Old writings

Everything in sight was a blur.

The lobby a smudge of green and the illuminated housing units were twinkling lights in the rain. What a day it was. It is exactly the same as all the other days in the past 15 years of his life - an endless cycle of monotonous repetition that never failed to fling him into immense weariness. He sat slumped at his table.

It was already 1 a.m. Only 5 hours of sleep before school. He really couldn’t take it any longer, it was too tiring. Why did he have to be the youngest in the family? How do his brother and sister accomplish everything with such effortless grace? Why is he so stupid? Why are his parents so overwhelmingly nonchalant to all that he does? Why, was he even born? Scott looked out of the fogged-up window again and remembered his friends’ words when he mentioned being stupid.

“You’re not stupid you overachieving brat. If you are, we are morons.”

Huh. Overachieving. What an overrated description. Aren’t those words used just to pacify him so he won’t be a hindrance? How typical. True, he worked hard to top the class, but it was never enough for his parents wasn’t it?

“Top of your class? What about the top of your level? “
“You had a competition?”
“What, exactly, is a PB?”

If he recalled correctly, that wasn’t how his siblings were treated. Every aspect they excelled in was taken into proud account by his parents. Furthermore, he has never seen them pushing themselves to such a back-breaking point. But now he has finally reached his limit. He could no longer suppress the turmoil that lay inside. Gingerly, he reached for that small pot of white substance lurking in the corner. He had never really intended to use it. It was just there as a reassurance bought a week ago in case things got too bad. This purchase was triggered, ironically enough, when the school held an antidrug essay writing event.

There was no need to close his door at all. It was 1.30 a.m. in the morning and his parents would never step in anyway. The last time they did was … when his sister got married and he was forced to move.

Scott took the first sniff and spluttered uncontrollably. The overpowering smell of resin filled his nose and the raw burning sensation made his eyes water. It was utterly unbearable. But for that moment, his thoughts were obstructed. For that moment, there was no longer anymore thought of the people who fabricated his life. For that moment, he was void of all emotions, because all he could concentrate on was the distracting odour of resin.

And from that moment, he was hooked.

From that first try, he would never have thought that addiction will be part of his future. But it was useless to resist. So this is what they called ‘feeling high’. The feeling of being able to accomplish everything. To be free and not weighed down by obligations. And it was this feeling that led to his downfall.

His grades dropped drastically without warning and his energy was sapped albeit too quickly. His friends left one by one, disgusted with his behavior. He knew what was happening but couldn’t stop. The choking sensation that ran through him each time he took a whiff was pure bliss. The world around blinked out of existence and all that was left was the unpleasant smell that coaxed him to the depths of nothingness. What more could he ask for?

That is, until the day his parents found him out.

It came as a complete shock. His parents, the uncaring workaholics, actually knew he existed. His slip-ups may be from the depleting amount of money or the retching smell of resin, but he didn’t really care. Nothing mattered anymore.

He wrenched his arm from the grasp of the father he never knew and scrambled out of the house, tripping on the stairs along the way. A blast of stormy wind greeted him as he ventured out.

In a distance, frantic calls echoed endlessly in the colossal space of his empty mind. It sounded so familiar… a lost voice from his childhood whenever he wandered too far away.

He turned around and stumbled. In the rain, he could make out a faint figure… it was so far yet so near… Who was that person crying out his name so desperately? That silhouette was so very much shorter than him… it couldn’t be… mum? Was that her? Yes it was. He was sure it was. Her face was wet… from the rain? The only woman he had always wanted near him… was crying for him now?

Too late.

He turned his back to her collapsed figure and staggered through the rain. He didn’t know where to go but he didn’t care.

It was pouring now. The lighted units and trees were a blur to his eyes again. Fogged up and smudged like destroyed paintings. But this time, his obstructed vision was not because of the rain.



HAHA I found this in my email as stuff was clearing up.
not bad right I think it was sec 1 work or something.

PROUD OF MY YOUNGER SELF
my fav is the bold part.

now my compos are totally lacklustre. piff.

Supposed to be doing F&N but I finished :D gonna study maths now. bai
I LOVE SAW.