Chapter 1 - Alone 

I sit alone. As usual. They look at me. Maybe they judge me. Maybe they pity me. Maybe they even like me. I’ll never know. One person I recognise from my homeroom. It may be my first day, but you can’t forget the look in his eyes. The fear he eyes every person bigger than him. No one seems to notice, but I did. I recognise the feeling.

I think Micheal was his name. His friends all call him Oxly for some reason. I don’t know why. Oxly sounds nothing like Micheal. Looking at him closer now, I notice his sleeves. The presence of them isn’t noticeable to anyone else. But we share these sleeves too. It doesn’t matter the weather. They will always be there because they hide what makes others uncomfortable. I don’t know what lies underneath his sleeves, but I know it’s pain.

I look around the tight group again and notice that Micheal or Oxley isn’t the only one with long sleeves. Maybe it’s a coincidence. I hope it is.

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As I walk out of the gates I see Micheal again through the library window. I was the last one to go home. Except for Micheal and some other people in his group. Maybe they are as scared to go home as I am. Or maybe they just enjoy being in the company of each other. I hope that’s the reason they stay here as sunset comes.

The walk home is as unpleasant as always. The doorway to silence lingers closer as I walk. It’s the doorway to my thoughts. I don’t like my thoughts. I pull my sleeves over my fingers as I reach for the doorhandle. Suddenly I hear a crash from the house across from mine. It sounded like glass breaking. The family just moved in this week. I don’t hear screaming or shouting so I walk into my hell house.

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The next day I walk out into street at sunrise. I don’t like how quiet it is. I notice a familiar silhouette across the street. Micheal. I’ve never met him, but I hope that the glass shattering was an accident. I hope that he just has a school thing and that’s why he’s leaving so soon.

I hope. I hope. I hope. I always hope. Maybe I could stop hoping. Then I’d be dead. No one would notice. I hope because that’s the only thing that keeps me alive. I wish I had something else to live for. I wish I could talk. Maybe then people would notice me. Notice the demons inside my head. No. I can’t think like that.

I look back at Micheal across the street. He walks like a scared puppy. Constantly looking over his shoulder like something or someone is going to pounce. His house is almost eerily quiet. Like mine, only the way he walks makes me think his house holds more than broken dreams and pills waiting to be swallowed. His home holds danger. Maybe we aren’t so different. He has friends, I don’t. But he’s hurting, and so am I.