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[art: ärt: noun : the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power. ]
||F R A N C O||
I felt sweat dripping down my forehead, with every punch I threw. I breathed heavily, trying to calm myself down.
"You're still punching that darn thing?" I turned around seeing Matias, leaning against the doorway his arms crossed.
"Yeah," I grunted, going back to the punching bag.
"You're going to fucking kill yourself," He yelled walking towards me, shaking my shoulders, making my hair flop forward and back. "You've been doing this since morning, Franco!" He walked out abruptly, shaking his head, leaving me in my thoughts.
The truth was that the punching bag was a way of letting everything out, without saying it. All the anger, stress, sadness, and emptiness.
I decided to stop, and go downstairs. I walked into the kitchen, and to the fridge. I hadn't had a proper meal since yesterday's lunch. I grabbed some instant noodles and put them into a pot, on the stove to cook.
Lyons walked in, with his football gear. He threw the football around lazily, before resting his arm onto the counter, looking at me.
"Want to come to my game tonight?" He said, grabbing an instant noodles pack for himself as well. "I know how much you loved it, before."
Lyons and I used to be on the football team together. He was right. I did love it, but I started losing focus during games. My head was anywhere, but the field. I soon started to hate the game. I didn't like it anymore. I mean, what was the point of it?
The football team soon decided that I was an enemy. That I didn't deserve being on the team. It was a group decision for me to leave. Lyons voted for me to leave, as well. He always put himself, and football before anyone else. I didn't really care. So, I let them take me off the team.
I guess it's kind of funny because you realize who's really your friend and who's not. In my case, no one was.
"I never loved football." I lied, I just didn't want to go to his stupid game, watching the same team doing better off without me.
I didn't want that. I don't want people to be better off without me, but you can't fight the inevitable truth. Everyone would be better off if I just fucking left.
"I've got shit to do." I said, grabbing my now cooked noodles, and bringing them to the table.
"Well, don't say I didn't ask you." He snapped, walking off into the foyer and out the front door.
Lyons and I were once like peanut butter and jelly; where one went, the other followed. We'd always hang out at school, and he'd introduce me to his friends.
