A Cloudy Day (BoyxBoy)

Stormy Skies

Where to begin? Let's see. I guess my life always sucked. I could always count on Mark and his friends to meet in the halls, lunch room, after school, or anywhere they could find me alone. It didn't really matter though.

  On the rare occasions when someone saw they ran. They just ran. Their eyes would widen with fear while looking over my bloody and bruised body. Then they ran. I don't blame them. Not like I would be able to help anyone who was being beat on by four other guys. I couldn't even handle one of them. With my weak arms and only abs being a few ribs that stuck out a bit.
  Once in awhile I wish they were running to find help though. I wish they would ran back with a bunch of kids. I gave up on that though. Who would ever want to help me? They never cared, so why would they now?
  There was one thing that kept me going. Every day after school I would run home to my mom. I sound like a kid when I say that, but I'm being picked on either way.
  My mom is the most wonderful women I know. No matter how bad the day was she found a way  to make me smile. Usually after she helped me with home work we should find something on Netflix. We would watch everything from Courage the cowardly dog to Christmas prince.
  I when I'm lucky she'd buy a huge bag of Cheetos. I came home one time to a coffee table full of Cheeto bags. Flaming, jalapeno, puffs, crunchy, and even the weird cinnamon or white cheddar ones they have during holidays. Doesn't matter I love them all. I might be an addict, but so is my mom.
   Once we our hands were nothing but Cheeto dust , and we were pretty much breathing in cheese. After that she would start dinner. While she cooks I would complain about teachers and test.
   I never complained about bruising though. I never mentioned Mark or Steve. Didn't name the people who ran.
  She had enough to worry about anyway. She was already trying to cram as many jobs as she could while, leaving time for our Netflix rime. Recently she started helping me with cooking.
  I suck at it, but I like it anyway. Loved it actually. Every thing I chopped ,or prepared was nothing compared to what Mom could do with a pan and some cumin. Even Cheetos seemed more notorious, though that doesn't really count.
  Once we were done her and I were no full on Cheetos and picking at the food while cooking to barely touch our plates. We sat and talked with the family. My older brother,Thor usually pointed out every thing I did wrong. Though his cooking wasn't edible.
  Thor would comb back his black hair with his fingers. He would squint those brown eyes while studying my work carefully. He took each bite slowly just to mess with me.  I got used to it after awhile. My mom always just laughed at our bantering.
  That's just an average day here in the Jones' home. It was great.
  Life at school sucked, but mom and the family made it suck even less. Mostly Mom. She was the one person who really supported me. Even through everything I was going to make it through school. No matter how many times I got punched or knocked out. No matter how many test slipped my mind. She believed in me. I wanted to do it for her, and maybe even look into cooking. She inspired me.
  Then something happened. Something bad. It was July 18th. A bridge on route 96 caught on fire and collapsed. The bridge my Mom and Dad were on when droving home from a concert. They didn't make it. It was unbearable.
  I don't think any of my siblings took it as hard as me. I spend the rest of the month in my room alone. Thor slept on the couch to let me be alone.
  No matter how hard I denied it. No matter how much I told myself it was okay. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself she was walking in the door any minute with a bag of Cheetos. I cried.
  I cried long and hard. I kept lying to myself , but I still cried. I hated it.  Maybe because I felt weak for doing it. Maybe because I hate that I couldn't stop. Maybe because I felt like a useless kid. Maybe because my mom wasn't there to hold me while crying. Maybe, just maybe, I was trying to focus on hating my tears so the pain didn't hit me that hard.
  It hit me hard enough though. Hard enough that I rather be pebbled over by every kid at school. I was crushed. I never thought I would feel okay again.
  After the funeral we had to move in with our sister, Maria. She lived all the way in Michigan and didn't visit Florida much. I barely even remember her.
  I wasn't sure home would be the same. Wasn't sure if this new place would even be home. I was scared to see what would happen at home. School though, I already knew what was going to happen. I was already looking forward to being a new favorite punching bag of some jerk.
  I didn't know how I could keep my promise to Mom to finish School. I think that's what worried me the most. On top of it all it seemed like finding Olympus was an easier feat. I had to try anyways though.

  So, I guess so far this is the story of how my life how really started sucking to the point of being gay. So please get yourself some popcorn. Pull up a chair. In fact put your feet up. It's about time you all read about Skylar Jones. Now make yourselves at home, while we all watch him suffer.

It's going to be fine. Fun even. Loads of it.

~🐳