C: Prologue
This is the prologue to a comparatively longer short story I wrote in fall of junior year. It has not been edited and is probably overly melodramatic. Content warning: suicide.
I stumble up the stairs in a huff after fumbling for the key that I eventually find in the same place it has always been hidden: tucked away in some blankets in an innocuous but old and tattered Amazon box beneath the porch. My hands are trembling as I turn the key, but I manage to open the door nevertheless. I am greeted by a horrific sight: blood and other bodily fluids and fleshy bits splattered across the living room. He’s there, slumped against the sofa, weapon of choice in his hand. On the table is a note, and I hope with all my might that it is not addressed to me, although the clenching sensation in my stomach tells me otherwise. Slowly and fearfully, I pick it up and read:
“Charlie:
I get it. I guess I’ll never be good enough for anyone, especially not anyone close to you. My hope is a weakness, I’m terribly egotistical, and I’m destined to be stuck in this cycle of pain forever. I’ll never be perfect and rational, like you. I bring the world no value, and without me, it would take no time to forget me. Well, I choose to escape this forlorn future. Goodbye then. See you in a next life.
Love, Ben.”
I can not believe it. He followed through. This cannot have happened. How could he have - how could I have been - I can’t take it. I crumple up the note even though I know it’ll get me in trouble with the police when they eventually show up.
*Don’t think. Don’t think about it, don’t even think about him - it’ll only make you feel worse and - are your own feelings the only thing you can think about at the moment you sick, unempathetic - no, just stop, just let go, just - *
And then it hits me. The memory of the time we met.
It was my first day at a new school when he half-walked, half-shuffled over to me. I had just moved from North Hollywood a month into the junior year and was extremely anxious about basically everything school related. Although the administration was welcoming and had told me that I wouldn’t have to worry about being late as I learned my way around, I arrived an hour and a half before school started to try to acclimate to the new environment. Ben was already there, and was clearly observing me from afar while I put my stuff into my new locker. He seemed to think about it before approaching me, somewhat unsure in his actions.
“Uh-um h-hi there. You’re new right?” he said quickly, stumbling over words in his unique and indescribably awkward yet sweet manner. Without providing me an opportunity to answer, he continued in his nervous, rambling way, "I’m Ben, I think you’re kinda cute - Did I just say that? Please tell me I didn’t say that; oh God, I did say that, I don’t even know if he’s gay, why do I have to screw everything up - "
It was simultaneously ultra-awkward and ultra-cute, and I attempted to spare him more embarrassment by cutting him off and simply stating, “I’m Charlie. I’m new, just moved here from LA. Would you care to show me around the school?”. I extended my hand, offering to shake but he instead took it and held it before quickly letting go once he realized why I had offered the hand in the first place.
"Um-um, well, um, sure! Sorry about that I’m just a super-awkward human being - gosh, I’m such a dork - "
“Ben.” He stopped talking and I continued. “Just calm down. Why don’t you start by showing me the lunchroom?”
“The theater’s closer.” He stated simply, mood suddenly brightening. “Gosh, I really like the stage 'cause it’s like, awesome, y’know performing and stuf - he did say he wanted to see the lunchroom, why are you talking about the theater, bring him to the lunchr -”
“The theater’s fine too,” I offered. “I’ve always loved the stage, and besides, I have Stagecraft today anyways.”
He brought me to the theater and showed me around the rest of the school that morning and throughout the rest of day. We quickly became friends, although I kept it in the back of my mind that he had called me cute and that that would probably come back up at some point. It did.
Prologue
I speed all the way to Ben’s house. The habitually anxious part of my mind warns me that if I get pulled over I’ll just waste more time and probably get a ticket, but I manage to keep the worry at bay and keep my foot on the accelerator. The roads and trees that were once so inviting and familiar are now shadowy and threatening, warning me of what I may be about to witness as I zoom pass. I am endlessly worried about how serious he is. I desperately hope he has not done - and will not do - what he has threatened to do.I stumble up the stairs in a huff after fumbling for the key that I eventually find in the same place it has always been hidden: tucked away in some blankets in an innocuous but old and tattered Amazon box beneath the porch. My hands are trembling as I turn the key, but I manage to open the door nevertheless. I am greeted by a horrific sight: blood and other bodily fluids and fleshy bits splattered across the living room. He’s there, slumped against the sofa, weapon of choice in his hand. On the table is a note, and I hope with all my might that it is not addressed to me, although the clenching sensation in my stomach tells me otherwise. Slowly and fearfully, I pick it up and read:
“Charlie:
I get it. I guess I’ll never be good enough for anyone, especially not anyone close to you. My hope is a weakness, I’m terribly egotistical, and I’m destined to be stuck in this cycle of pain forever. I’ll never be perfect and rational, like you. I bring the world no value, and without me, it would take no time to forget me. Well, I choose to escape this forlorn future. Goodbye then. See you in a next life.
Love, Ben.”
I can not believe it. He followed through. This cannot have happened. How could he have - how could I have been - I can’t take it. I crumple up the note even though I know it’ll get me in trouble with the police when they eventually show up.
*Don’t think. Don’t think about it, don’t even think about him - it’ll only make you feel worse and - are your own feelings the only thing you can think about at the moment you sick, unempathetic - no, just stop, just let go, just - *
And then it hits me. The memory of the time we met.
It was my first day at a new school when he half-walked, half-shuffled over to me. I had just moved from North Hollywood a month into the junior year and was extremely anxious about basically everything school related. Although the administration was welcoming and had told me that I wouldn’t have to worry about being late as I learned my way around, I arrived an hour and a half before school started to try to acclimate to the new environment. Ben was already there, and was clearly observing me from afar while I put my stuff into my new locker. He seemed to think about it before approaching me, somewhat unsure in his actions.
“Uh-um h-hi there. You’re new right?” he said quickly, stumbling over words in his unique and indescribably awkward yet sweet manner. Without providing me an opportunity to answer, he continued in his nervous, rambling way, "I’m Ben, I think you’re kinda cute - Did I just say that? Please tell me I didn’t say that; oh God, I did say that, I don’t even know if he’s gay, why do I have to screw everything up - "
It was simultaneously ultra-awkward and ultra-cute, and I attempted to spare him more embarrassment by cutting him off and simply stating, “I’m Charlie. I’m new, just moved here from LA. Would you care to show me around the school?”. I extended my hand, offering to shake but he instead took it and held it before quickly letting go once he realized why I had offered the hand in the first place.
"Um-um, well, um, sure! Sorry about that I’m just a super-awkward human being - gosh, I’m such a dork - "
“Ben.” He stopped talking and I continued. “Just calm down. Why don’t you start by showing me the lunchroom?”
“The theater’s closer.” He stated simply, mood suddenly brightening. “Gosh, I really like the stage 'cause it’s like, awesome, y’know performing and stuf - he did say he wanted to see the lunchroom, why are you talking about the theater, bring him to the lunchr -”
“The theater’s fine too,” I offered. “I’ve always loved the stage, and besides, I have Stagecraft today anyways.”
He brought me to the theater and showed me around the rest of the school that morning and throughout the rest of day. We quickly became friends, although I kept it in the back of my mind that he had called me cute and that that would probably come back up at some point. It did.
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