{Bad Moon Rising/Dreamer}

[Deleted]

Bruno McLian

Do you ever look back on the past and cringe? Do you ever look back and question just about everything that sums up your existence—your thoughts, your actions, maybe even your decisions? It’s hard to do because you know it can’t be changed; it can never be changed. Unless someone finds a way to travel back in time of course, and then I’ll gladly take the offer.

It had been almost three years since I had had a short friendship with Theo. It was an odd type of friendship, for it only lasted about three days, but the pain that had come out of it would make you believe we had known each other forever. It all started when I had the random impulse to go and give a “pep talk” to the 62nd games boy tribute. It wasn’t a very good pep talk, for the only words I was able to utter out were “don’t be vulnerable.” But we had clicked, and we—well I had decided that I would be there for him until his moment of glory, or maybe his moment of desolation. It turns out I would have to watch the latter rather than the former.

It tore me apart, and I’m not sure why. I didn’t even know the guy—well not well anyway. I guess that’s one of my big problems I guess, I cling to whatever or whoever I can because otherwise I’m clawing at the thin air of nothingness that is every other aspect of my life. I mean my family, my nonexistent friends, basically everyone I’m around has never cared or given me a second thought, and sometimes that’s okay. But other times, like with Theo, I’m desperate to find some foot hold to pull myself up just a little higher. But that’s over, and time has passed. No, I’m not really over it, but keeping it in my mind will only kill me.

So as I found myself wandering the parks and sidewalks, with the breeze pushing my already mess hair back into my face. I wasn’t doing much, just walking—well and thinking. I’m always thinking to be completely honest with you. It’s a blessing and a curse, because you’re smart, and you know a little about a lot, but it’s also bad because everyone thinks you’re just a little on the strange side; which isn’t that bad I suppose, as long as you don’t have any friends, which I don’t. But I’m used to it, I’m used to having to face all my problems alone and I’m used to dealing with the despair of loneliness.

But even as I was alone on this honest fall day, the weather was nice. The breeze shook the leaves just enough to make everything feel like you were in a movie. It wasn’t cold, but it was nippy enough for you to realize that summer was definitely over. I appreciated it, I appreciated the simplicity of the colors changing and the sight of the paths being empty, as most everyone else had something better to do. I kind of wish I did as well, but there wasn’t much to do when everyone was better off without me.

That’s how the world works. That’s how things go, you don’t fit in and you end up talking to yourself and everyone just writes you off. You get used to it I suppose. That doesn’t mean you like it or want it to happen, but when you can’t change it, what’s the point of worrying about it?

I almost ran into people as I walked back down the path to destination unknown. I finally found a suitable spot, after I moved the piles of leaves that crowded the grassy blanket. I pulled the old book of poetry out of my jacket and opened to the old paint sample I was using as a bookmark.

This was good. This was nice.

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[/i] activity though he’ll somehow prove them wrong.

His face was glowing in the crisp breeze that was ruffling the leaves around the fresh cut grass. It carried the sweet scent of trees and lavender that somehow survived through the summer that only lifted his spirits even more. He managed to hide this though in everything but the glinting of the eyes. It’s finally his time to shine in something more substantial than a simple game of soccer. It’s cultural, opera; it brings out a story and stirs the human spirit. And apparently a bunch of old cronies love it to, which means money which never hurts.

His basket was bouncing off his hip as he traveled down the leaf covered path. It contained his turkey and biscuit lunch that he made to celebrate. He told his parents that he wanted to be alone, and luckily for him his parents are cool enough to let him go off wherever as long as he tells them first. Blanket in hand he continued deeper into the park until he found a broad tree that provided the perfect shade from the harsh noon sun. He laid the blanket down and as he started to eat his lunch he thought about what just happened yesterday. It could be the thing that changes his life forever.

He was over at the Tempus Opera house where he auditioned the week before. He wasn’t too sure on why he even auditioned in the first place but he chose a song that meant the world to him. Maybe it was a form to express himself through another character. Either way he did it and he knew he was going to be accepted. Hell he kicked ass with that Les Mis song, but he was still nervous. At the announcement Romero could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Thump, thump, thump, with each beat as Rio, the guy who was in charge, read off the names as he ranted about bringing in new life or something like that. Ra was just straining to hear the names of those who were in; those who made the cut. Luckily for him he was the second name called.

Still knowing away at his now dry biscuit he couldn't help but wonder why he nervous. Was it because that for once in his life he maybe actually let himself care for something that was outside the social norm for stereotypical males? Outside the circle that he so tightly confined himself to because he was so afraid of being ostracized for being anything other than? Why do I do it to myself? he wonders as he picks up the pile of trash that had accumulated in his basket. It's so strange for him to look at himself as an outsider. On one hand, or another completely different conscious, he can see that he's so restrictive and almost abusive towards himself. Yet on the other he has no clue.

It's extremely infuriating for Ra to know that he basically can't do anything about this stigma so deeply rooted into his being. He chucks his thrash into the waste bin as he yells. How can I be so helpless? as he stomps back towards his little vestige in the park. When he came back he noticed that someone has sat on his blanket. “Well hey there man if you wanted to sit with me all you had to do was ask” he says as he lowers himself next to the other man,; who also appears to be lost in his own thoughts.

“I’m Romero but everyone calls me Ra, what’s your name bro?”

(OCC – I am so so sorry and I feel so horrible and such a terrible friend because it’s been over two months and I still haven’t finished this and I just want to post this so we can get this moving. Again I am really sorry and I feel like such a terrible person right now)[/size][/ul]

[Deleted]

Bruno McLian

I tend to hold an awkward air about myself, from the actions to the words I speak, everything seems to be clumsy and disorienting. So when this boy comes about, with his vibes of confidence and calm, I am nonetheless taken aback. He says his name, and maybe other things, but I don’t really hear them. I am too lost in the thought of the ease of his words, each one falling out smoothly and into the palm of his hand. He is like a king in posture, but without the crown. He is royalty in voice, without the robe of purple and scepter of gold. His kingdom is that of casualness, with knights and horses emblazoned with simplicity.

He has given me the impression that everything comes easy to him, from the words to the actions he completes. He is not stressed; he is not worried. However, I am, in a way, both of those things. I have become so desperate to find the happiness that is just past my fingertips, so willing to do anything it takes to find the joy that hides just out of my reach. I wonder what his secret is, or if he has a secret to it at all? Maybe he has done nothing but let the peace come to him, and waited on its arrival rather than chase it.

I wish I could do that. I wish that I could lay my head down upon this grass and wait for happiness to come frolicking my way, but instead I chase it. My feet pound the ground and sprint, only stopping when I come to face a mountain or wall that stands tall above my head. He must simply send a knight to do his bidding, having him retrieve the goblet overflowing with happiness, only to present it to him on a golden platter. Oh, how it must shine when the cover is taken from it. It must look like a feast itself, turkey and potatoes and everything the mind could imagine spread across a never-ending table. The taste must be magnificent, sending nothing but warmth through your body. I craved that warmth, like a wild dog craves the meat from a passing by deer.

As I came back to my senses, I almost had to wipe the tiny bit of drool coming from my chin. Oh how nice it must be to not care much. I hadn’t said anything yet, and I still hadn’t thought of anything decent to say. My parents had taught me to not say much, to keep to myself unless I had thought of something absolutely magnificent. Eventually I put myself through the process to realize he’s asked me my name, and for a moment, but only a moment, I raise my eyebrows in confusion. Usually people don’t care about me enough, to wonder who, just why or when. Why are you here? When will you be leaving? Soon. I will be leaving soon. That was always my answer, and every time the word came from my mouth, the quicker it became accurate. But he hadn’t asked my why I was here, or when I was leaving. He had asked who I was.

After I had not heard the question I had planned on being asked, I lightened up a bit. The awkwardness I held about myself seemed to slowly fall away, and I realized that in such a short time, I had maybe made a friend. Maybe. “Uh my name? It’s Bruno. That’s what everyone calls me, anyway.” I had no cool and interesting nickname like his, nothing interesting to set me apart from the many faces he had most likely met. “Sorry for interrupting; I suppose I didn’t realize where I was sitting down. I’ve been told I’ve got a tendency to not pay attention to those kinds of things.” I could feel myself closing up again, the sullen remarks of my parents flying back through my mind and knocking the breath from my cold chest. I try my best to recall his name, and after several silent moments of thought, it comes to me. Ra, short for something I can’t quite remember, but for now it is unnecessary to know. “So, what have you been up to?” My voice sounds childlike, younger than my fourteen years. I sound like the six year olds you see in the park, the ones who argue about who’s “it” in a game of tag. Of course, this may not be how he sees me, but it’s all I can see of myself. A child, someone who’s looked down upon for hiding their happiness under the bed, only pulling it out when nobody is looking.