No one cared. I could have my organs ripped from my body, and slowly bleed to death and no one would even think to call an ambulance.
I sat alone in the cold, damp alley. I pondered of death. I blew air and it made a tiny breath cloud, it made me happy. It's ridiculous that something so small made me so happy, when something so big such as life, made me so sad. I didn't know what to do, I needed to get my life back together. I couldn't be this depressed loser that no one liked.
I slammed my fist onto the concrete wall. Pain rushed through my veins. Patrick you're such a fuck up. You're fat. No one will ever love you. You're a disappointment. These thoughts were flowing through my mind. I couldn't take it anymore, I ran.
I sprinted, craning my neck every street. The wind brushing through my hair. My glasses getting fogged up from the large raindrops that fell from the lilac tinted sky. The cold Chicago air filling up my lungs. I stood by the flickering lamp post, trying to catch my breath. I ran all the way to the cork tree. I smiled at my final destination. It was the place I admired the most, the place where it made me the happiest. Pete and I used to play tag under this tree when we were children, he picked his nose and ran around screaming my name. We laid down and held hands and had deep conversations as teenagers under this tree. It was our tree.
I soon realized that my combat boots were getting soaked. I walked back to the alley and every so often I'd catch myself staring at the trees direction. I got back to where my thoughts were the scariest. Something about this place made me have so much fear and something else about this place made me the calmest.
It was almost like a Yin Yang sign, it had the good and the bad, and sometimes it was a mixture of both. I slammed my back onto the hard wall and began to slide down. I returned to a ball of sadness. How could I have fucked up this bad? I'm pathetic, I'm a idiot that couldn't keep his mouth shut. I paced around. New ideas popped up in my head; they were all declined. They were all stupid, just like me. I checked my watch. 12:37 am.
The rain eventually turned to freezing rain as the night grew older. I tried sleeping to knock these thoughts out of my head, and of course it failed, like usual. I was tired of pushing away ideas, so I decided to try one out. I walked, which eventually turned into a slow jog and then to a full on sprint.
I arrived, I knocked on the door. Seconds later it was answered. Pain was soon invited into my face along with blood. I stumbled back.
"Pete," I trailed on.
"You fucked me over," he's voice grew angry. "But I still love you," he whispered and slammed the door shut.
I laid still on his front porch. I don't believe it, he's turned into a pathological liar. The taste of blood filled my mouth and I soon passed out.
