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Chapter 2:What?

Rubbing my eyes, I tired to recall the dream. That girl, I have to try to remember her, although dreams are easily forgotten. Quickly as I could, I began working on the sketch etched on the white eight and eleven and a half and full in as much as possible. Quickly as my right hand can move, I drew in the frilly dress, the polished shoes, the gloved hands and the bunny ears of hair. The work was done, but all that’s left are her facial features. I was a crap artist for eyes. Only the left eye seem to look perfect, it’s the right I have problems with, usually being ended up covered by hair; which people seem to call it ‘emo.’ I decided to leave her face alone, taken I fear of losing the lines that make up her face. I can never draw realism, even if my life depended on it. Instead, I draw my stuff very cartoon-y. Well, not that cartoon-y, but along the lines of ‘anime’-ish. Another flaw in me is I can’t draw male figures. Maybe that’s because I get a bit squeamish then it comes to ‘down there’ and I don’t want my parent to think I’m very very strange, even though I’m beyond storage in my dictionary.

The corner of my computer screen read 1:30 PM in white, contrasted by the blue background. I looked around my computer table to spy an half empty, half full bag of salt and vinegar flavored chips, several crippled up napkin piled in the little lone corner of dust, a wireless optical computer mouse that no longer works when I need it to work most, a plate nesting two egg rolls, one with a chunk out of it, no wait – scratch that – nesting one egg roll, a black covered notebook propped open to a page filled with pencil graphite to the very last line and a blue folder. That dreaded blue folder that I hate with passion, well, not that much passion, but I do hate it so. The hideous folder was a symbol of my failure in life, my downfall in reality, my shame to my unnamed name.

I took the folder with a sigh and opened it to see papers thrown in there with printed symbols of math and typos. It was homework for this ‘tutoring’ place. I really don’t think I deserve this ‘tutor,’ taken that this tutor doesn’t tutor at all and just gives out papers and finishing it in two hours worth of time. A two hour of waste I would say. I don’t even need this ‘tutor.’ The only shame I see in this is that’s I’m this so-called ‘straight A student’ with a GPA of over 3.0. Such a shame it is to me. It’s really hard to mention this to any of my classmates, so I don’t. But still, it held a bruise in my heart to know a so-called ‘smart’ student is in need of help along with some 1.0 or lower students. (Sorry, no offence.) I began to pick up by black mechanical pencil to write down some number and symbols and whatnot corrections on my paper until my mind wandered off.

Still, that dream felt so real. I’m always having my heads in the clouds, always thinking about the future, always fantasying what world I could’ve lived in, always thinking thinking thinking. I almost never got the job done. Like this one fan fiction about a favorite game character of mine I started in sixth grade, never got to finished it. There’s a huge three year gap between the last update and now. Then there are those sketches I drew long ago. Like a month long ago. I never got through scanning them and coloring them and such. But then again, my artwork is not being praised and no one is on the edge of their seat to see them, so why the rush? There’s also this math problem, in front of me so, there’s another point.

My pencil went on doing its work, writing down numbers and such, leaving behind a trail of graphite. This one problem I got trapped in. It involves several square roots and I hate square roots. Searching around the clustered table, I moved the papers, chip bags, glass cups, note books and egg rolls to find that scientific calculator. No black calculator was found, so maybe I left it in my back pack. Spinning around on my spinning chair, something from behind gave me such a fright. A huge menacing “BOO!” sounded out as my heart nearly jumped out of its place, only to have a jiffy later notice it was my little sister that scared the living crap out of me as I flailed and screamed in angrier.

I jumped off the black tattered chair like a tiger pouncing to its prey as my sister ran like a scared rabbit, giggling with her success of jolting me. I turned the corner after I fled out the door, hitting the side of my pelvis on the knob as I turned, racing at full speed at that giggling child. She darted out the front door, I stopped in my tracks.

“Come on brother! Come out already!” she said with much cheer and taunt in her jolly words. She stood there in the bright sunlight, smiling on and waiting for me to join in. I stood there behind the screen door, in the shadows like a vampire. She stood there with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen as I send out the word “La-tar!” and walked back to my messy room.

A bunk bed lied there on the side of the wall, the bottom wrapped in a bed sheet with monsters from a popular show many years ago, and an unfolded blue heavy fake-fur blanket. One pillow was cast in a flowery pillow case, the other naked white. My plush penguin, Mr. Pillows, lay there, sleeping blanket less as I walked back to my computer and sat myself down, continuing this ‘tutor’ crap. Several seconds in and I was already bored. Minimizing down the widow with the little person on the corner, I double clicked on the music player and waited for the song list to load. Hitting the left button of the mouse with a click, the voiceless music played, strumming beats and sounds. I still don’t understand. My so-called ‘friend’ said this type of music is ‘emo’ music. I hear nothing ‘emo’ about it. No cries of death, no want of suicide, no words of loneliness. Heck, there’s no vocal in that music, but what is it that he hears and I can’t? I ‘l never find out.

We’re just too different to be friends, but heck, we are friends. I find it strange that we ‘have the same mind’ at times and yet dislike each other’s taste. Maybe I’m thinking too much, as I always do. I let the music draft me to stare doom, staring at the wallpaper I drew at some Oekaki, a drawing of one of my favorite video game character, with wings and such, tacked at the background of my computer screen. I sigh and look back down at the horrid ‘tutor’ homework. Better get it done then leave it incomplete. Picking up the plastic lead case, the graphite hit the paper as a cold fist hit my head, handling me a soft nudge.

“Hey! Whatcha doing?” came the cheery fatherly voice. Dad was always a cheery fellow, except at times, I wish he wasn’t too intense. There’s never an in-between dad. It’s either a really happy dad, or a really mad dad. Sometimes, it gets me thinking what is going on in that head of his. At times he’s really carefree, and at times he’s really protective, at times he reminds me of…Me…

A gave a smile back and turned my face to face him. You can say we’re nearly mirror images of each other; the same dark brown eyes, the same bold face structure, the same hairstyle and the same cheery smiles were give, the divergence his was genuine, and mines was sham. I gave a simple “The same thing. Homework and stuff”

He replied back with an “Oh. Homework? Well, this doesn’t look like homework to me.” He peered over my shoulder to look at the song list I have opened up on the screen, giving a shrug and giving a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Come on. Come outside and have fun. You can do homework later.” He walked out with his white shirt hugging him as he said a hearty “Hi!” to the front door and walked off towards it. Giving partial attention to the screen, I clicked off the vocal less song list and stoop forward to hit the power button of the monitor. I hardly turn off the computer. I always have it on and wait for it to sit to stand by. I always come back; the computer has become a part of me, a part of my life.

Gathering the crumbled napkin and the now empty plate of egg rolls, I headed out my room and down the kitchen, depositing the napkin in its place and placing the plate down on the counter before heading out the front door and into the sunlight.


It was the day, they day that only comes once a year, a day where you’re welcomed to Earth and are celebrated from surviving that long on the planet. Today’s the day of the sixteenth year I’ve been alive, today’s the day where my years of being fifteen ends, today’s the day then my years of being sixteen starts. A year of age is added to my life, but yet, I don’t feel it. I sat there at that table, staring at the house across from mines. The block was not fashioned like the average block. Instead of the houses facing the street and gazing at the house across the black tar, the houses were arranged as a frame around the block, leaving the sidewalk open and free of any building. Behind each house is a huge garden, taking up the remainder of the block, filled with flowers, crops, whatever the owner wants to plant in their little pile of dirt.

Today’s the day where the neighbors gather round the cake. Today’s the day where I wear this little party hat like a tin foil hat warding off alien waves and such. Today’s the day where I blew out the ‘16’ shaped candle and disperse their flames. Today’s the day when a shout from one of the neighbors came and went dashing to the back of my parent’s house, shouting something and all the neighbors went. Today’s the day where everything became a dream.

My heart began to run with them, ran with fear. Was it a fire? A robber? Some mad hobo with a gun? What was it!? The answer never came that day. Seconds later, the neighbors came out from between the buildings, one-by-one. Mom came over to me and said nothing bad had happened. As the last neighbor came to the light, his right hand held one of mom’s pitaya fruit along with a red mark on his wrist. Every thing became such a blur.

The two candles flickering, my breath was blown out as the candles lost their flames. The light dimmed as another day of my life has passed.

I must be thinking too hard.