IDK How To Make Good Titles But This Sure Will Be Memorable

DEvito is god

      My alarm blares in the distance. It's the third time this morning it went off, the second time since I threw it across the room and the first since I decided that death may be a preferable option to the screeching emitting from my phone. The harder I cling to my last ounce of sleep, the further it slips away. After a few more minutes of desperately trying to ignore the fact that life exists outside of my room, I take the path of least resistance and get up out of bed.  

       I've left my closet open the night before, and from the mirror inside I stare at myself, or more accurately, the FBI agent that I'm convinced has planted a camera in my mirror.

    That's right fucker. I'm on to you.

    Today is a cliche of itself. The last day of my sophomore year. Oof. The wind is taken out of me as I contemplate the passing of time, the futility of life, and the utter meaninglessness of existence until I realize that I'm getting way too emo and need to tone it down quite a bit.

      I close my blinds, leaving me in partial darkness, and dress in whatever I touch first as I reach into my drawer. I turn the light on afterward to scrutinize how awful I look, and then say fuck it. I walk down without changing and without looking back. Everybody hates me anyway, who am I gonna impress?

      I grab my binder from the kitchen table where I left it. Or did I? I'm onto you, mole people living in my walls. I had stayed up late working on an assignment and forgotten it in my rush to go to sleep. In my binder, I have everything important to me. In the front pocket, I have the dozens of report cards I've accumulated over the years stacked as motivation. I have stickers plastered about it with quotes from vines I love. Inside contains all of my school work, my pride and joy, and I keep one of my dividers forever empty to signify the gaping hole where my heart should be and the emptiness I feel in my soul. It is truly the most valuable thing I own and even thinking that makes me hate myself.

      Screw it, I don't have time for a mental breakdown, I might be late for school. I eat breakfast, a hearty meal of slightly burnt toast and depression, and walk to school.

      I bask in the sunlight of the morning, letting it warm my skin and clear my mind before entering a box of fluorescent lighting and broken dreams for the next 8 hours of my life.

     I walk into school, T-posing to flex and assert dominance on these mortals. I receive salutes from my fellow gamers, scowls from what I can only assume are undercover furries, and stares from those who are incapable of comprehending the sheer beauty of my actions. Supreme wearing normies shoot daggers from their eyes, but I deflect them through sheer will. My troops gather, orange justicing vigorously, part of our intimidation tactics, but the Chads seem to multiply before our eyes. We race forward, tendies in hand, ready to kill them like we will kill the queen of England (January 5th, 2019 never forget), but there are too many. In the midst of battle, just as the tides begin to turn against us, Ben Shapiro appears. The libtards screech as they are burnt by his godly glow. We hear the piercing sound of clapping, only twice, and the bellowing shriek of "MEME REVIEW" as our reinforcements arrive. The Instagram normies flee, and the battle is won.

      I snap out of the daydream, dazed from the sheer awesomeness, and make my way to my locker. I shove my bag in haphazardly and lean against the wall.

    One more day. Thank Danny DeVito, the only god I believe in.