He saw a boy walking on the road.

"Some dumbfuck is out there walkin' on the road again. I think it's the same kid as last time."

"Oh. Well, th-"

He turned around and looked at her, "Hurry the fuck up and get dressed. We're going to be late for church." Turning back to the window, he proclaimed loudly, "I wish today's youth would have better things to do than to fuck around on a closed off road!"

- - -

The road mesmerized him, and he didn't really want to admit it (it was one of those things you'd get a weird look or two from "regular" people). He now understood why American culture had such a fascination with it. It was so much more frightening after you'd actually planted two feet on it.

The music stopped. Without even looking down, he knew the battery had died. He pulled out the ear pieces and listened to the not-so-far-away cars driving past on the interstate. 

That all went away with the shattering of what sounded like glass. He turned around and looked at the nearby twin home. He saw one person, a man, yelling. At who or what, he had no idea. The O'Reilly Factor must have been taken off the air, he thought. 

- - -

He was driving back from a hunting trip, cruising the gravel roads, sipping on a Bud Light with three fallen soldiers riding shotgun. He saw someone ahead, on the side of the road. He wasn't going fast to begin with, but decided to slow down to a snail's pace just to get a good look at the kid. It was the same one that he always saw on the road. The obscurity of seeing him in the middle of nowhere never settled in before the image of the blood leaking out of the boy's right calf did. A broken skateboard sat a couple feet away from.

"That's what you get for riding one of those queer planks," he said, all the while pointing his bottle at him. He hit the gas and drove off. Fucking kids, he thought. 

He got a couple yards and then looked into his rear-view mirror. Whether or not the boy was still there, he didn't care to know, because the image of a man's coffee-stained grin filled the mirror. 

"That was a pretty mean thing you did back there, Harold."

Harold felt something in his chest rip apart. 

"Looks like you've slimmed down a bit, eh, Lard'Oh?"

Harold groaned. He couldn't speak. His foot sat like a brick upon the pedal. 

"Don't kids say the darndest things? Who ever thought elementary minds could anagram."

His vision started going fuzzy. 

"It's a pity that cardiac arrest causes one to suffer extreme confusion throughout the experience. Ah well. Where you're going, you won't need a recollection of these events."

Everything went black.

"And don't worry about the wifey, pal. The one and only thing she'll ever suck on is the butt-end of your huntin' rifle." And then he laughed.

- - -

The construction had been completed weeks ago, but he still ran past it every day. He smiled to himself. Not that many people actually experience something that simple, he thought. He took out the earphones and shut his eyes, listening to the road. It had become a sort of ritual. 

The soft hum ended with a gunshot. 

"Hopefully, you are enjoying the summer months and beginning to make plans for the upcoming school year."

God, how's that for a slap in the face. 

l<3ft

I'm watching Orange County right now. It's making me lol.

- - -

There are a million birds in the sky right now. I know a million is a lot and it's illogical and incorrect but I look up and they are all I see, and there are a million of them. 

I can't hear the ocean right now, or the sound of the birds, or the blowing wind. But I remember what they sound like. Or at least what I think it sounds like, as far as the ocean goes. To be honest, this is my first time even being close to the water. I never reached the shore before I lost it. But that's okay. I remember walking my dog through my neighborhood, and hearing the wind rustle the branches and leaves. I remember thinking, If there's anything that sounds like the ocean, it's this. 

That was years ago. God, I don't even know if my dog is still alive. I know this is a silly thought, but I'm going to write it down anyway: I hope he doesn't hold a grudge against me. My parents were never really keen on the idea of a dog in the first place, but . . . I don't know. Maybe they'll like him more now that I'm gone. 

- - -

It's late, and I'm growing tired. This is the first time I've written something down. Maybe it won't be the last.

M-O-O-N, that spells lie.

For as long as I can remember-- probably even before people really started to notice the economic crisis-- they'd been telling us that everything is okay. That the store is doing well. I'm privileged enough to deal with the store's earnings, and therefore know what they make on a day-to-day basis. And to be honest, they're probably are doing pretty well. But things aren't all bright in Hollywood.

There's another problem with my job: I get to supervise the grunts, and talk bullshit with them daily. And they're not all that happy. Some are pretty scared, actually. We've got people in college who aren't even getting enough hours to pay the rent. People who are pregnant and need to be working as much as they can now, before it gets to the point where they cannot. 

Fuck, where is this coming from.

Can you blame me? I'm bored on a Sunday (morning). I don't feel like finishing Person to Person just quiet yet, because I'm in love with Richard Matheson as a writer, and I Am Legend is the only book I currently own. And fuck Pokemón. Whoever decided that adding the message "It continues to rain" between every turn is a fucking MORON. No one cares about the rain, besides when my Ponyta is getting the shit kicked out of him. 

- - -

Um.

7/9/09

Sorry, hun, but you just aren't human. 

- - -

Ev'rything is going wrong, but we're so ha-ppy. 

- - -

Work is enjoyable. Stressful, but it's insane at how quickly I've learned to manage it. Should be interesting if I notice a difference while at school.

- - -

Mmm. I'm so fucking lazy.

Okay. Get up.

There you go. Twenty steps were no challenge. 

All right, let's take a look:

Intro to Biology/Lab

Speech

Intro to English Studies

Applied Calculus

Psychological Aspects of Drug Use and Abuse

Not bad, I'd say.

What about you guys? Do you know yet?

- - -

Bored out of my mind. Text me something incredibly random when you read this, so I get extremely confused. 

Should I play Pokemon? Or should I read some more of the short stories within I Am Legend?

Hmm.

Or maybe I should throw my clothes in the wash. Ooooo.

- - -

"With the changing times comes a change in principles."

"But this goes against everything your family has ever stood for . . ."

- - -

Help me, Suzanne, Help Help me Suzzane. 

- - -

7/10/09

It's amazing how insanely quick one's mood can be turned to shit, just by looking at some digits on a slip of paper. It's also amazing at how badly fucked someone's life can become just by stupid fucking numbers. 

Hours later and I'm still somewhat pissed, and apparently unable to type/spell. Most of the emotion is gone, though. The most painful thing now is that my dad just tried to make me feel better, and I totally shot him down. And the thought of him being sad makes me sad, and God, I cannot be dealing with this right now. I know things are going to end up okay and all, but why the fuck can't things go the way I want them to? Just once? That's all I'm asking, you asshole. Just once. I fucking hate you, and I hate this entire fucking system you've developed. And it's all beyond me, because one person cannot change the world and the world will never be changed. I've already accepted that fact.

Why do we have to pay for a fucking education? Why? There is absolutely no reasoning behind this. I'm going to be spending six thousand dollars (and that's a relatively low amount for college, mind you) a semester just so some assholes can do a half-assed job of teaching me. What? Fucking Biology? I don't mind being forced to take generals, and fuck it, most of them actually sound interesting, but why does it cost me a 60+ hours of hard earned money just to take it? Why? This system is so fucking flawed. 

Fuck it.

I'm going to, GET THIS, play Pokemon or read. And probably cut my wrists to Counting Crows (not really). I'm loling at the idea of it, though.

It was ironic, like a thirsty man drowning. His knuckles bled as they pounded against the thick glass. He would end up breaking them in his attempt to escape, but it's not like that would matter. 

He was waist-deep now, the water sloshing noisily as he paced from corner to corner after the pain had become too much. Its bitter chill reminded himself of the consequence of giving up now.

The ocean had been so blue when he'd first set out, like the pretty walls of Noah's (he found this painfully ironic as well) first room. Shannon had done such a beautiful job. He hated himself for taking this long to appreciate it. With the lack of sunlight, it now looked black, like the eyes of Wilson Proy in the 3rd grade. God, what he would give to be back in that schoolyard scuffle, terrified, yet dry and alive, with many years of life left. . . . Even if the sun had been out, he thought, the water still would have probably appeared black.

His bloody hand grasped the handle as he yanked with all his might. It still wouldn't budge. He pulled his hand from the water and slammed it against the glass one final time. The pain answered the question Is it broken? He half swam over to a desk and climbed on top, crying and shivering. 

He was on the floor again. The water sat on level with his pecs. Across the room there was a small digital clock hanging on the wall. He took it with the unbroken hand and went back to the desk. Daybreak was so close. He didn't want to die alone, in the night. 

Hurry up, he prayed. By now he had given up. There was no escape, there was no future. He stood and waited, and waited, until he had to keep his face parallel with the ceiling to breathe. This is it, he thought. I'm dying blind and alone. He took his final breath and became submerged.