Nothing's Ever {E a s y} *Mylee*

[gamemaker artemie 🦉nyte]

Poet Nightingale Morning comes far too soon. I feel as though my head had barely hit the pillow as rays of light pierce my closed eyelids. I groan, attempting to shift so that my back faces the bright light. I didn't expect this to work. And it didn't. I groan, my eyes rapidly opening and closing as they adjust to the pale morning light. How much sleep had I gotten? Much more than I felt, as looking through the dull window adjacent to my bed, the sun was beginning to approach it's highest point. Not that I had anything to worry about. It comes with being a privileged child. I get up when I want, do what I want. My parents don't give a shit what I do. No matter how hard I try. Arrive home at 5 am? No problem. Try drugs? Cool. I try not to think about it. I lift my back gently off of the stark white mattress, moving slowly as to not irritate the various scratches hiding just below my flannel pants. My feet meet soft carpet as I rise. I make my way over to a vanity, sitting in the metal chair. I brush my cherry colored hair, the consistency of wire after constant dying and curling. I pull on a small black beanie, trying not to look in the mirror for too long. I could spend hours criticizing myself. There was no point to that, right now. A loose sweater followed the Beanie, tight jeans follow that. I'm ready to get out. I'll be gone all day. I wonder if my parents will notice. No, I hope they notice. But they won't. They never do. Narration "Speech" Thoughts template by chelsey

[Deleted]

Brady Mullingar

The fan above my head catches my attention, each blade seemingly spinning faster than the following, slicing through the air in a silent sort of way. I tried to follow only one blade at a time, and for a while it worked, but then each one blurred into the next, and before I knew it I was watching an ever-spinning mess of brown. It was intriguing, the mechanisms that made it spin the way it did, but I would never be able to understand them. I had been told time and time again, by my family and by the musings of my mind, that I would never be smart enough to amount to anything important. If you wanted to be noteworthy here, you had to be smart, and much to the disappointment of my parents and myself included, I was anything but. But I am happy and isn’t that all that matters?

But happy will not support me or bring me food and water. Happy will not fund my adulthood, but it will make it more bearable. It will make chores and tasks and disappointments not as bad as they seem to be. So when my mother sends me out with a long lists of items to pick up and things to do, I try my best to smile and nod as I head out the door, the list loosely in my hand.

The list was miscellaneous, with items ranging to every end of the spectrum. I had no desire to go up and down aisles, looking for the specifics that she so diligently could find. She could finish this task in just a few minutes, whereas it would take me an hour at the least. I abandon the mission quite quickly, shoving the list deep into my pockets, as if maybe I could make it disappear. I was retracing my steps from the entry of the store to the paved road around back, with its dumpsters and trash scattered about. It was empty, nothing but the cold as a present friend. It wasn’t much of a friend however, the cold had never been. It is nothing but the entire opposite of everything I am, with the howling wind and bite of frost as its companions. Then who were my friends? Were they the southern breeze and the warmth of the sun? I considered these things to be lovely things-- things of the happiest sorts, but they were not my friends. They were not able to offer me advice or teach me the things that I imagined friends to teach to one another. I force another smile to my face, so that no matter what anyone told me, I would remember that I am happy.