Date: Sat, 14 Jun 2008 19:49:38 +0200
From: feistontibia@gmail.com
Subject: For the sake of it: Emotions on display chapter 2

Written by: Feist
E-mail: feistontibia@gmail.com


---------------------DISCLAIMER--------------------
This story will eventually contain sexual acts
between underage males. It will also contain strong
language, violence and graphic details.
If you are underage, stop reading now.
If you live in an area where any of these before
mentioned acts are illegal, stop reading now.
If you're offended by existentialist views, or sexual
acts between male teenagers, stop reading now.
If this does not apply for you, enjoy reading!
---------------------DISCLAIMER--------------------


			CHAPTER 2

The thing with school is...it is a social gathering. Big crowds of
children running, laughing and studying together. Teachers trying
desperately to teach these children something new; something
'interesting', something valuable for the remainder of their lives. And
like the sheep we are, we do exactly this. We go to school, study all
subjects they decide we need, and don't do more than complain about it
to each other. What if I say I don't want to take math? That I'd rather
have, for example...how-to-jack-off-class ? Now that would be comical, I
can already see their faces, and hear their protests. So what I'll do
for now, is just follow the classes they order me to take, try to do "my
best" in them, and make everyone happy. Everyone, except for myself.
What a waste of time.

Whether everyone or only I have it, remains unknown to me. Why does
school always go the same? Every Monday, Thursday, or basically every
other day of the week is filled with exactly the same classes as other
weeks. Week in week out. For a whole year. And then ? They change our
timetables and hurray, another year of the same classes at the same
time. Personally, if I would run a school, I'd make special timetables,
maybe twisting timetables that change every two or three weeks. Don't
you think it would help to get students more alive? Making sure they
don't always know what their up to in two weeks? I'm sure it would help
me!

But now let's move on to something that I actually DO like in school.
Yes, with so much complaining about basically everything, you must be
surprised that there actually is something. I don't know why, I don't
know how, but the thing I like most at school is being able to check out
all the cute boys...Now isn't that something light for such a heavy
thinker like me? It is..but I can't help it.

I woke up this morning, with my mood all giddy from last night's
thinking. I noticed there are a lot of mornings I wake up like this, and
it definitely doesn't help my happy image in front of my parents or my
friends. Yes, I do have a few friends. Or acquaintances comes closer to
it. It's not that I couldn't be popular in school, it's more that I
don't see a reason why I would even try. With great popularity comes
great responsibility, date-ability, and along with that deny ability.
Three things I wouldn't mind not having. I perform rather well at
school; not a straight A student, but definitely a straight B, with a
lucky shot towards A's sometimes. Now my room is like you would expect
it to be of any typical teenager. I've got a few posters of baseball
players hanging on the wall, a few with singers and even a couple band
ones. Of course the baseball players and the male singers hanging on my
wall are not there purely because their so good, if you know what I
mean. In the right corner is a big dresser, which my parents already had
since before I was born. It's rather big, and not even half filled. I
really don't see the point in having twenty-five pairs of jeans, or
fifty t-shirts. There are only seven days a week, and I don't have time
to change five times a day anyway. on the other side of my room is my
desk, which holds my computer and a drawer that contains all my school
books. At the moment you can't see much though, because it's piled with
dirty laundry, glasses and you name it, it's there. I'm pretty happy
with my room; it's not too big, but it's definitely not small. It's
sufficient.

With one more look at the clock standing on my night drawer, I climbed
out of bed and walked over to the bathroom. Like every morning I took a
good look at myself, more out of curiosity than something else. As usual
I see a blonde-haired sixteen year old boy, with green-grey eyes.
Normally when I look into the mirror, I try to see something that would
indicate why some girls find me attractive. I've heard rumours about my
eyes, but as I look at them, I don't notice anything special about them.
Everything in my face is just regular; a normal nose, normal ears,
there's really nothing extraordinary or cute about me. The rest of my
body is also just fine. I'm not overly muscled, but there are clear
signs of the fact that I work out two times a week. Working out is
something that helps me to distract my thoughts, drives anger away, and
makes me feel fit during the week. If there's one thing I hate, it's
being tired all day. And secretly, I hope it will make me look better
too, and you never know when that comes in handy.

After I did my routine mirror check, I stepped into the shower and
turned on the water. Nothing as refreshing as an early shower. Normally
I would have taken this time to do some..less noble things in the
shower, but since I was late I decided to leave it until later and just
get dressed quickly. I didn't spend a lot of time searching for clothes.
It doesn't really matter what I wear, and I definitely don't care about
other people's opinion. Today it was a faded blue t-shirt with some
weird shape on it, and some regular blue jeans. I put on my skate shoes,
and walked downstairs. Now I don't wear skate shoes because I skate, but
because they're well comfy, and they look pretty cool as well.

Our house, just like my room, is of average size. Nothing too big, but
we don't need more to live in anyway. Our house is located in a pretty
good neighbourhood in New York, about an hour driving from Manhattan. In
my street there's a lot of children my age, but I don't really get along
with any of them. Their either too much into sports, or complete geeks.
Being somewhat in between, I don't like both sides. The people I hang
out with are also a bit in between. They too don't draw much attention
to themselves, and that's a definite plus. The thing with the sporty
types is that all they're after is either girls, or who is the most
popular. Their view on the world seems a bit limited to these trivial
things, things that are of no importance in my opinion. There used to be
a time when I was able to get along with most of the children in my
street, but since they started to look at girls, most of it just faded
away. No problem though, I don't need them at all.

I went into the living room, slammed the door hard, and immediately
crossed over to the kitchen where I was going to prepare my breakfast
and lunch. Normally I'm not a fan of breakfast, but my mom aways bugs me
when I don't have it; saying it's unhealthy, that I won't be able to
concentrate at school, or whatever it is she's heard on television. I
don't care though, it's not like I'm able to concentrate a lot at school
anyway.

I opened the refrigerator and tried to think of what I wanted to eat. I
actually felt like having pizza. But maybe better not to. So I grabbed
the milk, closed the refrigerator and got myself a bowl to serve myself
some corn flakes. My mom would be proud of me. It's not that I don't
like my parents, not at all. They're great people, but sometimes they
can bug the hell out of me. But I guess that's normal with parents, and
I shouldn't complain too much. They let me do most of the things I want,
without too much questions. There's only a few rules; no drugs, no
criminals in the house, homework before funny business and no girls
sleeping over. Which means that if I ever want to bring back a guy,
there would be no problem! Terrific.

I carried my bowl and walked over the carpet towards the living room. I
took a good look and saw that my mom bought some new paintings. She
must've done that yesterday. Funny how I don't notice these things when
I'm in my thinking moods. It would actually be better if I hadn't seen
them, because they were ugly as hell. One of them was a landscape with a
girl in it riding a horse, and the other one was supposed to be some
beautiful scenery, disappearing  sun and everything. I assume they print
like a thousand of these every day.

I tried to see if there was anything else she had changed. The plasma tv
still hung in the corner of the room, with close by two comfortable red
couches. In between these couches there was a small table. On the other
side of the room there was an enormous wooden shelve, filled up
completely with books of every genre you could imagine. Fantasy to
fiction, religion to atheism, philosophy to realism. I used to like the
fantasy story's most, for they could draw me into their self-created
world. When reading them I felt like being the hero myself, having to
complete quests that never seem possible. It used to give me quite a
thrill, and made me lust about being able to perform magic myself. The
series I liked reading most was Raymond E. Feist's series; riftwar,
serpent war, darkwar, he has a war for everything so it seemed. It kept
me occupied for months on that age. However when I grew older, the
philosophy completely took me into it's grip. I started reading
everything, but what I liked most of all where Simone de Beauvoir's
books. The woman was an existentialist to the max, and I don't know
anyone who is able to give more criticism towards subjects than she
does. She really is a hero.

OK so nothing was out of place there, so I walked towards the dinner
table and sat down. I quickly ate my breakfast, realising I was running
late, and headed back towards the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches for
school. I can't be bothered having cafetaria food at school; it smells,
it looks old, it tastes old and I normally don't like most of it. I
placed my sandwiches in my bag, which stood in the hallway. I turned
towards the stairs once more and shouted. "I'm going to school mom!"
Mentally checking if I didn't forget anything I opened the door, walked
outside and went to the end of the street where my bus would come pick
me up. If I would make it.

The most of the bus trip was uneventful; the same children chatting
about the same stuff as usual. Teachers- they can't stand, homework-
they didn't do, tests- that are too hard, blablabla. You'd think they'd
get bored of it someday. Yet when I look at them, they always look
happy, naive, like there's no real world outside of what's happening in
that bus. They're all, no exceptions there, working hard to succeed what
society expects from them. To finish school with a degree, have as much
organised fun as possible, and then, withdraw yourself in work.
Silently, not drawing too much attention. Like the millions of other
people. You work, make money, have a nice evening with your family,
sleep, and the next morning the cycle repeats itself. Day after day,
week after week, month after month. And then, to make it not too
unbearable, your able to take a holiday. But mind you, not too long,
because subtly, under the lines, it's clear that when your on holiday
you don't earn any money. So you will have to return back to work. Who
said everything is free will? Yes it is, you don't HAVE to work, you
don't HAVE to go to school, but see how that will unfold around you.
It's two choices basically: You either work, or starve.

I'm sure a lot of people don't agree with my opinion. They will say:
what's wrong with working? Your just too lazy, if you don't want to. I
disagree. I love being productive, creating things with my hands,
drawing, playing an instrument even though I'm not good at anything. Why
do I like this then? Simple. I do it for myself. That's right, I do
stuff, and I do it for myself. Imagine a world where everyone would
create their own stuff. It will be a fascinating one, with a lot more
results. You all produce things for yourself, and that's a hundred
percent more satisfying and encouraging.

Realisation. I'm still in a bus, again completely drawn into my own
dream world. Yet my dreamworld has a lot of trouble with the reality. It
collides with it, and it makes me feel even more uncomfortable. When
looking out of the window, I notice the streets going by quickly. I
recognize the neighbourhoods and know I'm close to my school now. My
school has about seventeen hundred students. Which is not big by any
means, but as you maybe know by now, I think it's enough. I opened my
book bag and took out my timetable to see which subjects I had. The
first thing that drew my attention is that I had a long day today. It
would be filled with classes such as English, math, P.E. and world
history. I don't really like any of them, except maybe for English. I
mean, it is the language I speak isn't it? Plus English class is the
class where...one of the most gorgeous boys of this EARTH walks around.
And that tends to make a class more interesting. I've talked to him a
few times, mostly about class itself, but he does seem like a genuine
cool guy. Short brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes, and a smile to die
for. So that'll be the class I'll look out to for the rest of the day,
while sitting in boring classes minding my own business and trying hard
to learn something.

And then suddenly, a feeling. Like if a primal instinct was unleashed
from inside of me and ordered me to do whatever it felt like telling me
to. I grabbed the seat in front of me and held on for dear life. I saw
the children in the bus, all still smiling towards each other, and the
bus driver, carefully watching the road. I looked outside and saw
nothing that could've triggered this sudden jerk in my body, but I knew
something was wrong. Very wrong. And that's when it happened. That was
when I felt a major crash, and my body was blown towards the chair I was
already clamped on to. What exactly happened, I had no idea. Shouts were
coming from inside of the bus; girls crying, some weakly, others like if
they were tortured to death. Small puddles of blood appeared under some
seats, and some people looked like they were unconscious. The first
thing that came in my mind is that we had to leave the bus. We had to do
it quickly too, otherwise things would get even worse. I crawled from
under my seat, or actually I climbed off of it, noticing the bus had
probably turned over by the crash.
I was standing on the left side windows from the bus, carefully watching
if I didn't step on somebody. There were other people who followed my
example; getting out of their seats and trying to get out of the bus.
Some of them were carrying their friends who weren't able to walk, but
the chaos inside the bus made it hard for anyone trying to get out. It
was like a surreal dream. You know them, your on a place you know, yet
everything feels different. Like if the whole world shifted a hundred
eighty degrees. I was almost at the entrance, and I noticed that I
should've been helping other people before trying to get out myself. I
reached for the nearest seat, where a girl around my age was lying
still, holding her hand on her knees that seemed to have been hit hard
by the blow. She had a look of pain on her face that I've never seen
before.

"Come on, let me try help you. It's best to get out of this bus quickly
as possible" I said to the girl, who looked like she wouldn't try to
come out.

She tried to move her leg, but the moment she did this, she let out a
loud cry. It was obvious that her leg was broken or at least very badly
damaged. "I can't move..it hurts so much...has anyone called an
ambulance yet? And what in god's name happened?" Her voice sounded weak,
with a bit of a tremble in it

"Let me just get out then, I'll try to see if I can call. Just..you wait
here". Now what was THAT? Didn't I know something different to say than
'wait here'? I  completed the last few steps towards the opening in the
bus, and walked out of it. I walked over to the place the other children
were standing, and noticed it were only three of them. Was it really
this bad that only three of them could actually walk? People on the
streets were closing in on the bus like flies, and from every side I
heard people requesting ambulances. It was complete madness. From the
side I was standing, I could only see the roof of the bus and therefore
couldn't see what actually hit us. I walked over to the other side,
passing by people that all looked like they were either on the verge of
crying or breaking down. As I took a look around the bus, my breath got
caught in my throat. How in heaven's sake could we have been hit
by...by..my dad's jeep..?

I stood there for a few seconds. The thoughts that normally went through
my head, were pushed to the back and their place was filled by new,
horrible thoughts. If this is my dad's car, then who had been driving
it. And if one of my parents was driving, then....My knees buckled; I
didn't feel them anymore, and wasn't trying to do anything with them
either. I fell to the floor, my face locked onto my dad's car.

END OF CHAPTER 2




-----------------------------
Note of the author:  Feedback please

First of all: THANKS for all the reply's I've had so far! That really
helped a lot for my self-esteem ;).
It's scary to just submit a story and wondering if people are going to
like it.
I would gladly like to hear what Your opinion is in what I posted here.
Feedback and reply's will be my main motivation to continue.
This story is going to be posted in multiple chapters.
As for now, the story does not contain any sexual scenes.
This will change however in later installments, when the characters are
build.
The story will eventually turn out to be a high school romance, with a
darker side
towards fantasy. Existentialist views are spread around every chapter.
-----------------------------