angusp
April 30th, 2013, 03:19 PM
First attempt at a short story after writing tons of poetry. Hope you like it!
“Seventeen. Seventeen years old. And I haven’t even kissed yet, even though I live in a country so often seen as the country of sin,” I said. I liked taking a stroll and talking to myself. It helped me clear my mind. But today… Today was different. I always felt like something was wrong, but today, I couldn’t lose that feeling. So I sat down in the grass and started writing a poem, not hearing anything except what I wanted to be the soundtrack of my life: Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs.
Bzzzzz, bzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz. I woke up to the sound of a vibrating iPhone. And then I knew it was all just a dream. Those seventeen years, most of them in The Netherlands. I had dreamt being someone else. It was a weird dream, especially because I can still fully remember it. Remember how the guy I was, Angus was his name, how he got bullied, how he gave so much love but got so little in return. But most of all I remembered it neither being a good dream or a nightmare. A lot of bad things happened, but there also were good things. I tried to think about why I dreamt this, but I couldn’t think of any reason.
The rest of the day was weird. I t was nice being back where I had lived all these thirteen years I spent on earth: the suburbs in Northern Virginia. But somehow, I missed being older. Being in the Netherlands. Being creative. At least I knew that tonight would get my feet back on the ground. Finally a date with the girl of my dreams, Hazel.
I will spare you the details, but I can tell you that the date went well. First love, first kiss, and a helluva lot of fun. Tomorrow was the first day of the summer holiday. I couldn’t wait exploring the suburbs with my friends and Hazel, just driving around on our bikes, running around, playing games, cracking jokes. But I could feel something was wrong. I knew something was wrong.
I don’t know why I did, but I grabbed my phone googled the name of the guy I dreamt I was. I almost dropped my phone in shock. HE EXISTED! And not that there was someone with that name, but the age, looks and everything seemed to fit. I visited his tumblr. I love tumblr. It is hard to explain, but it feels like you are creating a universe of your own, and you can peek into the universes of others. Anyway, I scrolled through his tumblr, read his poetry. I remember dreaming about writing that. I scrolled up again. A link to his Facebook page. I clicked it, hoping to discover more about him. And I did. I discovered more than I had hoped for. He was dead. There were a lot of “we will miss you” and others posts on his timeline, so I had to scroll down to find his last message. He wrote this, nothing more: “My angel has left me, so I have to die. Farewell.” Suicide. He killed himself. I could not believe it. But it seemed to be true.
The next two months, I tried to ignore what happened and led a perfectly normal life. I went a few steps further with Hazel, me and my friends had fun, we got bored, we had a few sad moments, but nothing overly so. But then, I suddenly got a letter in my mail. It was addressed to my house and specifically sent to “The thirteen year old boy living the life I wish I had lived, also known as Eric Johnson”, written in the handwriting I remembered all too well from the dream. It was a package, sent by him on the day of his death. I was afraid of opening it, but I did anyway. In it, was a story. The story of my life, every major event in my life that I remembered. It was a lot, and I didn’t read all of it, but I recognized a lot of things. My name, my neighborhood, my parents’ names, the stupid stuff I did with friends on my thirteenth birthday. At the end of it, there was something else. Another envelope, also addressed to me. I tried to open it, but it was quite hard. I just got it open a little when suddenly someone stormed into my room.
“Seventeen. Seventeen years old. And I haven’t even kissed yet, even though I live in a country so often seen as the country of sin,” I said. I liked taking a stroll and talking to myself. It helped me clear my mind. But today… Today was different. I always felt like something was wrong, but today, I couldn’t lose that feeling. So I sat down in the grass and started writing a poem, not hearing anything except what I wanted to be the soundtrack of my life: Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs.
Bzzzzz, bzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz. I woke up to the sound of a vibrating iPhone. And then I knew it was all just a dream. Those seventeen years, most of them in The Netherlands. I had dreamt being someone else. It was a weird dream, especially because I can still fully remember it. Remember how the guy I was, Angus was his name, how he got bullied, how he gave so much love but got so little in return. But most of all I remembered it neither being a good dream or a nightmare. A lot of bad things happened, but there also were good things. I tried to think about why I dreamt this, but I couldn’t think of any reason.
The rest of the day was weird. I t was nice being back where I had lived all these thirteen years I spent on earth: the suburbs in Northern Virginia. But somehow, I missed being older. Being in the Netherlands. Being creative. At least I knew that tonight would get my feet back on the ground. Finally a date with the girl of my dreams, Hazel.
I will spare you the details, but I can tell you that the date went well. First love, first kiss, and a helluva lot of fun. Tomorrow was the first day of the summer holiday. I couldn’t wait exploring the suburbs with my friends and Hazel, just driving around on our bikes, running around, playing games, cracking jokes. But I could feel something was wrong. I knew something was wrong.
I don’t know why I did, but I grabbed my phone googled the name of the guy I dreamt I was. I almost dropped my phone in shock. HE EXISTED! And not that there was someone with that name, but the age, looks and everything seemed to fit. I visited his tumblr. I love tumblr. It is hard to explain, but it feels like you are creating a universe of your own, and you can peek into the universes of others. Anyway, I scrolled through his tumblr, read his poetry. I remember dreaming about writing that. I scrolled up again. A link to his Facebook page. I clicked it, hoping to discover more about him. And I did. I discovered more than I had hoped for. He was dead. There were a lot of “we will miss you” and others posts on his timeline, so I had to scroll down to find his last message. He wrote this, nothing more: “My angel has left me, so I have to die. Farewell.” Suicide. He killed himself. I could not believe it. But it seemed to be true.
The next two months, I tried to ignore what happened and led a perfectly normal life. I went a few steps further with Hazel, me and my friends had fun, we got bored, we had a few sad moments, but nothing overly so. But then, I suddenly got a letter in my mail. It was addressed to my house and specifically sent to “The thirteen year old boy living the life I wish I had lived, also known as Eric Johnson”, written in the handwriting I remembered all too well from the dream. It was a package, sent by him on the day of his death. I was afraid of opening it, but I did anyway. In it, was a story. The story of my life, every major event in my life that I remembered. It was a lot, and I didn’t read all of it, but I recognized a lot of things. My name, my neighborhood, my parents’ names, the stupid stuff I did with friends on my thirteenth birthday. At the end of it, there was something else. Another envelope, also addressed to me. I tried to open it, but it was quite hard. I just got it open a little when suddenly someone stormed into my room.