Lucas ✔️

One

Each morning begins the same as the last: I open my eyes, I close them again, I wish I was still asleep. I open them again, I let the tears escape, I wish for the mornings of yesteryear. My wishes for yesteryear always fall onto deaf ears and each morning I awake, or each night I sleep, I am more alone than the last. 

A heavy sigh left my lips and small tears slid onto my pillow as I rolled over and grabbed my phone. The time flashed brightly alongside notifications of missed messages: Janie wanted to know if I was coming to school; Janie wanted to know if I was alive; Janie wanted to catch up; Cole wanted to know if I was alive; 14:34 pm.

I dropped the phone onto the floor and rolled onto my back again. I didn't even have the energy to sigh anymore. Sunlight shone brightly into the room, ruining the depressive atmosphere I had shrouded myself in. I resigned to the fact that my day had officially started and rolled out of bed, leaving the bedsheets crumpled where they were. I would be in bed in a few hours anyway.

Life outside of the house seemed like a pain, but I had a message from Janie saying she would meet me at the local coffee shop when she finished her after-school job. Apparently, I had school work that needed to be done. Who knew skipping school for two months would make you fall behind? I knew he would be pissed, but he wasn't here to complain about it, so tough luck.

I took my time getting ready, knowing Janie wouldn't be there until five o'clock. Even with my slow, zombie-like movements and inability to wear anything other than day-old jeans and sweaters, I still managed to be ready by four. I wrapped myself up tightly, bundled in my warm winter layers and laced boots, and headed out into the blasting cold.

The snow had eased up overnight but the chill still froze the air and ice lined the paths. My walk was slow; careful steps hindered by the ghouls that stuck to my clothing. A large ghoul floated by and decided to join the group of smaller ghouls that hung from my scarf. The newer ones looked like little bubbles of black smoke that could disappear with a wave of my hand. The large one was more defined than the others, its ghostly black form more refined and less smoky. The large one perched itself on the end of my scarf, trying its damnedest to choke me.

I let out a small cough as my scarf tightened from its weight, before hitting it hard to dislodge it from the material. I grumbled angrily to myself as I trudged along, cursing the ghouls that followed me, and Janie for making me leave the house. I guess I couldn't hate her too much, as Janie and Cole were the only two who tried to keep in touch after he passed.

I shook my head roughly to stop thinking about him, instead focussing on the path ahead. The walk to the coffee shop wasn't long, only five blocks from my house. Halfway to the coffee shop lies a small cluster of stores, the type of places you visit when it's 11 pm at night and you want a snack or you ran out of milk at are willing to pay six dollars for one litre. Pushed to the side of these, slightly detached, is a pub that looks like it's constantly shrouded in darkness no matter the time of day.

Loud live music from aspiring rock bands plays loud at night and during the day bikers stand outside and rev their engines. He always visited that pub when he had a moment to himself, and he loved the place, but I could only feel resentment for it now. I suppose I was deflecting my own emotions (but there's no way I would ever admit that out loud). If he hadn't gone to the pub maybe he would still be here.

I kicked a pebble angrily, glaring at the pub door as though I could make it spontaneously combust from across the road. The door opened and I averted my gaze quickly, not wanting to glare at some tough biker man who would consequently come and beat me up. I wrapped my jacket around me tighter and continued my walk, trying not to stare at the people when they stepped out.

They weren't tough, biker guys like I had imagined. Instead, they were drop-dead gorgeous. The kind of people you expected to see in Hollywood or on Instagram body shaming you; perfect figures, perfect skin, perfect teeth. In comparison, I felt like a pale, short gremlin who had just rolled out of bed. The fact that I had just rolled out of bed didn't really matter—it was the fact that they looked like they had rolled out of marble moulds into a bath of gold.