The Comment

Lawrence was laying on the floor of his room, contemplating his existence. He could hear his sister’s screams from downstairs; glass smashing. He stared at his bookshelf of unofficial Minecraft guides in sorrow, wondering. What was the point?

Next to him laid a dirty, red cushion with sequins on one side. The disgusting mixture of colours was clawing at his eyes, the stuck sequins reminding him of how mediocre the product industry handled their work. He remembered that when he would go back to school he would have to participate in classes persuading him to join them. Rows and rows of BBC Bitesize guides poured through his head. He got a migraine. There was a typo in one of them, a repeated word in another. I before e except after c, it said, lying to the poor youth trying to understand the complicated rules of English spelling. He thought of the word ancient. He thought of the word weird. He thought of the word science. He groaned.

He looked up. There was a plush of the Annoying Orange he had won in a fair, staring at the wall, smiling innocently. He would watch those videos repeatedly in his youth, in awe of the animation and writing used in each episode. What seemed lacklustre to him now was heaven to him then.

The screaming from downstairs stopped. He heard a calm, reasonable conversation happening instead. The screaming started again. His migraine grew.

bzz

A notification popped up on his phone. A Wattpad user hoped he had enjoyed the story about a giantess devouring a child in a bar of chocolate. Vomit started to rise in his stomach.

He fell back onto the floor, this time staring at the ceiling. A door slamming made him jump and shiver. His dad screamed. His sister screamed. All of it was turning into a blur.

He tried to think back to things he loved. The musical complexity of Cardiacs. Tim Smith’s heart attack and death. Minecraft, the game he had invested so many hours into in his youth. Notch’s statements on Twitter. The effort put into every Captain Disillusion video. The constant reminder that the media is getting dumber by the second, along with the viewers. An account of somebody else’s life came to his mind.

I killed someone. I had known him since I was 18 and he was my best friend. But he went mad. Everyone had given up on him but I tried to get him to come back from this path of self-destruction and insanity. We’d always had a special strange relationship that we kept between ourselves and understood one another on a level that has never been reached again. But I couldn’t reach him. He was so determined to fail and drag anyone down into his hell with him so I finally said no more. He may have given up and been OK with dying but I wasn’t. He didn’t like this. He reminded me of a summer night over a decade before when I was mad at him and was leaving because he was so high, he was pulling weeds at midnight by the light of a lighter. He chased me down and asked me if I’d ever give up on him and he looked so crazy. The teenager I knew so long ago was shining through. He was up to something and I loved him for it. No matter who we ended up with, how many kids we had, how rich or poor we became, we’d NEVER GIVE UP ON EACH OTHER.

I wanted to scream. So I did … in his face.

“What the fuck do you mean? I have been there for you through all your downfalls, you irresponsible selfish shit! You’ve cost me relationships, friendships and thousands upon thousands of dollars and all I’ve ever asked is for you not to do heroin! It’s ruined you! You aren’t you! I hate you! I can’t keep watching you kill yourself and hurt everyone that cares for you!”

He assessed me. I could see the wheels turning. He was very smart and so charming. And god was he funny. Effortlessly funny. But that night I wasn’t having it. The decades of absolute nonsense had caught up with me. He wanted me to hold his hand. I wasn’t going to. He’d never hurt me before, why should I fear him? Then all of a sudden he was on me. Beating me, choking me, really trying to hurt me. I couldn’t escape. I was terrified. I made him think I wasn’t mad and that I wasn’t going to tell the police. I just wanted to get away from him. Finally, I got my chance and I got away but a few days later he found me at a Seven Eleven and grabbed me by my hair and dragged me into his car. He punched me over and over until I was quiet and compliant. He dared me to try and escape or he’d run me over. He took me to the desert and pulled out a gun. He said he was going to kill me and himself and everyone would know it’s because I was such a cunt. I told him I loved him and that I didn’t care what happened to me, just so long as he promised not to hurt himself. I told him I’d shoot myself so they thought it was a suicide and he wouldn’t get in trouble. I hoped it’d work and it did. He gave me a hug and said he was sorry and he just needed me to fix him. I agreed and then we got in the car and were driving back in town when we came to a stoplight, I saw a police car so I got out and I ran. They didn’t see me and turned the corner just as I felt something hit my head and all went dark.