Night Changes

A Winter's Night

It was a cold night, a very gentle breeze on the midnight sky. The middle of winter, and snow falling gently upon the frostbitten grass, the road glazed with ice. The moon was raised high above, luminescent in white, the sky a distinct contrast so black, the absent of color was felt heavily. The night was so silent, a weight upon a young man’s chest, as he walked along the street. His mind was a disturbing force of nature. His sobs were practically ripping through the silence. Tearing through the peaceful winter night, his cries could be heard, but then suddenly he would be quiet once more. A thought kept hitting him over and over again.

He knew it too. He knew it was coming, and yet he had hoped. His naivety continued stabbing him in the back, laughing at him all the way.

Snow lay upon his crescent eyelashes, his nose bright red, and his entire face burning from the cold. All he had time to throw on was a sweater and hat, still in his pajama buttons and some worn boots from two years ago. A duffel bag thrown over his shoulder and his feet just taking him to a place he wasn’t even certain of yet. Treading the light dusting of snow it felt as if he was wading through sludge. His feet were slowly trudging along. His body felt heavy, weighted by the entirety of the situation that was thrust upon him not even an hour ago.

It was almost as if he wasn’t real. That none of this could be real. He could feel the wind in his bones, making his walk feel even longer than what it was, all of his joints aching. He felt 100 years old. The tears and dripping snot were frozen. The wind began to pick up a little, as another wave of sobs hit him.

He felt he could walk no longer; he dropped to the ground beside a tree. Looking around, he had no clue where he was, but it looked to be a park of some sort. The street lay beside the edge of where he was, a streetlamp casting a glow upon the frozen world.

Get the fuck out of my house.

It was like a whisper on the night. The words ricocheted through his body, causing the shivers wracking his frame. He curled up around himself more. He couldn’t breathe, the cold night air stealing his breath away. As soon as he felt he couldn’t cry anymore, another sob would rip itself from his chest. It was a week to Christmas. He was going to come out after Christmas, so everybody was going to be in high spirits.

But his mother found his phone first.

It’s disgusting.

You couldn’t just be normal.

He tried. He tried so hard. But every day it felt wrong, every smile felt fake, every laugh felt forced, it just felt like he was dead inside. He didn’t feel alive anymore. But he was going to keep holding it in. Until after Christmas, then he was going to sit them down, look them in the eye and tell them the truth.

I’m gay.

But it didn’t work out like that.

And his mother saw the texts he sent the college student he met last weekend at the party. Flirtatious texts that meant nothing in the end.

But now here he is, his entire body is empty and his soul is shattered into tiny pieces, left behind in his room.

They only gave him three minutes to pack, before his father was there and they locked eyes for the first time that night and the last time for forever.

Get the fuck out of my house.

He didn’t think it would happen to him.

But it did.

He sat by the tree, the snow gathering around him, three weeks till Christmas. He’s probably going to die out here.

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