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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Friendship · #2204582
A story of the pathetic life of a nameless boy.

Life Under a Marble

All my life I had only been abandoned.

I had never understood the meaning of being alive, or rather, 'being alive as a human'. I didn't grasp the concept of majority vote, rules and regulation or anything of the sort. To me, to be alive was to cause trouble; to cause trouble was to play. Even if it meant that it would cause burdens to others, which to me was just another way of causing troubles.

Starting from a young age I had realized that I couldn't feel anything. I would watch boys in my kindergarten class beat each other, yet all I did was watch. I could have joined the fight, or ask an adult for help, but all I did was standing there, not panicking, but calm. I didn't know it wasn't normal for me to be fine with it, but looking back, I believe that I would do the same anyway.

I must correct that it wasn't nothing I felt, but rather a sense of hollowness inside of me. This emptiness was what I believe to be the basic foundation of emotions, what you are supposed to feel when there wasn't anything to feel. Therefore, I am just a basic being, without the desire to feel anything else.

When I couldn't feel anything, people would look at me weird and try to get a reaction out of me. I didn't like it, so I changed. Not remembering which show it came from, but I did recall a quote, "If you don't like yourself, then change." To this day, I could still remember the exact tone that character said that, yet I still cannot grasp the concept of changing.

But I changed anyway. I pretended that I had a heart, to smile and cry like any other children. I realized that in order to have others to like me, humor was a nice shortcut. Just make jokes, laugh, and the sun will set. I would have to thank my father for his genes that carry terrible and unfunny jokes, but it would be unfair for my mother's side of the mysterious sense of humor of mine.

Speaking of my parents, I would say that my father and mother were both weak people who put on a strong and independent front. In their later days, they travelled with technology, and they would look at their electronic gadgets more than me. I was constantly abandoned, though I lived with them under the same roof till now.

During dinner time, my family would sit around a round table and eat with the television on. I would talk a lot, despite my supposed manners. My mother seldom responded to my entertainment, but my father would somehow always come back with even worse jokes. We would laugh, and the night would be over.

Yet, when I laid down on my bed later at night, I would realize that I wasn't happy. I would be abandoned by myself, forever wandering in the realm between reality and dreamland. There wasn't anyone who needed me, and I didn't need anyone. Especially after my sister's birth, I never felt important in this family.

Concerning my dreams, they were my only escape. I would remember every bits of those fantasies, and continued to swim in them during the day. It was tiring, waiting for the long break every day since the moment I opened my eyes. Boring, everything was boring, and I started to crave death.

One time I dreamt that I was jumping off a tall building. Just like what my research had proved, it was just peaceful, and the pain only lasted for a few second before I landed. There was just nothingness at the end, yet I didn't wake up. I had never had such a good dream in my life.

"When you look into an abyss, the abyss looks into you." I supposed my tendency started when I first wanted to kill someone which buried the seed for my later suicide attempts.

I was around 11 at that time, my class was responsible for cheerleading at Sports Day. It was also such a strange concept though, the concept of competition, the constant reminder that I am never enough, and just for athletics to show off. Cheerleading as well, why was it also a race, if the intention was just to cheer on people? Things like this left me awake at night.

Continuing on, I wasn't one that was good with physical things. I was scrawny, and I wasn't that keen on improving myself. It was already tiring enough to keep up the jokes, I didn't see it necessary to add more burden to my miserable existence. I was pinpointed by my teacher, who would point out my mistakes to everyone in the class. It was embarrassing, but I knew that I couldn't take her on in a fight. Therefore, my focus shifted to the student leaders.

If I remember correctly, my first ever target was a sweet girl named Charmaine. She was nice to me, although I couldn't feel anything for that care, I almost felt bad when I found out that she was abused at home. Didn't stop me from scheming the murder though, maybe it would have been that I was the one who died back then.

As mentioned before, it was my first time planning a murder. Yet I couldn't feel anything all the same. I always said that "If you think it is correct, then do it." Therefore, I held no remorse of what I was going to do. I was going to push her off the stairs that day, but for some reason I didn't. Perhaps it was my remaining humanity, but I patted her shoulders instead of pushing them. Till this day I fail to understand my sudden withdrawal, but I didn't suppose the answer would be important.

Just as tattered as I had always been, I somehow enrolled into a secondary school successfully, and my second life began. It was tragic beginning and a tragic ending, at least in my opinion. To those who are reading the life of such trash, maybe everything would seem normal.

It all started with my first betrayal, the time that made me realize that my life was cursed with nothing more than just abandonment. I was always the one who was left behind, yet all I could do was to keep up my fade and laugh. It didn't hurt. Nothing could make me feel anything from the bottom of my heart.

A reason that I seek pain so much is probably due to my inability to feel anything. I pierced my ears because people said it would hurt for a moment, and I wanted to strive for that second. I didn't care if it was pain, anything, just let me feel anything.

As of my secondary school, I had met many weird people, but generally speaking all human were weird to me. Up to this age, I still couldn't understand why people would willingly bind to their obligation and confined themselves with rules. During class activities, I would find myself without my fade at time, but that seemed like the mask to anyone else. Perhaps the pain of losing my true self is something worth being hurt for, but then I wouldn't be one to know.

One of the interesting people I had met was with the name Gladys. I couldn't remember much of her, but she was certainly the one who saw through my fade, one whom I thought could teach me how to see the world as a normal person would, but she further confided me under the gaze of a glimmering marble. Perhaps it was what she saw too, trying to lock me under the same shackles of her. Neither of us would be able to break free, not without each other, right?

"No." That's what she said when I questioned her if she remembered our promise of a platonic double suicide. It left me astray, unable to think for an instant, shaking from the very core that made myself me. I could still see her stone-cold face back then, and could almost hear her tone.

It was the same year that I decided to cut my contacts with her, after falling in love with her which left me deserted. It wasn't the first time I had been in love, and not the first time of being left behind. I was never quite a womanizer, yet I was always the one who left women behind. At the same time, I was the one who was abandoned in the relationship all over again. I had realized this much later in my life, that this life really wasn't worth living at all.

"What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love." Originally a quote of Dostoevsky's 'Crime and Punishment', it pretty much explained my life. Did I view it as hell? Certainly. But did I do so because of my inability to love? If god would one day hear to my cries, I would ask him that same old question that I had always asked myself.

And then was nothingness all over again. It just repeated, the emptiness of being abandoned, abandoned by people, abandoned by my feelings. If anyone could make me feel anything, I still wouldn't be sure if I want to know how. Would I take the chance? The reflection of the marble remained clear.

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