We had terrific bouts of fighting, but I never seemed to remember them. I found myself paralyzed at times when I was alone, filled with desperation. My heart seemed broken, only glued together by Bella’s intense presence and love.
I’m sitting in my room with the door locked. No one else is home, but I want the extra protection of the locked door because I’m smoking pot. I had started a year or so earlier, and found that the drug fit my personality. It made things seem OK when they were not. It was a useful escape, or so I justified it.
I am smoking out of a glass blown pipe, lighting the green buds with a plastic butane lighter. I hold my inhalations deep into my lungs, and through the exhale I taste the sweet herb. I feel an immediate rush to my brain and feel my mind relax. As if to signal my tranquil state of mind, I feel my eyes droop slightly and I smile.
After a number of hits, I store my pipe and weed into the back of my dresser drawer. I spray my deodorant all over my room to hide the smell from my parents. After a moment or so of enjoying the space of my room, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Bella, and it sends me into a panic.
Bella hates weed. If she knew I had smoked, she would break up with me immediately. I know she just wants what is best for me. She wants me to be good, to want the same things she wants. I spend several minutes trying to think of a text message that would make it seem like I’m not high. As the minutes tick by, and my mind continuously draws a blank, I have a full blown panic attack. If I don’t answer soon, she will be angry.
I rush into my bathroom and run the water from my sink. I splash the water over my face in an attempt to regain my wits. Why did I smoke? Why do I do this to hurt her? I hate myself. What’s the point of everything if we just die? I could kill myself. If Bella saw me trying to kill myself, she would never let me go.
I look up into the mirror above my bathroom sink and that’s when I see it: myself. I’m a beautiful girl with brunette hair and green eyes. I’m crying and studying myself.
I keep letting them use me. I’m a whore. I press a sharp steel blade against the skin of my right hand, and pull and twist it repeatedly. It cuts the skin open and I bleed. I bleed.
I wake up on the floor of my bathroom. Only for a brief moment, do I think of the girl whom I saw in the mirror. Only for a brief moment, do I think of how I became her, of how I am her. The bloody gashes on my right hand then immediately take precedence. I see the buck knife my father gave me for Christmas lying beside me and realize what I’ve done. Fuck.
The cuts have bled profusely on my hand so that there is a large scab forming. It seems to have stopped bleeding, however. I study the fresh wound, and see that the cuts have formed into a few lines that swirl back upward onto themselves; almost like three connecting 6’s. I quickly think of excuses I can tell my mother about how I got the wound: maybe I fell, or a vine caught my hand while working out in the yard. I remember that Bella had been texting me and it renews my panic. It has been so long and I haven’t responded.
One glance at my phone and I can see that Bella has texted and called me several times. My mind races until I realize what will happen. I’ll let her see the cuts on the back of my hand the next time we are together. She’ll see how much I need her, and she’ll love me even more.
The world will come to an end soon. The environment cannot hold out much longer. The aquifers are running dry and cracking underneath us, the ozone is being destroyed and can no longer protect us, and industrial emissions are warming the planet. All major habitats are being destroyed. The flora and fauna will no longer be able to exist sustainably. With polluted water and air, no functioning natural systems, and an ever-increasing human population, the stage is set for mass die-off.
The world will come to an end soon. The global economy will crash shortly. The dollar is being inflated, people are defaulting on their loans, and the bail-outs have not worked. All major markets are failing. There is a second Great Depression coming for every developed nation, which will create an atmosphere of desperation and upheaval. With inflated prices, no economic activity, and a chaotic public, the stage is set for our demise.
The world will come to an end soon. Mankind will kill itself in due time. The different religious sects will be sparked into world war, each group fighting for their God. Though if there were a God, He left here long ago. There are enough nuclear missiles to destroy the world a hundred times over. There are enough bloodthirsty radicals to hasten the coming of the end. With world-ending technology evolving before the end of tribal warfare, the stage is set for our extinction.
The world will come to an end soon. The universe will not support us for another epoch. There are asteroids many miles in diameter that can strike us at any time. Solar flares are bursting towards us from our sun with tremendous anger. There could be aliens that will find us, conquer us, and wipe us out as a useless species. With a planet of cognitive beings with their eyes facing downward, the stage is set for our destruction.
The four horsemen are riding in. The hour of judgment is upon us. And the prophets’ foretelling shall come true. We deserve it.
I sit in front of the television in the living room of my parents’ house. The entertainment device is turned on, but I’m hardly watching it. It’s on a public broadcast channel, and I am distracted by my phone. I don’t have any messages, but I’m waiting for her to call me.
Suddenly, words from the broadcast catch my attention and I listen. The bottom line says “Disclosure group petitioning Congress for UFO information”. There’s a man speaking now. His name is Dr. Roger Leir. He’s explaining that they have found biological implants in people who claim to have been abducted. The implants are not of earthly origin, and are well beyond our technological capabilities. I am extremely surprised and turn up the volume. I sit up and run to the kitchen and yell for my father.
“Dad! Dad! Come in here, now!” I call to him from the connecting room. I return to the living room and my father enters. He asks me what is going on. I point to the television, but the broadcast has changed. It is now a meeting in a courtroom. I explain to him.
“It was just showing this crazy thing. They’ve found implants in people from aliens!” I tell him in a surprised voice. He looks at me and smiles.
“I’m sure it’s just a joke Gabe, but that kind of thing always makes a good story.” He says and exits the room. I feel slightly shaken. I’ve never seen real evidence for something like this before. What if it were actually true? Could aliens be here? And abduct us? It was unnerving, and for a moment, being alone worried me.
My thoughts soon return to Bella however, and I wander out of the house to the side yard. Summer basketball league starts soon, and will be occupying a lot of my time. My friends on the team are excited, at least when I hear from them. I don’t talk to them much anymore. Bella is worried that she won’t ever get to see me, like playing basketball will make me not want to be with her.
I think about it more, and realize that I don’t want to play. I’ll never get to see her if I have practice four nights a week plus a weekly game. Getting out of it will be difficult though, my parents will make me play. The coach will make me play. I’ve been playing for several years. If I were injured though, no one could blame me for not participating.
I locate my skateboard from the garage and ride it down the driveway and into the street. I don’t really skateboard, but I own one and can ride. I head towards a large hill that dives steeply downward into a curve. Standing on the board, I pick up speed. Faster and faster I go down towards the bend, where I slam into the concrete curb and fly off of the skateboard. I land awkwardly on my arm behind my back and it twists and snaps.
Two days later, I have a cast up to my shoulder on my right arm and Bella is holding me on the couch. My Dad walks up behind us and speaks to me.
“Well, it’s a shame son. Going into your senior season, you’d be starting right now.”