Toxic Us.

: E :

I sat down on the couch, rifling through the tarnished paper’s residing in the depths of my deprived of a washer backpack. A crisp envelope weighed on top of my fingers. It was dainty compared to my own which felt like a paper weight. Tearing straight down the left side, the paper’s slid out with ease. Clasping the ruled papers in my hand, I opened them my eyes consuming each word.

_

 Life is shit, living is shit.

And I’m sorry whoever poor bastard got this, since your basically gonna feel pretty fucked up tomorrow, so sorry about that one.

There is not acceptance anymore.

People are petrified to think any social claimed ‘wrong thoughts’. But they aren’t wrong unless you find them wrong. Like death. It’s wrong when you think of it consistently. It’s not like you can force it leave your head. It’s just stuck in the altering spin cycle. It’s kind of like when my mother does washing, she has OCD. She washes things thirty times before they’re considered clean so when our washing machine rings through the house with its churning and tumbling it’s like my head.

I don’t have voices.

No one has internal voices as far as I’m concerned.

It’s just different forms of yourself hidden behind people we’ve seen walking by you on the street. It’s almost like mind latches on to the sole sound of each rut and syllable that voice has, then at the right moment they use it against you. To make you feel crazy.

I’m not crazy.

I’m not depressed.

I don’t want to die, really.

I’ve made mistakes that I can’t take back but I don’t resent any of them.

I’m just sick of not being notice or understood.

I can never be understood. No one would take the time to anyone and I’m over caring now, since caring mean’s you’ve grown to attached to the dream and now I can’t be attached to anything.

I think about now the person who’s reading this will close this paper and want to cry themselves to sleep. It gets worse.

People don’t even suspect it.

I do.

But they can’t see when they talk to me all I really want to do is leave.

And if leaving means dying then I guess that’s good enough for me.

So after reading this I will be dead.

You can’t save me.

I don’t deserved to be saved and don’t want too.

Curtis James you know him probably, right?

Everyone does, well I’m going make him seem like nothing.

So when he does decided to finally die, no one will notice.

Except you of course, since the guy is about as friendless as I am. He has two.

A girl.

She’s pretty in a idiosyncratic way.

If you don’t know what the means it’s basically distinctive.

She has nice eyes, big gray ones.

They suit her.

Then there’s a guy.

He’s always got this forlorn look.

Both of the ones who seem to be sitting with him choose to ignore it.

I wonder why.

But I doubt they’ll miss the Curtis much.

And I’m sure as hell no one will miss me.

Is it sad that I haven’t had alot of first? I’ve never been kissed let alone had sex. I haven’t even ridden in my Mom’s car without her or my baby sister there. I’ve never been free. So it is a really shitty life I’ve had.

Can you blame me for it?

So sorry for ruining the secret.

But I’m dead.

Marcus Optrica

 _

I felt tears forming.

That girl was me and that boy was Mike.

Then there was Curtis.

But who was Marcus, the boy dead somewhere that was waiting to be discovered by some joggers the next morning, swinging from a tree he used to climb as a kid.

He knew so much and he chose to die.

I hadn’t met him, or heard of him.

But he knew me, us.

So I cried for that, that someone could no us and we could never know them.

Kevin held me tight and didn’t ask what was wrong, he lead me up the stairs and ended up carrying me into my room. He kissed me just on my hairline and lay there with me letting me use his shirt as my own personal tissue. I screamed into his chest.

I knew that the letter I read could have just as easily have been Curtis’s.

And I wasn’t ready to let him go yet.

I told Kevin to dial is number.

I said it over and over again watching Kevin press the call button again and again but he never picked up.

  “The letter, read it” I mumbled into his shirt.

He pulled away, and I turned to the ceiling looking at the cracks from the withering of time. I lay like that, my hair splayed over my white pillows. Tears rolling down my cheeks while I breathed in and out over and over again. I kept telling myself to breath, I had to. I was afraid if I didn’t that I wouldn’t.

Kevin came back a half an hour later.

I saw his shadow first, then is face came into the light. He was letting out shaky breaths.

“Is it him?”

“No” He answered, climbing onto the vacant space of bed and looking at the ceiling.

“Do you know who it is?” I asked, tears falling harder soaking my skin.

“Yes” I looked at him, his face placid.

“Don’t tell me”

“I won’t”

Our mother entered the house with pizza a few minutes later, we both could smell the grease and cheese. We looked at each other unmoving.

We would have run normally, since pizza was something my body could seem to process.

 But this wasn’t normal.