So many stories start by waking up—and I hear people complaining about it as if it’s the biggest heresy. I’m on the other camp. It’s normal and alright for stories to start from the moment where almost all our days begin. The moment of awakening.

Think about it, what’s a better way to introduce a main character and the world surrounding him (in this case, me), than the most default state of mind and being—which is right after our rise from slumber. Toll from yesterday is far away. Brain is energized. The daily routine is ready to begin.

There is only one little problem. Not everybody is a morning person. That includes me.

So forgive me when I say, I’m most likely already late to school bus. He must’ve left me to rot in my bed—that grousy driver.

Not that I'm worried. Why not take a half an hour morning nap to start things off? What a perfect way to energize yourself and dream on top of it. I’d give it five stars. 

“No you don’t!”

Enters that shrieking, ear-piercing little sister of mine. 

“Can you not casually read my internal monologue? It’s breaking the immersion.”

She pounces and jumps on my body like I’m a tramboline, and calls me names.

“Eli you idiot! You are late again! And you wanna sleep over it?! I’m going to kill you, kill kill kill!”

“I’m sure there are more effective ways to rouse someone…”

“I hate you!”

“Why are you taking it this personal?”

From between my half-open eyelids I see my sister take the clock-vase, full on operation to crush it on my face.

“Aaaa!”

It’s only in a split second that I evade death.

“See. There is no better way to wake someone up,” she says with self-assuredness.

“Are you out of your mind! Forget waking up—it would’ve been the end of me!”

“Good, now that you know your place, go to school.”

She isn’t listening at all…

“In my pajamas?”

“Of course not dumbass—wear your uniform. I’m waiting.”

“With you inside? No way!” 

I grasp her slender arms and throw her out of the room. 

“Eeeep!”

What a perfectly normal sibling relationship.

As I’ve just showcased my waking-up moment does all but introduce my “usual life.” With a sister so infatuated over getting me to school early, while she is eternally late… I don’t get her. Every morning, wearing pigtails, calling up my name (Eli!), and trying to awake me while she herself is late… Am I the problem here? Maybe I raised her wrong…

This has been a staple of my life for like 6 years. Since I was 8?! She was what…3? In any case, it’s the first week of my new highschool, so I should maybe be a little more grateful to her.

If she doesn’t try to murder me, that is.

After wearing my school uniform—which is pretty hard to deal with tie and all—I look at the mirror. Yes, this person is me, as you can see in the reflection. Aren’t I’m handsome.

After leaving my room I see my passed out sister with her body plastered onto the wall—I may have overdone it this time.

Carefully I peel her off the wall so mom and dad wouldn’t see it—and I leave her be on the floor. 

It’s a breakfast table ready, obviously for two, that greets me upon entering the living room. It’s very much like those in the movies—with all the fruits, cheese, egg and fries, toast, milkshake, etc. Usually in a Hollywood production and in a tome worried about its pacing these would go uneaten. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) I am not of a Hollywood producer with a fat timber cigar, or a character from a tome. So I eat them with love and care that needs to be shown to all food.

“Shoot.”

I forgot to leave any for my sister, whom I’m still for some reason refusing to give the name of. She’ll have nothing to eat. What a tragedy. Damn. Anyways, I leave the depleted table behind, take my backpack and treasured item, and exit the house.

Usually, this would’ve been a great time to show something to you, but I can’t. It only happens at night.

So I have no choice but to take the long route. With my treasured item of worship (my skateboard) under my sneakers, I begin to slide, slowly. I don’t wanna rush ahead. There is still plenty time to be late.

The wind combs my hair with familiar flow, as the scenery of neighborhood come into my vision. It’s bright early morning. Kids are leaving for their respective schools in either lethargy or hurried energy, grown-ups giving each other mechanic “good morning!”s; similar houses with no fences lined sparingly on the green expanse divided by a concrete road slowly mixes into each other like paint drops as I gain speed. Everything that makes up the scenery joins this blurry flick running reverse, as I finally enjoy almost flying to the school. 

I can’t say I love this town. Metropolitan city full of skyscraper isn’t too far away to see how small and thin and rural this place feels. But every morning I just enjoy how easy it is to ride my skateboard with no hinderance, and just a pure rush (yes, I skip bus intentionally).

Also helps me wake up.

Soon, after causing annoyance to drivers about and few turns, I arrive at the school.

It’s, well, your average school actually. Not that different from any other school in the vicinity, or around the country. A lengthy cuboid slashed in the middle with an entrance, surrounded by hedges (with no wires, mind you). It’s white, all white. I don’t like it.

Not the shape, no. It’s the school itself—days wasted, time consumed, life force sucked away. To decribe would be, I’m almost always only waiting for it to end and go home. 

Waiting for it to end.

I enter the building and another wasteful day begins. I pass the shoeboxes, corridor, stairs, another corridor, into my classroom. 

As you would expect almost everyone is inside—but the class hasn’t started yet. I’m not late. I’m rarely late actually, thanks to my unironically weird sister. I usually arrive after everyone is already settled, that’s the norm, but almost never after the teacher. I must be pretty fast on my skateboard. But not as fast as nights.

Anyways, my "friend"—according to him—is here to scold me again. Isn’t he a bit too fussy? It’s not like I’ve missed it.

“Can you stop leaving me alone in the bus? Seriously!”

Oh, right. I’ve been giving him the slip so far, but it’s not like I care. We rarely talk, and when we do it’s about stuff I don’t care.

I’m not so much into videogames.

Not that it bars me from making meta comments about them.

In any case, we aren’t really compatible. I haven’t said this to him yet, and I probably won’t.

I don’t reply as he (what’s his name again?) goes on, which ends with teacher’s entrance.

Our chemistry teacher is the sexiest woman in the school, but she’s extraordinarily stupid and butterfingered. This has been proven already, in the first week. Always going into trouble if the chance arises. She doesn’t hesitate even for a second to say some of the dumbest things mankind ever heard with a deadpan expression, and never blushes when people point it out to her. Her surname is Banoma, but we manage to flub her name as Ms Banana, which doesn’t anger or even irk her one bit. It’s surreal to watch.

“Hey, Eli, would you like to solve this question?”

“…”

I really don’t wanna. Is she into me or something? In every lesson with her (so far 3), I’m the one who’s called to the board. Either Banana’s memory resets every day, or she’s actually interested in me (which is welcome).

But none of this is enough to make up for it. The moment I accept—reluctantly—her offer, that happens.

I see them, with chalk in my hand, words tucked behind my throat—the eyes. Vengeful eyes. Similar to how it's been in middle school. Everyone in the class stares at me, including my so called friend. They all watch each of my movements. After all, there is a reason they can’t shine. There is a reason, they can’t be the best. 

And as I solve the question, forge the equation, that reason becomes lasciviously clear. 

Like I said, I’m neither a character from hollywood production, or a book. At daylight at least, I’m neither of those. And those eyes staring, filled with sneer and revenge and hate shows me that. They reflect my mistakes, how I’m the worst, lowest of the rank—I bumble and scratch and fail as always before Ms Banoma begins to narrate my mistakes, and how it should be done. 

I listen silently.

Thinking that I could’ve done better.

Thinking that I couldn’t have done anything.

In this moment world is many dimensional with no glasses to combine them. Those eyes, they have nothing inside them. And I hate all of them.

“That seems to be it. Thank you Eli. You can sit now.”

I bow lightly and sit. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” says my ‘friend.’

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If he says so—then it must’ve been a disaster. 

I breathe and let go. All of them.

Class average score.

Lows and highs.

Top and bottom.

A pyramid with two steps.

They can shove it.

I take out my phone under the desk and silently read some Mother of Learning. I’m at the very beginning but the portrayal of characters in the story is just superb. When the class ends, I’m already invested. 

It’s still daytime unfortunately when I go to caffeteria alone. My "friend" I guess is keen on being angry over that bus thing—all the more headspace for myself. Which I mean I can read stuff, or watch the series I’ve been shunning for so long. Yeah, I like it. Not in a dramaticly ironic way no, and I’m not about to burst into tears. It’s my preference.

But I guess reading—or watching—is for another time. 

Shun, the class president and favorite student of teachers, seems to have decided on sitting right in front of me, with that empty, bored expression of his.

“What is it?” I ask, quite bored myself.

His medium hair black, uniform black. Eyes orange or yellow, permanently in the shape of a half moon because of his upper eyelids expressing his indifference constantly. 

“I can’t sit here? Perhaps you bought the plain?” he says with a sneer.

“Yep. Get the fuck out.”

His sneer slightly twitches. 

“Heh, you haven’t changed one bit. We all assumed your taming was well done.”

“Is that why you are here? To degrade me with words? It’s low, even for you.”

“Don’t entertain yourself. You are not worth degradation. Anyway, listen. I hear that you managed to flunk yet again in chemistry—and I’ll remind you that exams are a month away. It’s only the first week, the same teacher managed to call you up three times miracolously, to show how bad you’ll affect our grades. I talked with all the other students, they are all great and intelligent. But because of you our class average will drop, a serious drop considering your success rate. If you are like that in every lesson, that’s bad. Seriously bad. Since I’m the class president I decided to take the matter into my own hands.” 

“Yours? What will you do—ban me from entering exams?”

His response though is blood-chillingly casual.

“I considered that. Not the worst idea, not the best either. I’d rather win you to our class than risk breaking the rules. So, what about this,” he says, his eyes still half circles, half watching, a normal casual smile planted on his lips, “I’ll give you the answers.”

“Huh? What did you just say?”

Give the answers—

What?

“I’m sure you are surprised, you should be—but I’m used to dealing with troublemakers like you.”

So he’s been a class president before highschool too. 

“I won’t give this role to anyone else. It’s all on me—I’ll give the answers myself, raise your score myself. What about it? Are you alright with it?” he asks. “No other student will know, and especially teachers, they’ll have no clue.”

“…”

This guy—Shun—with an extreme self-esteem, total success in all lessons, adoration from teachers of all kind, votes from the class in the first day—turns out to be the least sterile one in the whole class. A troublemaker himself.

“What do you say?” he asks.

“You can fuck yourself.”

His eyelids ever-so-slightly moves upwards before descending again. He is surprised and now angry. 

“I see,” he says. “There is no taming an idiot.”

Conversation is kinda cringe, I admit.

“Yep,” I agree mindlessly. My tray is already cleaned up so I get up to leave. 

“If you change your mind, I won’t bail you.”

I don’t give an answer.

After our edgy conversation I think it’s alright to give some context. In our school class average and club average are two factors that count when ruling over the entire school. Yes you heard me right, we have a very strict hierarchical system based on the groups we belong and our occupations in those groups. So they have every right to be angry toward me. But I hate them for it anyway.

I’m joking, it’s no anime bullshit like that. People are just bunch of elitists and they want to have their class score as high as possible so they can look prettier in front of their friends.

I skip a class and waste time toddling around. 

After that I skip all the classes and escape the school, climbing the hedge and jumping outside. It’s a piece of cake for anyone to try, if they are somewhat rascally. 

I won’t go home. There will be mom and dad, and that idiotic sister. Instead I go to mall which is about ten kilometers away. Going all the way with a skateboard may not be so enjoyable with everyone—it is for me. 

Why did I refuse his offer... It’s not like I’m against cheating—hell I’ve done my share plenty of times. My problem is not with ethics or morales. It’s simpler, and could be summed up with three facts.

1-I don’t wanna owe to that idiot, and upkeep a style just because I got higher scores in the first exam period.

2-He’ll intentionally give some answers wrong anyway, just to maintain his royal status and have no trace of giving me a hand—in addition to that, I’m sure he’ll share this secret with not only me like he promised.

3-And most of all, I wanna get on their nerves—all of them.

The mall is in the city, where most of the countryfolk goes with pleasure and secrecy (since they don’t wanna be seen as soft I guess?). I like city a lot more—it feels a lot freer for starters. Not everyone knows everyone, it’s so crowded that it’s so easy to get lost in them and not be seen. The only downside compared to town is that cars are everywhere to radical levels. There is no way to transport without walking or driving a vehicle—yes, public transport is bad here too.

So I begun carrying my treasured item rather than ride it at some point, I’m used to it though.

I get inside. Mall is a fat, large building. Inside is colorful and shiny, my mind is though on just wasting time until the day is over—until daylight is receding.

There are multiple alright choices. I can go to a coffee shop and watch some series, go to arcade and play casual games and clash with people, ride some virtual car, enter an electronics shop and enjoy viewing devices I’ll never be able to buy if past is any indication. I can stuff myself with fast-food or gourmet work (yes, in a mall). Today for some reason I choose to do something else, something I’ve been shunning so far—but that decision wavers and falls immediately at the door of that thing. Another time, I guess.

I enter arcade instead and begin playing by myself a fighting game—I’m not good at it. There are a lot of people around here. A girl wearing pink. A boy with headphones and edgy clothes. A boy with headphones and geniunely good fashion sense. A girl with red hair. A boy with blue coat. All sorts of people—I only counted some of them about seemingly my age. 

They are all playing together, competing. Okay, not all—but most. Some of them are as alone as me, but none of them are lonely, as I am not too. 

Boy with geniunely good fashion sense moves closer and a horde of people follows him. 

“Wanna fight?” he asks, and it quickly turns into a tournament, with people making lists of who’s to fight who. We would forget each other very quickly. 

“Alright.”

I win the fight.

“You’re good! Damn.”

I chuckle at that. He seems like a geniunely nice person. But I don’t continue the game—leaving my place for others, I exit the arcade. I’m not trying to play cool or anything—it’s just not time to get engaged with anything else.

Soon the day will end.

Soon.

I enter mall’s balcony. It’s huge and airy, and night seems to be approaching with a tinge of gray coloring the sky. Few people are there, three exactly. I take out my cigaratte from my bag from its special corner and lit it in my mouth. There are seats and tables.

I sit on one of them with my sneakers resting on the ledge.

I’m not an addict—I hope. I wanna believe that for sure. But I may be totally into it…

In a non-addictive way?

Haha.

That’s just fake isn’t it.

When did it begin though… As far as I can remember, it’s at least since being a toddler. All because of a fateful nanny and her over-the-board tendencies to fuck with rules. There’s a lot to dig in that part of my life, which is better put aside.

Mom and dad caught me many times. Not in the last 3 years though—I’ve gotten better at hiding. Children know how to adjust, parents don’t.

And here I am, enjoying the not so majestic sight of the city—I know for a fact there are better spots. I’ll show you before this chapter ends, I promise.

It’s getting colder but my body is warm and warmer. Time is approaching.

I buy a sandwich from a fast-food joint and eat it while walking to the exit of the building with laziest steps. Inside is still full of people.

Outside air is frisk, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore to me. It no longer would at nights—for everything would’ve been so much more complicated if it did.

My breath turns into formless clouds. There are many people walking on the sidewalk. Night has already come with no moon or stars to speak of. It’s clouded. And a city full of light is under. Led screens high in places, buildings scraping the sky. It’s all quite fun to watch if I’m to say so. I like the atmosphere here compared to town. Despite being so crowded it feels more silent, and more isolated. Just the way I want. 

What is it that people want the most? I think it’s individuality. All of us want to be special, separate from the rest, star of a story of our own. But there is an irony to that. For us to be individual, we need to be recognized as such—by other people. Without that we’d be lost like a drop in a sea. Someone needs to find us and grant us the title. 

Then—how can one even be called individual?

I’m not sure and I also don’t care. This is not something I question in my leisure time. A world gray or colorful, it’s not important to me. I don’t care if I am a drop in the sea or ink in the ocean. I don’t mind either way. All I want is to be off—be somewhere else. 

So in the city it’s better. No wonder we look all the same, but we have no connection. 

Right before me is the building I’ve been coming a lot more often since four months. You could say it’s easier to do my job here than anywhere else. It’s tall, one of the tallest. Apparently multipurposed for rent, from offices to studios. I haven’t seen all of them but people inside are always so busy—they don’t even see me enter and slip by. 

“What’s at the highest floor?” once asked a girl to me. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Really?”

“It’s just a roof.”

And I was right. It’s really just a roof. Though scenery is something else—I wonder if she would’ve agreed. 

I enter the building and reception seems busy so I simply go ahead to the left. Between the walls and behind the restroom is the emergency stairs. Trampling those stairs feels wrong but it’s all in the past. Really, there is going higher, and there is descending.

It’s a lot of stairs, mind you. I don’t have any card for the elevator so I have to go this way many, many floors. But it’s alright, my legs are used to it and it gives me a chance to think, which I won’t be able to when I arrive.

My footsteps echo.

Step.

Step.

Step.

I think about my sister. That deranged little girl who I’ll never understand and seems to be out of a comedy sketch. I’m sure she isn’t capable of understanding that or having awareness of it. Isolated in her own way. I doubt giving her a name would change that.

I think about Ms Banana. Once again outside the zone in her own way. She has no wavelength, and no one would try to reach out to her anyway. Making a student do her questions in the first week 3 days in a row. Never seeming to remember or having a deja vu who this person is. Not even questioning her own name.

I think about Shun. A guy hyperfixated on his goals so much so that anything else is just a tool. Life, for him, must be a sequence of events which he can influence alone. No one matters. Trampling people underfoot is just taking steps for him. Maybe even his own name, which is a Japanese name in an English story—is indifferent to everything else.

I think about those people in arcade. They were living inside their own little worlds, having fun to the point of forgetting each other. Even if someone slips out, that person stays unseen. That’s why despite all of them having names, none matters.

I think about my nanny. She was just a fucked up woman who took the job. She’ll remain twisted in the word “Nanny,” as it describes the opposite of her.

And—I think about that girl. I remember everything about her, including her name. She happened in my life and changed everything. She destroyed the walls that separated me. Insofar as I can no longer stay in my own home or school or anywhere else, and have my own being. I’m not sure if it’s pain, but I can’t even tell about her when talking about her because of what she did. That’s why, I can’t even give her name.

That’s where it comes to me. I just wanna be away, distant, quiet. So that I can still be. I have a name, that’s all I got.

Eli.

And so.

My steps end.

I’m right where I should be—at the rooftop. I open the door and a wind surges it to close. For some reason it’s stronger here than anywhere else. When I open the door again, it flutters my hair, flaps my jacket like a flag. 

There is the sight I promised. Looking down from a peak that sees everything, where all shrinks into drops. All light, all night—people and cars, windows curtained or open, windows with light shining blue probably from TVs. It’s a dance of lights under the dark, cloudy, indifferent surface. But none of that visualization is really what makes this a scenery. No.

Now, see it from my perspective. Wind touching my ear with pressure but it's constant and singular, or rather, silent. Even if I can still hear the cars, they are so distant that they don’t make a cacaphony. More or less, I’m somewhere where nobody is. Where nobody would be. A place to daydream all night, somewhere to watch a series or read a book alone. Not warded off—it’s open, it’s weightless, no walls surrounding you but the cool wind and voices that could never see you or hear you.

I may have no walls in my mind like others anymore, but I do have this freedom.

So.

Watch me jump. 

Step.

Step.

Step.

There are no fences. Nothing back me down.

Step.

Step.

I’m now at the edge. All that I described is yawning beneath me, like the mouth of a dragon as I watch where I’ll fall down to. Not approachable, not observable. Just me. And a world disorientingly beatiful breaking apart like under a clean but shaky water as the noise becomes blaring, shrieking, no longer distant. I hear it all rise and fall in the rythm of my heartbeats. My breaths shallower and harder to take, as I pant.

I’m.

Ready.

I let myself fall.

For a second it’s only a vertigo, like in a chair falling backwards while you sit on it. But the vertigo is quickly replaced with the meteorite speed of falling down from high, as everything blurs into each other, like paint drops. Like ink in ocean. Like drops in sea. I am sucked in to a vacuum of death, it will all be instant with a crash. And so.

It all reverses.

As I rise in the air with my wings wide open, carrying me to the sky. 

That’s right. I’m only free at night—that's when I fly.