Sometimes I wonder why I'm even here. They say the odds of being born are 1 in 400 trillion, with those odds it must be luck that we are all here, yet somehow, I don't feel very lucky; on the contrary I feel quite the opposite. My life has been nothing but despair, withering away in my own damn solitude. It will be four years this November. Four years of doing nothing but staring aimlessly at the four walls of my fucking bedroom, rotting between mattress and sheet forcing myself to sleep so I don't have to deal with my own tragic reality. It wasn't always like that though-I had problems, yes- my life wasn't some glamorous fairy tell, but it was... a life at the very least. I used to play football and have friends, a decent amount as well. Hell, there was even a girl who had a crush on me. I really didn't know how good I had it. If only I could kick a football right now, and run as fast as my body allows. All outside problems become a blur, its simply you playing football. Your thoughts are on the game and the game only, nothing else matters, no matter what's going on outside the present game it all becomes a faded memory, amazing what kicking a ball around can do. It might seem excessive but it's true. I have no distractions now. No friends. No football. I have to face my problems. There is no escaping my reality. Today is my first real day of university, I had hoped that by the time my surgeries were complete I would be adequate to step back into the world-yet I still feel as dissociated from reality as I did prior, and here I am lying in bed as I fester in night sweat, unsticking my balls from my groin. All right! Let's get up then... but I can't, my body refuses to move as if my mattress and I have become one entity. I fucking hate this room, but I can't find a way to leave it. I have these moments of ambition, like writing a book or learning a new language, yet it's always “I'll do it tomorrow”, then tomorrow becomes the day after, then a week, then... then the ambition ceases to exist and I lay in bed counting down the hours till I can finally close my eyes again, and even then, my dreams taunt me of the life I once knew, or at least a version of me. But whoever that was is nothing but a relic of the past-a personality I no longer find familiar.
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“Atlas!” My mother screeches from downstairs. “It's your first day of university, get your skinny ass out of bed”.
“Yes mother,” I say with annoyance. The reality just hit me; I'm really going to have to go to university today. Anxious sweat begins wetting my forehead and underarms, binding with the night sweat. My palms are clammy, I should calm down. I take a deep breath and close my eyes yet anxiety crowds my thoughts. What if people laugh at me? What if they find me odd? I haven't socialised with anyone in four fucking years how on god's green earth am I going to cope with hundreds of people my age and not to mention the...
The door snaps open, a slight jolt from the sudden noise pulls me out my thoughts.
“Atlas, shower now”.
“Give me five more minutes mother,” I respond unconvincingly as I sink my face into my duvet, inhaling my own despair.
“Five minutes will then be ten, then it will end up being the whole bloody day”. I'm not even looking at my mother yet I can feel her eyes rolling in dismay.
“Come on Atlas no more lying in bed,” I can hear the sincerity in her voice. "It's time to experience the real world my darling.”
“The real world,” I don't have even the slightest clue what that is.