Creative Writing Collection

Arron Bennett sketch

 People have seen me, known me. I don't know them personally, but I can still describe them. There are the few people who you occasionally have awkward glances to, when you suddenly lock eyes for a moment, then look away. Then there are the proud, who sneer and scoff in judgement. I hate both of these kinds of people. I'm 'that guy.' The ones parents pull their kids away from, who intellectuals and smarty's call problems. Unfortunately, they're right — to some extent.

       I'm a problem because I have problems bigger than myself. I cause problems because other problems lead be to do things I don't want to do, but must. I admit it: I'm a problematic mess that no mathematician can solve. Too many missing variables, and no value is ever a constant. I don't smoke, don't drink, don't do any kinds of drugs; that takes money out of important things.

       My dad died in a pedestrian-car-collision when I was twelve. He was the pedestrian. He wasn't a bad man. He just got himself in a very bad situation. Kind of like me, I guess. Except the bed situation I'm in does make me a bad man. Since his death, mom worked all the time and was rarely ever home. She left my little brother with a friend, who eventually moved in with us and helped pay rent. I went to high school until I turned sixteen, where I then dropped out to begin working.