Glorious

I don’t seem to sleep much these days. Not that I have any trouble falling asleep, its more that I don’t want to sleep. Why sleep, humans spend too much time sleeping anyways. You sleep 1/3 of your life till you die and sleep forever. Sleep, sleep, sleep. You practice for death each night, like you’re acclimating to it.

Excess sleep is an unnecessary underserved comfort, that the population relies on. An escape from their crude lives, a wallowing waste of time. I for one prefer to spend my nights awake for as long as I can. Being awake features potential, a chance to do something with yourself. Sleeping is prostrating to the world’s mercy, being helpless and arrogant to all.

Sure, I am still human (unfortunately) and thus I require multiple hours of sleep. But I average about 3 to 4 a night, instead of 7 or 8. These multiple hours I spend my time doing an array of things. My mind races, as it concocts, considers, disputes. I pursue my passions; I indulge in my pleasures, or I just lay and contemplate. Regardless I have a daily advantage of 3-4 hours over the average human, due to sleeping a bit less.

And it’s not that I spend my days useless and tired. I am used to functioning on my 3 to 4 hours. I don’t drink caffeine, I don’t drink energy drinks, I just don’t let sleep control me. A virtue others on my bus seem to lack. Even 7 to 8 does not seem to satisfy them.

They are a group of depressed kids that sit solemn and grim driving to their death, or at least a funeral. Some wear a frown, some have their head down, and some are staring out to the horizon as if they were searching for a purpose.

I mean the bus itself, perfectly highlights the intelligence of the society of tomorrow. My seat is torn up, with explicit depictions on the front. Honestly the creativity is impressive, but such a thing belongs in a brothel, not a school bus.

Forget the bus, the demeanor of the student population on the prospect of attending school each morning is telling in itself. I mean firstly it speaks volumes on school and the system. For me school is efficient for three reasons. A means to “learn”, a means to pass the time, and a means to see her.

To the average kid it is a prison, their personal hell they go through for 8 hours a day. 8 hours of sleep, and 8 hours of hell. It is why the general population is stupid. How can one succeed if 2/3 of their day is useless?

How will these kids survive the next step? The answer is they don’t, they don’t survive. They work minimum wage, or they join the army, or they settle a stale 9-5 and live a stale life. The sad part is some people want that. It’s like ambition is only prevalent in the average man in the form of nationalism.

It is just the nature of man. They crave war, blood, glory, and fail to turn in simple homework. It’s pathetic, it’s a failure. They are a failure, our “future” is full of failures. It’s so amusing, I might start laughing out loud.

How can they not realize just how faulty their existence itself even is? Awareness is a sense they were given, but they choose to ignore. Like I am in a sea of mediocrity, with various fish showing me their flaws and futility.

Take Riggan Jones, who is in just the seat in front of me. Riggan is a large fellow, so of course the seat beside him is empty. One could not sit by Riggan even if they for some reason wanted to, as that much of the seat is taken. Two seats behind me on the right is Ruby Yates, an individual so vain I guarantee she currently is either fawning over herself or some idiotic male.

At least she seems to be awake in the mornings with her obnoxiously large coffee, and her obviously obnoxious amount of time spent on her appearance. Now just think if she spent that time on her studies? Her grades would be good again, and her parents would not be disappointed in her. She wouldn’t feel unloved, and thus she wouldn’t develop all her insecurities, that cause her to eat a thousand calories a day, and wear a layer of makeup at 7 in the morning.

She wouldn’t feel the need for male validation, or to worry about her appearance. Looking at others would not prompt comparison with herself, a lose-lose situation as she would be disappointed regardless. Her goals would be straightened, her ambition much more prominent. And overall, I reckon she would be a great deal happier than the insecure, nugatory Ruby Yates she is today.

A yawn escapes from my mouth as I smile. I know it is rude to think like this, but it is just reality. If only people realized it themselves, or if I could at least tell them. Me keeping these things to myself is not cowardice, I fear no one. It’s just my way of avoiding unnecessary complications.

The lifestyles of others bother me very little, its actually interesting to compare there’s with myself. But me expressing my true emotions would prompt a bunch of ordeals just really not worth it. The deluded do not like waking up, they prefer immersing in their falsely blissful created realities.

The bus takes its familiar turn into the school parking lot, and stops, rousing me out of my thoughts. I lower the volume of my music; I get lost in my head like that sometimes. The average population is just so thought provoking, all my negativity comes surging out.

I compose myself, and follow Riggan out of the bus, making sure to ignore those expecting me to let them come out of their seat first. A warm breeze assails me, as the Lord cries from above. I prefer this sort of weather, where the sun is hidden by the masses of cloud. Its gloomy atmosphere actually suits the sky better.

The broad school entrance welcomes me in, as the terrain around me is all too familiar. The main wall which features varying ironic posters each week, right now saying “Be Yourself.” The groups of kids engaging in huddles of converse, the school’s police officer intimidatingly staring students down, various student unions and clubs pestering kids. I actually like the routinely terrible atmosphere of the school; it makes me feel more comfortable.

I go towards my first period class, which is unfortunately Pre-Calculus. Easily my least favorite subject. It’s not even that I’m bad at it, I just don’t get the point in doing such elongated complex equations. I also find it ridiculously boring; I was always more of a wordsmith then a man of numbers.

The teacher, Mr. Stevens, is also quite a loser, I would be surprised if he even had kids. You can just tell by the way he presents himself, balding, with a very dead expressionless face. Steven clearly does not enjoy his job.

But yet day by day, he wakes up early in the morning and spends his time teaching other expressionless kids. And as much as I despise math, I sit day by day and listen to his expressionless teaching. Entrapment by the system, the most common cause of feeling dead.

I walk to my strategically picked seat in the back of my class, and give a timid smile to Steven’s attempt at a greeting. Here’s to 50 minutes of trying to find solutions that solve absolutely nothing. The morning announcements begin as I sink into my chair, and raise my music up.

I wonder what she shall wear today, not that it matters of course. Her in oversized clothing having not showered in days, eclipses Ruby’s whole ancestral line. The world all looks uniform to me, domesticated almost, but with her she is the shepherd and I the sheep. It is all anatomical features, but when it comes to her, they are features sculpted by the divine. Smiles are just uncomfortable expressions that show the vulnerability of people, but when it comes to her, they are a light that shines more than the sun. How I ache for the day to hurry along so I can see her.

Mr. Stevens begins his monotonous lecture, and I sink into my normal class self. A part of me listening, a part of me listening to my music, and a part of me drowning in my misery.

By the time the bell rings, I haven’t gained much from my time allocated, but this lesson was simple enough. I know what’s coming as I walk out of the door, it’s a daily occurrence. A daily nuisance would be the better name.

An itch on my shoulder, a fly who buzzes by my side and follows me. We both walk through the hallway to our shared World History class.

“Psychology was terrible today; Mrs. Brown just went on and on” he says.

I continue walking soaking in his words like a sponge.

“She never stops talking, everyone just catches up on sleep in there. She is so aggravating, and boring, and it doesn’t help that its literally first period.”

I find it quite funny, as his description fits his own behavior quite perfectly, but of course I don’t say this. I offer an unenthusiastic chuckle, but I know that won’t phase Laurie, he’d talk to a wall if he could. His buzzing words are a sound that’s permanently logged in my ears.

We continue up the stairs, and the crowded stair case allows no room for breath. I always feel caved in at school. The heat generated from the masses of kids, the weight from when I’m pushed against one of them, or even the building itself with its achromatic tone.

I look at Laurie and I get disgusted by his calm face. Of course, he feels at peace among the filth, people are comfortable with their kind. Laurie’s around my height, so 5’9-5’10, with long wavy dark brown hair. His skin is quite tan, and his face is very expressive, which makes him very readable. He's quite the popular kid among the masses, but he thinks of me as one of his closer friends for some reason. He's been consistently in my life for many years now, which at least has made me used to his annoying presence.

The classroom is its usual self, with Mr. Edwards standing at the front of the class. I like Mr. Edwards, he has a bizarre but clear passion for history, and it’s shown by the effort he places. Besides, I am a fan of the subject, The Romans, The Mongols, Napoleon, Alexander are all much more compelling than the people of today. My father feels the same about history, my name itself shows that.

My seat is near the front; Laurie picked his on the first day and naturally expected me to sit beside him. Since we sit in the front, I’m even forced to take notes. Oh, what poetic lines I have written in these notes for her. Writing lines about her helps me express my otherwise hidden emotions, even if she will never know of their existence.

Mr. Edwards talks about the Byzantine Empire, as I stare at Duccio’s Madonna projected on the screen. The lifeless but supposed divine nature it features. A divine creature should give one life, not take it. But her placid gaze, and baby Jesus’s almost mutant figure, look like two zombies more than anything else.

Salvation, is it real? Is there a heaven that comes after, is there anything that comes after? If hypothetically all of this existed, and I where to die today, I would surely go to hell. I am a sinner, and sinners get their divine punishment.

You see, the whole concept of religion is a perplexing one. I am fond of the idea of God, but feel everything else is a sham. A church is nothing more than 4 walls and a roof, the scriptures are books of philosophy written by ambitious and cunning men. Oh, and how cunning they must be, to fool billions. Even if fooling one is almost equivalent to fooling a million. The sheep shall follow each other, and pass it down to their offspring who shall do the same. Another cycle, humanity is dominated by repetition and cycles.

Religion is necessary though, hope keeps a man tame, otherwise God forbid maybe mankind would use their mind for once. There would be much more rogues, with much less sheep. Not that there would be more shepherds, there would be more wolves. Wolves that would cause chaos, and disrupt the series of cycles, that would paradoxically bring balance to the world. But man refuses to think, man shall follow the same shepherds, and ignore all signs that deter from the Jerusalem they have created in their heads.

Chaos should be the natural order of society, the order intended by the creator. So, who shall take the mantle and be a wolf, for what really is the merit in ruling over sheep?

I hear Laurie cough, before kicking my chair. He urges his head, and points it towards Mr. Edwards. I quickly take out my headphones, and straighten myself in my chair.

Mr. Edwards stares at me expectant, with a puzzled expression.

“So?” he asks.

Uh, What?

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your question sir.”

His expression becomes annoyed causing me to grimace.

“I said name a reason for the fall of the Western Roman Empire.”

His PowerPoint slide rings into my mind, making me grateful for my decision to pay attention to something.

“Barbaric tribal invasions and much chaos throughout the Empire.”

“Correct, the discord throughout the Empire. Mostly due to the invasions of groups like the Visigoths, the Franks, and the Saxons.”

“What other reasons?” he asks turning to the other students.

I’m lucky he didn’t mention me not paying attention, that would be troublesome. How fitting of a question though, the contemporary world should face the same fate. They need their own Visigoths, their own Franks, their own Saxons, to disrupt the old, and bring forth New Rome.

I sigh, I really need to stop zoning out into deep thought. It must be my music, it’s too loud.

The bell eventually rings, as me and Laurie walk out the classroom.

“Hey” he says stopping me, “What were you thinking about in class?”

His expression is worried, but more tiresome than helpful.

“I saw your face, you looked worried and very, I don’t know. Very conflicted.”

“Oh, that, I was just looking at the painting and I zoned out” I say.

“And your music, I told you your music is always too loud. You are lucky Mr. Edwards didn’t even say anything.”

“It wasn’t my music’s fault, I just got distracted.”

He makes a sour face.

“And I didn’t even sleep well last night.”

He' like a mother, he’s still staring at me like my answer wasn’t adequate enough.

“What’s with all these questions, it wasn’t a big deal.”

He heaves a sigh, one fit for theatrics. “Whatever man, I’ll see you at lunch.”

I should be the one sighing, why does he have to be so pestering.

I walk to third period, Physical Education, this time with no hindrances. Other than Laurie, I don’t have many friends or even acquaintances. People just come in the way of whatever I have planned for the day.

PE. is like my study hall, I just work on my homework and studying while the other kids work up a sweat. It is in the Varsity Gym; one of the two my school has. I just stay in the bleachers, with no one sitting at a 5-seat radius from me.

The teacher Mr. Jones is a relaxed guy, mostly because he doesn’t care about his job but being a gym teacher is rewarding to people like that. The only grade he gives us are these simple quizzes, whenever he remembers he’s technically a teacher. They are just simple tests of logic, one that anyone with half a brain can ace.

Some kids shoot basketballs, others play volleyball, or badminton. There are the huddles of kids sitting and conversing. Some take laps around with their friends, and some practical ones are like me scattered in the bleachers working on whatever.

The West Ridge High Knight shines proud on the main wall of the gym. A fitting symbol for the school, with its bland image and bland colors. Lacking life, the way many of its inhabitants do.

I decide to look over the Latin lesson and assignment for the day as I usually do, in order to give my full attention to her. I can’t multitask too well, especially when she’s in the picture. Every fiber of my being is devoted to her face, her movements, her tendencies, a subject more compelling than any other.

Besides Mr. Heinsen always posts his lessons on the weekly agenda, and I self-teach much more then I learn from others. Every mind adapts and grasps and retains differently, but the teachers cater to their own styles and preferences. Sure, there are the select few genuine good teachers, but they are scarce, and not at West Ridge High.

Hopefully I get to see her in the hallway today. I have Biology next period, and she has Math but most days I am able to get a glance at her during this class change. But my school is huge, the student’s population is around 2 thousand with flocks in the hallway, which makes it hard to see her sometimes.

Somedays I see her smiling on her own, some lucky thought in her mind. Or she seems content, or she will be walking with one of her friends. One dreadful day she even looked sad, presumably she did bad on her Chemistry Test which she has before Math. How I wished to comfort her, to tell her the depths of the excellence her mind possess.

By the time I finish my Latin work, and my Biology assignment that was due, the bell rings. I walk in the hallway with my eyes alert, around where I usually see her. The crowd just in the background, as my attention is spent trying to find her

There’s always this anxiousness that creeps up on me at the prospect of even just glancing at her. Not like seeing her is a want, seeing her is a need, something I require to live. I need to satiate my thirst, satisfy my hunger, gaze at her warmth. So, the anxiousness is just a byproduct of all the emotion she induces from me. Still, it can be taxing, as my whole body reacts to these emotions.

With each step, I grow more disappointed, and to my dismay, I am at my class and I didn’t get to see her. It tends to happen most days, but I will get to see her next period as we share the same lunch. I can yearn a bit longer, yearning is something I am used to now.

My mind shifts to the class, I actually enjoy Bio and willingly take notes. Humans are complex creatures biologically, if only that resonated in their personality.

Mrs. Walters is my biology teacher, and quite the character she is. Her appearance definitely screams high school science teacher but perhaps Chemistry would make more sense. Her hair is all crazy, and her eyes big and wide; kind of like a mad scientist. Her classroom is adorned with various science posters that she probably bought from her own money, a waste of money.

Her lectures are live and expressive, the type of teacher to ramble off topic whenever something intrigues her. I must say she does get my attention, even when talking about something boring like genetics.

To my right sits a guy named Austin, who I’m not sure I have ever spoken too before. Hes an annoying boy, the male version of Ruby Yates. But today for some reason he seems to be awaiting my arrival.

“Hey Alex, did you finish that one worksheet” he asks with an artificial bird like smile. His sharp features shape it in such a way. “I would have done it, but I had practice and I got home too late.”

“Oh, that was due today?”

His smile wavers at my words.

“I completely forgot, I’m sorry I don’t have it” I say.

His face betrays him, as he nods and turns to someone else. Of course, I did the homework, and of course I am not going to give it to him. Not that I don’t care about good deeds, well actually I don’t. But regardless, how good can it be to help someone who is bad.

Mrs. Walters comes up to take the homework, and the indignation on his face is clear as he glares at me. I just turn up my music.

Today’s lesson gets finished up, just recombination and variability of genes, something I have learned before. An interesting concept that produces some uninteresting results. But, after we finish our notes, she tends to give us free time that I always use to await the bell. I cannot wait for lunch, I am starving. Not for food, but for her.

Eventually it does, and I walk and meet Laurie, who also shares the same lunch as me. We sit together at this round table with some other kids in my grade. Again, I’m not sure why Laurie sticks around with me so much. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, but as we grew up it was clear we were very different.

He changed just as everyone else did, and became vain. His interests became unimportant, he wanted to talk about girls, or sports, or clothes. I can’t blame him, just like every other human he is a victim of society. He got molded by it, you could even say colonized by it.

For me society was too disgusting of a thing to follow, but I must admit my subconscious has traces of society in it too. I mean how can it not, the first half of my life I had no control over. My parents raised me; my parents are also shaped by society. It’s a cycle that cannot end, the few minds who are born different get neutered and conform even when it’s not their fault.

But as we enter the cafeteria, my mind is glued to one table, her table. It’s still half empty, most of the kids are still entering or are in the lunch line. Each table features about 6 chairs, but her table is the most popular in the lunchroom, and people drag extra chairs to it all the time. I physically despise every single one of her friends, and the others who sit there.

I would never sit there myself; I couldn’t handle the proximity. Being close but not nearly close enough is unbearable. If I were to get interrupted when talking to her, I’m not sure what I would do.

I grab a slice of pizza, and a chocolate milk from the line, I’m not hungry but it’s just to maintain an image. I know Laurie will be more than glad to take it anyways. Our table is about 6 tables away from hers, but my chair features a clear angle to the one she sits at, which allows me to watch her.

My eyes are still searching for her, as we get to our table. I can’t seem to find her anywhere, maybe she had something for another class. Like making up a test, or one of her teachers could be going over a lesson.

The noise from the table pulls me back in, as I acknowledge our group of “friends.” Other than me and Laurie, there’s firstly this talkative senior named Mathew. He's the type to get on your nerves after a while, but he keeps the conversation going. Then there’s Bella, who’s a junior just like Laurie and I, and is just the average high schooler. Worried about college, worried about stupid boys, worried about her stupid appearance.

There’s Reese, who’s also a senior, and the calmest out of the bunch. He's an athlete, on the football team so he’s quite popular. A fair share of people come to our table to meet Laurie and him from time to time. And finally, there’s Ricardo, a seemingly depressed foreign kid who sits here because he has nowhere else to sit. He responds when spoken too, but otherwise he eats his food and stares at the ceiling. Overall, quite the interesting group, just as I like it. It makes observing conversations much more beneficial.

Matthew and Bella seem to be at their own private conversation. Her sunken facial features, keenly on his face, while his cheeks a bit rosy. I am no expert of un purposeful high school love, but they seem to share some mutual attraction. She eyes his face like this a lot, and he always turns to her after making a joke.

Watching people is always so intriguing to me. Their peculiar mannerisms, sometimes unique other times a replica. The question of what is running through their head, or what is the cause for whatever emotions or behavior they are displaying. Trying to decipher certain actions, trying to understand their perspectives. Their blandness even features some value, as my repulsion is still an emotion which is better than nothing. But the fact that even the smallest things usually have a reason makes nothing bland, but the fact that nothing is bland makes everything bland.

I get the sudden urge to talk, I need some distraction until she gets to her table. The anxiousness is too much.

I turn to Laurie, who sits with a pleasant smile, eating his french fries while looking around at his surroundings.

“Laurie, do you know Austin?”

He turns to me confused until recognition comes onto his face.

“Austin Jenkins?”

“Yeah, yeah him” I say, as he nods seemingly intrigued

“Well today in Biology he asked for my homework, and I told him I didn’t have it. But then I turned it in, in front of him” I say.

He gives me a smirk “What did he say?”

“Nothing, I just pretended like it never happened.”

Laurie chuckles, as he shakes his head at me.

“Thank God, I never ask you for homework, everyone else is always more than willing.”

“I don’t know, I guess I never liked him. I mean I have never talked to him, but still” I say.

“I have a math quiz today, and this lesson makes no sense to me. Hopefully everyone around me is the opposite of you.”

I surprisingly chuckle back at his words, Laurie has a knack, or talent of distracting me.

Suddenly Mathew exclaims to the table, “You know she’s not here today.”

“Really, what do you mean?” I say back immediately.

How does Mathew know? No, no, she has to be at school, she just has too.

“Why not, where is she then?”

He looks at me strangely, as I get the urge to strangle him.

“I don’t know, I just saw the sub. Does it really matter why? Me and Laurie’s quiz got rescheduled bro, that’s all that matters.”

He seems to notice my apparent confusion, “Ms. Answorth, she’s not here today. What did you think I was talking about?”

Relief floods through me, it is just a stupid teacher.

“Nothing, nothing I was just confused. Forget about it.”

The feeling is temporary, as I realize she’s still not here, where could she possibly be? What if something happened, or she I don’t know. Anything could happen. Is she absent from school or just the cafeteria?

Familiar cold shivers run through my body, just the thought of her makes that happen. I know I’m being irrational, and that all is well but even not seeing her is hell. Let alone not knowing where she even is.

Laurie seems to notice my expression, and motions towards me. I just shake my head, and take a bite of my pizza. My mood swiftly turns sour, all notions of wanting to talk are gone. I just want to escape, to just feel everything and nothing.

What if she’s not in Latin today, what am I to do then? Just wait another 24 hours, today is Monday I already waited the whole weekend to see her. Why must she not be here today.

I turn up my music, escape I just need escape.

“I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I’m miserable now. I was looking for a job then I found a job, and heaven knows I’m miserable now” plays in my ears.

“In my life, oh why do I give valuable time, to people who don’t care if I live or die? Two lovers entwined pass me by, and heaven knows I’m miserable now.”

Music, from Beethoven to modern alternative is just so liberating to the mind. I would much rather think of the sadness of another in my ears, than my own. Misery is the emotion that unites all humans. I can feel through Morrissey or Frank Ocean, and forget the details of my own tragedy.

My table doesn’t bother me much, they know how fond I am for music, so I just distract myself with “Louder Than Bombs” till the bell rings.

Laurie however gives me one more “Are you good?” before I almost snarl at him and head to my 6th period class, luckily the second last of the day. Usually, I’m excited at this time, but today I just want to get home and die.

My 6th period is English, which curriculum wise is easily my favorite class. Literature and writing are my favorite hobbies, the things that define me other than those I love. Why shall I need friends when I have Dostoevsky, Shakespeare, Nietzsche, Fowles, more impactful and influential then 99 percent of the people in my life.

The book we are reading right now is “Crime and Punishment” something I have read multiple times already, but yet seek such pleasure delving into it. I feel a deeper connection to Raskolnikov than for example almost every human I have ever known. Art just is so limitless compared to the bound human, or even the bound artist.

Such powerful themes I have learned from him. Such relatable adversity, a salvation that I too desire. Art has the power to do that, a fictional novel like Crime and Punishment is much more enriching than a math textbook, or a degree. Reading Zarathustra can awaken one the same way the Bible can, or any religious text. It is all just so endless, a scope that encompasses existence.

My teacher Mr. Owens is easily my favorite. Sure, I harbor more resentment than any other emotion towards him, but talking to him about books or art in general is something I almost look forward to. Mostly since I have no one else to talk to, none of my “friend’s” hobbies align with me.

I walk in as Mr. Owens smiles his characteristically big smile, with his big white teeth. His outfits are always button ups, which he seems to have an unlimited supply of in different colors. His hair long for a teacher, which he pushes up and leaves messy. His face is very kind ; he’s a sheep inside and out.

I ignore his smile and just sit in my seat, only 2 minutes have passed, thus I have to endure what I have already 22 more times just for this period to end. All my hope lies on the fact that she is in Latin, I need her. Like an addict having withdrawals, or one shivering in the cold.

My music is playing now, but I stare at Mr. Owens while he speaks. Does Mr. Owens have a wife, is there a woman he loves? What about parents, are his parents alive? He seems young enough, late 20’s or early 30’s for sure. Does Mr. Owens ever feel such misery?

A misery that is only amplified by the recognition of its irrationalness, and how the misery goes against each belief I have ever thought of. The feelings are unbearable, even though they are not prompted by anything, but they just course through my veins. I mean he seems happy enough, do I seem like this to the population? Just want is hidden behind all these domesticated faces I, see?

Are these people even capable of such thoughts, of such intense emotions. There can be no one who loves as hard as I do, and more importantly who hates as much as I do. Humanity is a curse; humans are scum that should be eliminated. But even still, I am the vermin, I am the parasite. I am the worst of them all.