pennylane. - michael clifford

michael.

"michael why do you think you feel this way?" anders asked.

"i dont know." i melancholy spoke.

"have you ever thought about, just taking deep breaths, for you're anger?"

she pressed on.

"i don't know."

"have you been taking you're medication?" getting worked up.

"when i feel like it." i stated.

i honestly believed that i was okay.

i didn't feel any different than a week ago, or a few hours.

i don't quite understand why everyone seems to think that i'm a maniac, who can't control his moods.

i can.

i mean, i'd like to think i can.

"michael, you need to take your medicine, those pills, will help you're case." she pondered.

scowling i hissed back,

"i don't need it, i'm perfectly capable of handling myself in situations."

"michael pl-."

"ms.anders, i get that you're a therapist, and people pay you to 'pretend' to care, but in all honesty, please stop trying. look at me, i've stopped trying a long while already."

shrugging after.

"the whole point of this session, michael is to help you find a reason to keep trying. i know it seems that no one gives a crap right now, but i'm not done with you yet."

"bu-" cutting me off she spoke,

"you are not trash dear, you are not a disposable piece of paper drifting off to places just wandering with no clue where to go, i know i'm your therapist, but i'm also a person, and do you honestly think i would want another person to feel like the way you do?"

"michael, i don't think you quite get it, you have people in you're life that want you to be better, and we are trying are best. its you that just won't look up and see past the grey-"

working courage and a slight hint of defeat with myself,

"ms.anders, you are the one that won't get it. do you honestly believe i am happy with who i am? i'm completely disgusted with who i am, and believe me i have tried harder than no one will ever encounter. my trying was just never good enough."

"i'm pretty screwed up all around, give up, nothing will help me."

sighing i stood up and exited the room.

anger suddenly turned into emptiness.

i'd rather be angry than empty.

you can feel when you're angry,

the blood rushing through, the pain in you're chest from the stress,

it sounds terrible, believe me it is.

but empty, thats when you know you can't go back to feeling the blood,

you're not sad, or happy, or confused, or mad.

you're empty,

numb.

i'd take anything except for empty.

grabbing my phone out of my pocket i made a quick text to my mom, typing i would just walk home.

as i strolled along the pathway, i spotted a girl lying on the road, a car rushing towards her.

i ran and practically lunged towards her racing away from the car, to the sidewalk.

hearing a light grunt, the girl glared at me and she finally spoke,

"why did you push me away?"

is she serious? that car would have hit her, blunt force trauma, death, no pulse-

wait.

her voice it sounds so familiar.

glancing upwards, the sleepy eyed frame shot daggers,

"pennylane?" i whispered out of breath.

"how do you know my name?" she spoke.

"ms.anders."

that was all i needed to say, before her eyes paled and her feet skidded away from me.

"you know you didn't say thank you!"

i shouted exasperated.

yelling back she spoke,

"i refuse, can't you see, i wanted to get hit!"

pennylane disappeared through the streets.

-

a/n

pennylane's being naughty af

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