I feel so reluctant about the future? If it did happen it would only be in vain.

A lot of things died without purpose. A lot a people died without goals. So many people didn't end up mattering.

Mattering. But what does it mean. Matter makes up everything. But yet it creates death too. It creates cycles. It repeats. But can it ever actually end?

Do we matter?

We're fragile. And weak. And we're all scared and alone in our own ways. But yet we play it off as an excuse. A crutch.

I never did turn in that paper. And he forgot about what he'd said. And I crumpled the paper. My detailed little sketch of my crush's face disappeared with it all.

Some things are never meant to be.