My name is Alexander, and I have a problem.
I know that’s what most teenagers say, but I’m serious – I have a problem.
“Fuck yeah you do,” I groaned, sitting up. My bright work lamp was frying the back of my neck. Grimacing, I wiped away the sweat there, feeling a slight sting. “A sunburn? Really?” I couldn’t help but whine.
Yes, I’m pale as shit. But that’s not the biggest thing.
I waited as my eyes slowly adjusted to the light – slowly, because of the pounding headache that was blooming in my brain. I reached out to the bottle of Advil I always kept handy, popping in four. You’ll give yourself an ulcer at this rate. I hesitated, debating on what was worse, a migraine or an ulcer. Screw it, ulcer it is. At least the ulcer isn’t here now. I shrugged, chugging down some water to wash down the already-dissolving pills.
Yes. I get terrible headaches. Very terrible ones.
They only come after the visions, though.
Go ahead, laugh all you like. No one had a problem laughing when I was growing up. “Vision Boy” “Rain Man” “Vampire” “Freak”.
My personal favorite, though, was “Grape Cool-Aid.”
It fit pretty well, probably because my eyes are purple.
I leaned back in the chair, begging for the throbbing to subside in my skull.
Like I said, go ahead and laugh. I won’t stop you. I have visions. Or “visions”, as my psychiatrist liked to say. He said it’s all in my head, that I actually can’t see the past and future. He said that people aren’t just masks to hide their true nature, their true face, behind.
Then I mentioned to him that I knew he was having an affair and that I knew he felt the most guilty about it because he wasn’t spending enough time with his son.
Needless to say, I now need a new psychiatrist. At least this one didn’t try to sue me.
I would almost say, besides my looks, that I was a normal guy. You know, besides the schizophrenia. “Seeing things that aren’t there”, “hearing voices and people” yada yada. Schizophrenia. A schizo who doesn’t spend enough time in the sun and has Grape Cool-Aid eyes.
Who wouldn’t think I was normal?
“Hey Alexander,” Jessica drawled out, popping her gum.
I nodded bluntly. “Jessica.”
I know, I know. Maybe I should make some friends? Take a sip of the “social life”? Well, I would. It doesn’t help that under Jessica’s pretty face lies, well, lies.
Damn, under all those pretty looks she sure is ugly.
She pouted and walked away, swinging her hips, obviously trying to be seductive. Sorry, you just aren’t my type, I thought grimly. Mostly because I’m not yours.
I’m not trying to say anything here. Maybe the preppy, cheerleader-type actually likes the Goth boy look. I’m not trying intentionally to be Goth, I promise. My eyes are the real deal – some genetic defect. Hopefully it isn’t one that kills me. Or, maybe, hopefully, it is.
I watched her as she walked away, again fighting down the feeling of sickness at what I could see. What I can see and can’t say.
She was a beautiful girl – on the outside.
You know how people say to get to know people before your judge them? I don’t even need to get to know them. I can just…see. I can see what really lies underneath their false exterior. Kinda sucks. Every person I look at seems to have their regular face super-imposed over something else, something uglier and darker.
Jessica’s real face, for instance, was covered with all of her sins. They looked like scars, but I could read them. It seemed like her entire face was about to fall off, attached by a few pieces of rotten flesh. Her mouth was hanging open in a gaping grin and her sinister eyes were shriveled and dark. Maggots clawed around in open wounds in her face, nibbling here and there like they had a free, five-star meal.
Gag-worthy, yes? Welcome to my schizophrenia.
I glanced around the store, taking in the tinkling music and bright, florescent lights. People swarmed everywhere, bodies swerving and swiveling past each other, barely minding everyone they saw. They didn’t see their pasts and misdeeds on their faces like brands. They didn’t see the rotting corpses under the skin. They saw people – they saw nothing but regularity and normal, everyday life.
They saw nothing of my world: a world I walked alone.
Weird, I thought he said the anti-depressants should be stronger. Not to mention the anti-psychotics.
I watched the world pass me by, seeing me as just another person. I wished, more than anything, I could be just like them and not have to live alone.
I watched Jessica. She glanced over at me flirtatiously, smiling up at me through her eyelashes. I saw, clear as day, what she was thinking.
Everyone else saw it as flirtation. I saw that she wanted a guy in her life who would actually love and care about her. She was desperately lonely and hurting. Her father had left her and her family when she was young, so she had a few daddy issues. She had OCD and loved everything to be perfect – a big reason she thrived working here. She was hoping that she could find a guy who was different, who was better, who cared about her as much as she cared about them. She never could express herself, though. She’d bring home a guy, have some wild sex, and they’d quickly break up because she didn’t have the courage to bring it to the next level.
I sighed, looking back down to my work, not wanting to see the disappointment on her face. I’m not that guy, Jessica.
The sound of the city swelled around me, like a river of pure noise. Not to mention people did too – swell around me, I mean. I kept my head down and my hands in my jacket pockets, not wanting to read any more faces. The chilly, late-autumn air cut through me like a white-hot knife, and I dug my hands into my pockets that much deeper. I hate winter.
More people on average commit suicide on a Wednesday in December or January than any other day or time. I guess it’s the alone feeling. I wouldn’t know. I’m always alone…even though, sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.
Schizophrenia, remember? Makes you see things that aren’t there, sometimes people. The visions I have fall under that explanation too. Visions, suppressed memories, all that jazz.
I plugged my headphones into my ears, numbly turning the music up. It seemed to ward off the chill, even though the lyrics cut straight to my soul. Simon and Garfunkel, why must you have a song that fits my situation? “I am a rock, I am an island!” Fuck that. If I’m an island, then I must be Hawaii because I’m…shit. Sinking. I think Hawaii is sinking.
I clicked the fast forward button, moving on to the next song. Some sort of screamo, head-bangy music blasted to my eardrums and I set my feet quickly to the tempo.
Home was kind of a nice word for it. “Obviously lived-in space” was better.
There were boxes everywhere, mostly with things still in them.
It felt good to move out of Dad’s. It felt better to be out here.
I took my prescription medication for that time and sat down in front of the TV, watching football and trying my best to ignore the true nature behind the player’s faces. No one would believe me when I said that most of those guys were thugs and, when I was right, they assumed I had something to do with it. I just kept my mouth shut. “Watch your tongue, I’ll have it cut from your mouth.”
The night dragged by. I felt groggy and a little sick, the medicine in me trying its best to work. I didn’t feel any different mentally, which is never a good sign. At least, that’s what the doctor said. I don’t know, I’ve never felt any different.
The crowd roared as one team scored a touchdown. I raised my glass of water at the TV. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I woke up the next morning with no headache. Good.
Speak of the Devil, though.
My back arched in pain and a faint croak left my mouth before everything changed.
Fuck! No! I have to get to school!
The scene before me unfolded. A woman was walking with her child – the same woman from the vision before. I frowned. That was weird. My visions were usually unconnected. The kid, of course, was me.
“Mommy, why are the birds dead?”
She glanced down at her kid absently. “They aren’t, Alex.” She looked around for a dead bird.
He glowered at her, his chubby face frowning. God damn I was a fat little bastard. “No, mommy! The ones in the sky!”
She glanced up, frightened, then laughed, a chittering, nervous sound. “Alex, sweetie, there aren’t any birds.”
He stamped his foot. “Mommy! Stop it! They’re scaring me.” He looked up at the sky, his anger melting into fear.
The woman clenched her jaw, clearly fighting back tears. “You need to stop this, Alexander. The birds aren’t real. Neither was the skeleton man who was under your bed.”
Little me watched her in confusion. “Why are you so scared, Mommy? Why do you think there’s something wrong with me? Why do you think I need to see someone? Why do you think this is Daddy’s fault? Why do you –“
The woman’s eyes flared, fear and anger flitting over her features. “Stop this! We are going home.” She grabbed the kid’s arm, dragging him along.
Then, he looked right at me. “Help me! Please!” He screamed.
I sat up, gasping for air. “Wow, that was a doozy,” I whispered, voice ragged. I pulled myself to my feet, staggering to the bathroom and taking in my appearance. I looked like shit, and that’s saying something. I mean, I wasn’t bad looking. I mean, I get my fair share of lady attention – usually not returned. But right now, I looked like shit. Shitty shit. My eyes were sunken into my face, which had no color – instead of just lacking color, it actually had grey cheeks. I had almost blue shadows under my eyes. My jaw was covered in a small forest of stubble and my hair was greasy and going every which way. I looked like death warmed over and felt like it, too. I stumbled, woozy, as my headache increased in its intensity. Fuckity fuck. Fuck! I turned and puked into the toilet, throwing up the little I had had to eat. Fuckin’ hell. Shit. Fuck. Shit. God dammit.
I wandered into the kitchen and took my medication, eating some dry, unbuttered toast. Then I grabbed my barely finished and barely passable work and made my way to school.
It passed slowly. Who doesn’t think lectures pass slowly? Every word echoed around in my mind and I tried my best to just keep my head down and not attract attention. To be honest, I don’t even know what I was doing here. Nineteen years old and trying to get a life for myself, I guess. I don’t have much choice. Eat or be eaten.
I turned in my shambled excuses for work and hauled butt as fast as my still-blinding headache would let me.
“Hey bro! You okay? You look sick.” Tanner, my roommate, walked in to the room, where I was sitting and watching the TV again. At least commercials didn’t have faces, even though that didn’t mean they didn’t lie.
I turned my head to him, nodding. “Hey Tanner. I feel like shit.” I took a swig of water, trying to wash the weird flavor out of my mouth. Tanner said something nice, like, “I hope you get better!” or “Aw, sucks man.” I wasn’t paying attention. I knew it wasn’t true. I already knew he didn’t care about me or who I was. He only cared about Tanner and a nice piece of ass. I mean, I care about a nice piece of ass, especially if it’s real ass. But Tanner was one of those golden guys. He had blonde hair like a surfer and glowing tan skin. He was a lady killer and it was obvious. He didn’t really care about his freak roommate. That much was also obvious.
I heard him clinking around in the kitchen, then his door shutting. He was only here once or twice a week, probably to sleep off hangovers or kill time.
I stood, shutting off the TV. Finishing my water, I made my way to my room, my dull headache behind my eyes making light painful. I snapped on my desk lamp, flinching away and hissing. I know. Teenagers nowadays hiss at light. Blame Stephanie Meyer.
I pulled my sketchbook out and, hesitating, flipped it to a blank page.
This book was my life. My one pride and joy. I could draw or write anything I wanted in it and it wouldn’t be touched.
I titled my new poem Blank.
Paper that’s white
Plus black pen
Equals a change
The paper is now black and white.
White souls
Plus black sins
Equals what?
A grey soul?
A perfect mix?
No
There is evil in all of us
That time can never fix
What? Poetry rhymes.
I settled for putting my headphones in and sketching. Music floated through my mind, pushing my brain this way and that. Slowly, an image took shape. I studied it for a minute before pushing it away.
It was the face of my father, as a child. A picture that any sane person would lock me away for.
His face was smiling at me, but I had made it look like it did then. It had his kind eyes, his smile lines, his wonderful designs. It was him.
With him underneath. The real him.
Not something anyone wants to see. Especially his three year old son.
That’s when everything started to change.
A/N: Listen to the song on the side. It fits Alexander's personality and situation like a lost puzzle piece. :) Vote and comment for me! ;)