eternity.

to be from broken glass

tw: homophobic, xenophobic & transphobic language, death

You're sure your mother is pissing on your grave, if you get one. Maybe Hannah scrapped enough to get you cremated for an urn. Probably not, though. College is damn expensive and she's the first one in the family to do anything past high school. God knows you did jack. You also, y'know, did a Jack.

Weird experience, you've got to say, not completely unpleasant, but you'd rather not. Actually, the entire idea of sex is repulsive right now, though you can't imagine why.

Again, weird. Like, is this the rest of eternity? Just sitting here, in this void? At least you aren't hungry, you think you might've died hungry and hungover from something while high on something or other. Fucking Greg Ambulton. What a dickhead. This is all his fault.

That fuck is your scapegoat for now.

Well. To be fair it was actually his fault, because you were going to sleep the night (read: your hangover) off, but no.

Though it doesn't matter much, you reckon. Being dead and all, you don't think much matters right about now. So, yeah. Time is infeasible and you're floating in black. Everything is still peace.

Until, of course, it isn't. And that's a shocker, because the world is too bright and loud and too fucking alive for your taste. You'd rather it fizzles so you can go back. At least you're warm. At least.

Everything is spinning and blurry and you can't do anything. There are people sputtering around you, whispering in whiny voices. You tell them to shut up, but nobody can hear you. Hell, you can barely hear yourself.

It sounds like baby-babble, almost. Hah.

Wait.

Something claws up your that. It might be bile, so you spit it, and it's awful and bitter and― you're crying.

You don't cry, is the thing. Monds don't cry. You haven't cried since you were, Jesus, eight or something shit. Putting you at―something. Whatever. You were never all that smart. Kind of a dumbass, actually. Hannah was the smart one. Always was. Shithead, you think fondly.

She was gold where you were dirt brown. And you loved her for it. She was going to be something wonderful, even if you aren't anything at all. Dirt blondes, both of you, except her eyes were this shiny blue where yours were this awful mud color. You want to see your eyes now. Want to see if you've changed, if you're dreaming you something awful.

It makes your insides twist black.

You wonder if anyone's found out about the skeletons under your closet. About the secrets in your crooked floorboards. You hope it was your mother, she deserves something awful.

Maybe you're just going crazy.

Makes sense, your dear old dad spread his disease to you or someone shit. You like kissing boys after all. That's some shit you got from him. Fucking weirdo. You'll leave that fucking thought elsewhere. Throw it in that closet, dig up. The floorboards with all your secrets have one more added, to your shame.

You'll cry it out.

_

Time passes in awkward phases. You gain your sight in awkward phases, along with your mobility. Your cognition is wonky around the edges, and you kind of flit between being here and floating.

You have a mother here, you have a mother and a father and a big brother and a big sister and their names are kaasan and tousan and Tenko and Hana. You wonder if there's some kind of awful irony in being born the youngest.