Chapter 1: Needs more salt
It was a cold, pale morning. The clouds blanketed the sun and began weeping because of it. The bell rang, signaling the end of class and the beginning of lunch. This would be my last meal.
It’s a shame I didn’t bother to treat myself for it, but at this point, I couldn’t care less. Nothing feels or tastes the same anymore. It’s like I’ve been hollowed out—no love, no hate—just an empty husk drifting through these vibrantly bleak hallways.
Still, there’s no point in sulking now. The quicker I get to the cafeteria, the less likely I am to get mobbed by the mindless drones bumping elbows and shoving past each other.
I feel transparent as I roam through the halls. Everyone just kind of looks past me like I’m made of glass. Yet, somehow, none of them seem able to truly see right through me.
I always hear the whispers. “Nobody can read him.” “He’s so creepy.”
Like I’m some vengeful spirit haunting the rotten teens who wronged me, or the big, ugly monster in some horror flick where they’re the heroes. What a joke, everyone wants to have a daring and adventurous story they want to tell. Up until one of them has to play the villain.
And as much as I talk, I envy them. They look like they live such carefree lives. No bruises or scrapes from home. No torn, ragged clothes. No eye bags from sleepless nights spent crying.
It makes me absolutely sick. How... How can someone go through life seemingly untouched? I just don’t get it. Every single day of my life has been a fight. From my premature birth to what’s about to be a premature death, all I’ve ever done is wrestle and claw for every miserable scrap of a chance given to me.
All A’s on my report card. No trips to the principal’s office. Hell, I’ve never even had detention. Yet here I stand—not just without a trophy or medal—but without anyone to show it to.
Every day, my mom finds new ways to be angry at me, to belittle me. Doesn’t matter how good I do—it’s always the same cold and heartless expression every time. But God forbid I actually do something wrong... then she does a complete one eighty and just starts tearing into me like a wild dog. Whether physical or verbal, she always finds a way to make life just a little bit worse.
If she brought me into this world, why couldn’t she just take me out already. It’s not like she hasn’t threatened to do it before.
It’s hopeless. All I do is struggle in vain. For what? Nothing. I. Have. Nothing.
No friends. No family. No shoulder to lean on when I’m upset. No one to dry my tears when I cry. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Which is why... I’m finally doing myself—and everyone else—a favor. Finishing the job that no one else had the heart to do.
When I finally get to the cafeteria, I’m deafened by the roar of people screeching at each other and the clattering of trays scraping across metal counters. The air reeks of a stale yet aromatic smell of rain and gravy.
Just as I’m about to step into line, I get shoved to the ground by a group of people not paying attention. As I look up I see the alleged perpetrator towering over me.
“Oh shi—watch where you’re going, dumbass,” one of them snaps as he catches himself.
“Ah—I... uh... sorry. But you ran into me.”
“Excuse me? I’m pretty sure you ran into me. Right, guys?”
The group behind him starts nodding, chiming in, pretending to back him up. Obviously, they saw that I was the one in the wrong. Obviously.
“Well then... I must’ve been mistaken. Sorry about that. I must not have been looking.”
“Yeah... or next time you bump into me, it won’t be an accident when you’re on the floor.”
“I’ll be sure to be more cautious next time.”
Before I can get up, the whole group cuts in front of me, glaring as they do. If I needed any more of a reason to clock out early... that would do it.
Finally, it’s my turn to grab a tray. Safe to say, the wait wasn’t worth it. I shuffle over to an empty table and take a long, hard look at the repulsive delicacy set before me.
The timeless staple of American school cuisine: Salisbury steak with a sad squirt of gravy, a side of mashed potatoes, and some peas rolling around like loose marbles.
Not exactly the meal I imagined for my last day on Earth... but, somehow, it holds a certain dignity. The kind of dignity you’d see in a sad, divorced, middle-aged dad trying to hold it together.
Still... for all its dignity... It needs more salt.
