The Boy In The Mirror-Installment 1


I'm running.

 I run from my life; I run from my family; I run from my house, school, friends; I run from myself.

 I... I can't take this shit anymore. It wasn't supposed to be this way, I was supposed to be something more. Something better. Something... real.

 And what am I? I am a boy,. And... to boot...I like other boys. I just... do. I like girls too but... there's none around me which... you know... make me animalistic. I'm a confused boy. I'm insecure, unstable, unpopular, uncool, and relatively unliked. I'm loved by some... yeah. But how can they really love me when I can't even love myself? I am a vision of self-hatred within my own self. All everyone else sees are the people I play, the masks I wear. I hide my cards just like I hide myself. Sure, there's bit of me in everything I act... but I feel like shit for playing everyone off. But I can't help it. I'm lost, trapped, scared of everything. I'm afraid to be hurt. I'm afraid to take a risk... I'm afraid to LIVE. I know it's in me. It's all inside me... that's the only thing that keeps me going. But I can't do a thing. I'm a thinker, a dreamer, a philosopher a revolutionist... just a boy. Fifteen going on 16... but with years' worth of adult contemplation. I've HAD a nervous breakdown. I feel so... alone.

 Who am I? I don't know. I' m traveling along the path to self-destruction to find out.

I have absolutely no bearing on who I am. Anything about me is all a mass expanse of little hints and details.. like fragments of who I am, my thoughts, my dreams, my.. potential... my hope... flowing down a dark dark river... Where I seem to be trapped in the middle... almost drowning as the questions in my head get so intense.. and the level of confusion and thoughts, dreams and ideas rise higher up my neck as they whip by into oblivion. But I'm running.. Running away from this place. I shouldn't have been born here... its not for me. Its not where I fit in. It will never give me what I need to grow into my dreams... time lost... in timelessness.

 I want to run to my dreams `try to live your lost illusions'... Michael Cretu is a god. Its musicians like him that got me this far.  Maybe its musicians like him that kept me here...

 I'm shy, but I'm not. I'm easily oppressed because I can't fend for myself. But give me love... and I'm all you'll ever need. Did I mention I can be arrogant? It's an odd mix really. I have like.. no self esteem, confidence.. I self-loath every minute.. yet I can still confidently pull that off. Arrogance for me can be many things, a shield, a source of humor, something to keep people at bay... and even a sort of `earned' attribute after all the shit I have dealt with. And the more I realize I am gonna be subjected to living in this world... the more I realized how hopelessly trapped and compacted I am.  So... rushed for time.  I feel so... unused. And... I walk around feeling this... constant mass of patheticness, uneasiness, and discomfort which plagues every thought... I just don't feel right... where am I going?  It doesn't feel right... I feel so off... so hopelessly on the edge... of something.

Anyways... enough about me... how about you?

 

But the mirror didn't answer back...all that remained was the tragic image which now seemed fused into the mirror's glass... a beautiful boyish face.. tinted blue from the light coming in from the window at 2 AM... tears streaming down that face...silence. And then... a whimper... and another... the face shivers slightly.. coaxing the tears down to the cold tiled floor. More came down... as he bit his lip... trying not to cry openly... it would only echo in the room. But... the whimpers increased.. so did the shaking.. no matter how hard he closed his eyes.. the tears still came. He couldn't control it. He was in too much pain. He was empty... so alone. So scared. So unloved. He threw himself onto his bed and cried. His pathetic song of despair coming forth as his body trembled and the tears fell, A fallen angel. He... cried himself to sleep.

 

His third time talking to that mirror. He was that lost and gone. He was talking to a mirror. He couldn't stand being alone, he did the next best thing. It had been three weeks in that boarding school. Not one friend. Not one acquaintance. Not one look to acknowledge he existed in that pool of people. To him... this was worse than leaving his old school. At least there he was hated and got attention. Here, he thought he could start over... but no one had even looked at him... And he cried himself to sleep practically every night since he was there. He was ever so fragile and sensitive. He was flawed with always setting himself up with disappointment like this. No one cared. No one. He didn't understand...

 

On the opposite side of the wall that held the silent mirror, lay Jeremy. He had a  place in school, wicked friends, he was in the least... noticed. He was prototypical teeny-bopper.  A perception totally in the opposite to Dima's own self-classification.  Jeremy's own mirror reflected a  boyish body... slight muscular definition... not fat by any means, but that perfect mix of skinny and baby fat to make him adorable  Blonde hair... worn in punkish lil spikes. The skin above the sheets was flawless... a set of full, beautifully crafted pink lips... dimples... freckles... button nose.  He slept soundly... his chest going up and down softly... curled up nice and sweetly in his bed...and dreaming...

...of a boy...

...crying...

...behind a mirror.


... a single tear falling from his eye...