Everyday I wake up in the morning

With an ache in my chest

Missing you so deeply

It’s hard to get rest

I, hurt myself today

Just to see if I feel

I wish I could kill it all away

But I still want to know

All the time we had together

-Glory

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Life sucked.

If you were me, you would say that too once you understood everything I’ve been through and all. And I know that you first want to hear everything about me, where I was born, what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were so keen on raising me as a damn Christian and all that good, feel-to-crap that everyone wants to talk about today. But I don’t feel like it. For one it bores the crap out of me with all that lovey-dovey stuff and two it would sure as hell piss them off. Not that it mattered, of course, they were dead to me. Besides, this story ain’t about them or me, it ain’t a goddamn autobiography or biography. You see, I’m just gonna tell you about the madness of a journey I had last week during Christmas Break just before I was run down and taken out here to take it easy for a while. That’s all I told the nurse and the hospital worker while they integrated me and so for better use of my time, I’ll tell you a story while I wait for my cab to take me over yonder to the next town over. And before I even start, I want to tell you to cut out the sympathy you have. If it’s one thing I hate it when people, try to pretend it’s all okay.

Nothing in life is okay.

Where to begin is the day I left the Community Town building. The Community Town building was located in the downtown area of Crystal Cove. You might have heard about it before, it’s the newest building in the area. And if not, you saw the ads. They are disgusting of course, always showing some hot shot support group grinning like crazy as if they were having all the time in their life just chilling. As if it was all sunshine and rainbow for all I know I haven’t seen a single smile since I went. And don’t get me started on the logo after all it is just something dumb like a community is family. Strictly for the council members so they don’t shut down the place. If you were here, you were a reject of society, nothing else, and sure as hell, family doesn’t matter.

Anyway, it was Saturday and I had already left the building after attending our weekly AIDS support group. I remember 3:00 that cloudy afternoon I was standing on Hangman’s Hill, right next to this crazy artillery they used back in World War 2. At least that’s what they said but it sure as hell looked fake. You could see the entire field up here, all of Central Park and Crystal Cove. And the grand stadium down by the lake, you couldn’t hear but you sure as hell could hear it, all the fans yelling and cheering, deep and terrific for their team. Anybody who was anybody was down there cheering for their side except for him and the scrawny fan of the away team.

It wasn’t much but you’re probably wondering what I’m doing on Hangman Hill instead of hanging down there with the crowd and whatnot. Well, my reason was that sometimes I like to think and sit, a stupid thing really, but I got this thought running in my head for another song idea.

The other reason why I wasn’t down by the stadium was that I hated being around phony people. Everyone down there, they were a bunch of phony with their fake make-up and smiles, pretending to be perfect and all that baloney. If you sat down there, hearing all their fake applause and heinous laughter, I swear you would go insane and hate everyone in the world just like I do.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Ohhh I forgot one other thing. Tonight was my first gig, that’s why I was sitting on this hill, thinking about song lyrics. I got some up in my noggin, a song called Glory that was gonna be my masterpiece as long as I got the lyric rights. So that was where I was heading, back to my apartment to get my stuff and all.

Maybe they would applaud me tonight, that would be mighty funny, wouldn’t it? Or maybe I would fail, just like my parents used to tell me?

Anyway, it was December as you could probably tell, and it was mighty cold outside, especially on top of the goddamn hill I was standing on. I only had on my black leather jacket and no gloves or anything the likes of which a normal person would use amid winter. The funny thing was, as I stood upon this bleak snow-topped hill, I wasn’t even paying any attention to the football stadium. What I was doing hanging around that crazy cannon was trying to formulate a sense of meaning in this big open world of nothing. I hated goodbye, just as I hated the word phony. Half the time it doesn’t even matter the type of goodbye, good or bad, I like to leave a place knowing that I was there because if I don’t, then it just feels worse.

After all, this crazy hill had memories, sour memories, and good memories. I could feel it in my bones really but I can’t describe it. The best I can say is when you’re eating ice cream on a warm sunny day underneath the shade of a large oak tree and you’re savoring every last drop as if it was the world’s most precious thing. A child’s most precious treasure. Maybe that’s what I was doing, savoring the moment.

The last time I was up here, I was sitting underneath the night sky, watching the comets streak against the darkness with Bernado. It was just before midnight, and we sat in total silence, enjoying the cheaply made meal I had gathered from our allowance. It was getting darker, and darker, the street lights turned out but we continued to sit, holding hands underneath the stars and allowing the silence to do the talking. We didn’t want to stop, both of us wanted to savor the memory, wishing it to last forever. But it didn’t. A city police officer shouted at us and told us off, so we ran, breathless into the night until we made it back to my apartment.

Once I had the memory, I closed my eyes, letting the tears run down my cheeks like a salty river. If I ever have a chance, I always say goodbye. One can never get too many goodbyes in life and sometimes we never say it at the moment. As soon as I thought of it, I turned around, running down the side of the hill towards the poorer part of town, toward my apartment.

I ran down to the old Walter Street and then I waited for a hot second to catch my breath. To tell you the truth, I’m a smoker and always have been since I was kicked out at the fruitful age of fifteen. That is of course not much anymore, I’ve tried to quit but it’s one of the few things keeping me going in this world. And besides that, I’m pretty healthy.

Once I got down to Mission Avenue, I started to slow down, catching my breath as I jogged down the old shops that lined the sidewalk. Many of them have been here for ages, and he hoped they would stay that way, living for eternity to store the memory of the city. It sure as hell was icy outside and I nearly fell twice while running. I didn’t care really, it was just one of those crazy days where you felt like disappearing. Terrifically cold and only the cloud to keep you company, it just felt like you could turn into a bird and escape into the day, flying onward to possibility.

And let me tell you that I sure as hell rang the doorbell to my apartment complex as quickly as I could. You should have seen me, nearly twenty-six, altering my foot to get warm as I rubbed my frozen hand. My ears were hurting and I was frozen stiff, but I couldn’t get rid of the stupid grin.

A sign of relief escaped my lips as I watched old Mrs. Weathervane open the door in her fuzzy lilac bathrobe. They didn’t have a working lock or a maid, the landlord refused to fix it and they lacked the money to fix it themself so they instead opened it themself.

“Ryan, my dear,” she shouted, opening up her wrinkled arm to envelop me in a pressing hug before stepping back, “You must be frozen solid all out there!”

Boy, you couldn’t believe how fast I stepped inside that building, hanging my coat on the wall rack near the door. That was the nice thing about old Mrs. Weathervane, she didn’t care about my sickness nor was she afraid to touch me. I brushed my hair back, a nervous tick of mine as I took off my old hunting hat.

“How are you Mrs. Weathervane,” I replied, returning her hug. Sadly I and the other people in the apartment found out that Mrs. Weathervane ate cat food because it was cheaper than food so we started to replace it to get her back on her feet. We didn’t tell her, knowing she wouldn’t accept it but it was the least we could do.

We were a family, too weird to die and too broken to be healed.

“Ohh dear, you don’t have to ask. I’m doing alright,” she exclaimed, beaming like a child on Christmas morning before it disappeared.

For a moment I was confused by her sudden expression, and grabbing her hand tightly, I asked, “Did you take your medicine this morning?”

“Yes, Yes dear but I’m afraid you have to look,” she whispered fretfully, pointing up the stairs that lead to my apartment.