I have always been interested in mountain climbers, not just because of their incredible ability to climb mountains, but because of the emotions they must experience when descending from those heights. They overcome immense challenges to reach a peak in both the physical and mental sense, but how long does this euphoria last? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? I doubt people spend entire days sitting on the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro because there's not much to do up there.
And when you're done sitting on top of a mountain, you still need to descend, facing similar challenges to those encountered while ascending. So many challenges just to return to your starting point, and it must take an huge toll on one's mental state.
Though I've never climbed a mountain myself, I do feel a certain kinship with mountain climbers right now. I've recently experienced something akin to climbing a metaphorical mountain of my own this weekend. I reached the pinnacle of my existence, briefly feeling like I could do anything. But, just like mountain climbers, I had to return to the ground, and it caused me a great deal of pain.
However, there is one crucial difference between me and mountain climbers. When they were on top of the world, they were alone. They chose to descend back down to the ground, to be with friends and family. For me, it was the opposite.
All my friends, with whom I had an amazing time on the mountain last Saturday, were still there. But down in the valley of sorrow, I was all alone. I wanted to spend the rest of my life on top of that mountain; that's what I told my best friend after she helped me reach the summit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her sitting next to me, wearing a pair of black headphones, with her eyes closed, swaying to the rhythmic sounds of her music. She was as oblivious to the world as I had been to her deception. Turning away from my imaginary friend, I gazed out of the bus's large windows, but the darkness only allowed me to see a pattern of little dots of light from the streetlights we passed.
I couldn't help but feel hollow down here. I expected to be angry after learning that Riley hadn't told me they were moving away, or even angry at the world for taking my best friend away. "Together Forever," she had said, just a day ago...
I did feel anger towards Rachel when she lost her temper after our last match today, but that anger dissipated as soon as I learned the truth she and Riley had been hiding. Instead, I felt like an empty shell, unworthy of existence. I felt that occupying any space was a waste.
My ecstasy on top of the mountain had been nothing but an illusion. I had been dancing with ghosts. I was just as alone up there as I am down here. So, if I would be alone either way, why even try to climb? I might as well stay here in the valley of sorrow, for I am even less than a ghost. I am nothing.
***
"Hey, Doofus, are you still going to eat that?" Riley asked, sitting on the other side of our lunch table. She pointed her fingers toward a plate of chicken nuggets that had been sitting motionless on my tray for the last 10 minutes.
Without even looking at her, I continued scrolling on my phone, offering a small shrug. I hadn't felt hungry for three days now, only eating during dinner to satisfy my mother. It's probably not the healthiest, but who cares.
"Well, more for me!" Riley responded gleefully, pulling the plate toward herself and munching on the chicken loudly. I tried to focus on meaningless memes on my phone, but even that was too challenging. The noise, laughter, and eating of the lunch crowd made me want to disappear.
I sensed a tapping on the ground, coming from Riley's boots. Her voice eventually asked the same question she had been throwing my way ever since our last dinner in Battingham. "You doing okay, bud? You look a bit down."
"I don't want to talk about it," I replied, actually looking her in the eyes this time. I almost hoped she could understand my feelings telepathically because finding the words to express the complete absence of emotions I felt right now seemed impossible.
Her hand transitioned from a clawing stance to a clenched fist, and I could almost feel her frustration about my inability to express my feelings. But, honestly, I couldn't care less. She would be gone in two weeks, so what's the point?
"Did you do the English homework for today?" I shrugged once again. Did my interpretation of the scene with the teacher at the start of "The Catcher in the Rye" really matter? Who would care about that?
***
The outside world appeared blurry, as a sheet of condensation had covered my bedroom window. My alarm clock read 07:30, but my eyes were focused on something else entirely. The center of my attention was the large mirror bolted to the wall right next to the door. In this mirror stood a person, a person I couldn't help but despise.
It was my own reflection, that of a small, rectangular teenager with a shaggy haircut, dressed in black and blue rags. A teenager with a face covered in acne scars, eyebrows bushier than a mammoth's, and a browbone that could double as a shelf.
It was no mystery why everybody always tried to avoid him, or even tried to get away from him. Him. What a terrible word that was. But that was how they referred to "Him."
I took a few steps backward and let myself fall onto my bed without even taking off the hoodie and jeans I was wearing. Instead, I rolled over to put my head on my pillow and wrap my body beneath the comfortable blankets. Looking up at the ceiling, I thought about the day ahead and how I really couldn't bear to be seen by anyone today.
My hand found its way below my pillow to retrieve the phone I had stashed there moments earlier. I let out a big sigh and started texting my mother, who had left early and should be arriving at her work soon. There was no way I was going to school today, so I needed her to call me in sick.
For more than 40 minutes, I just lay there, staring up at the blank ceiling. It wasn't until my pillow started to vibrate from incoming messages on my phone that I was disrupted from my misery. After receiving five messages, I eventually grew fed up with the interruptions and checked who was messaging me. It was Riley, and she was waiting outside.
For almost 20 seconds, I gazed at her messages, but there was no way I was going to respond. What was the point? Almost as if confirming my way of thinking, she sent a message saying she would be going on her own, while hoping that I was doing well. See, there was no point.
***
"So, you can't go to school because you're sick, but seeing your dad is somehow no problem at all? That makes no sense, mister, and I'm not having any of it. So, either you get that lazy bum of yours out of bed and off to school, or I'm going to call your father to say you're not coming this weekend," my mother sternly said, filling out the entirety of my door frame. The windows were still foggy, and my head was pounding from her yelling.
Although very distant, my dad felt like the only bit of light shining in the darkness that had become my life. He was like a faraway star in the night sky that would reveal itself periodically but played a big role in connecting all the constellations together. There was no way I was going to play in the tournament feeling like this, so if I didn't see my dad this weekend, who knows when I could see him again.
I threw my head back and groaned, "Ugh… Fine! I will get this head of mine, which is about to burst, to school. But you'll pay for the cleaning if it explodes in the middle of the classroom."
"Just get dressed, smartass. I have to go, but I'll be calling your school to see if you showed up," my mother said before turning around and forcefully closing the door behind her.
You couldn't exactly call her a helicopter parent because she wasn't home much or taking care of anything that got in my way. However, as soon as my academic accomplishments were threatened, she started to shadow my every move.
After pulling on my patented hoodie and jeans combination, I picked up my bag and opened it up. It was a black Nike backpack, probably the most unassuming backpack you could find. I wanted to stuff the books I needed for today's classes inside, but before I did, my gaze fell on a piece of paper buried at the bottom of my backpack's insides. I pulled it out and examined it to see if it was of any importance.
Ah, yes, of course. It was a note reprimanding me for not having done my physics homework last Tuesday, a note I was supposed to turn in yesterday along with my mom's signature. That wasn't happening anytime soon. I crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it under my pillow.
Now, I took a quick glance at my phone to see the time. "07:45," it read. Riley would probably be waiting outside in 15 minutes, and I wanted to avoid seeing her at all costs.
I strapped on my backpack and made my way downstairs. The plan was simple: get to school early and survive. There were more than enough bathrooms and corners in the back of the class to hide in for one Friday. I just wanted to leave all this behind and see my dad.
***
For the first time this week, I was finally excited about something. I had just come home from school and packed everything I needed for the weekend in my backpack. In about an hour, my dad would be here to pick me up, and feeling a little better about myself, I snuck behind my PC for the first time in a week.
Opening up my Discord, I was immediately greeted by a bunch of red circles with numbers in them, signifying notifications. I guess disappearing for multiple days makes people worried or something.
Going through the messages, I couldn't help but feel a little bad about my radio silence towards Jade, Lizzy, and Kelsey. They had been nothing but amazing this weekend, and I really didn't feel any ill will toward them. It's just that I knew anything I say to them will immediately be passed on to Rachel, and through her, obviously, to Riley as well. If she knew that I knew about her lies, she would be standing in front of my door day and night, trying to apologize for something unsolvable and unforgivable.
I simply messaged Jade, Lizzy, and Kelsey that I wasn't feeling well and would be online again when I felt better. I even thought about saying I wouldn't be attending the tournament next week, but for some reason, I couldn't do that yet. I didn't want to break their hearts already; I just let them be in blissful ignorance for another week.
I eventually got through almost all my messages, even the truckload of words of worry that Rachel had been sending my way. By "getting through them," I mean quickly clicking on the conversation to make the notifications go away.
The last notification, however, was a friend request from someone I didn't immediately recognize.
ARMACH: Hey Eminnie , I need some good offlane plays to help raise my MMR. You want to duo queue sometime? This is Arthur, by the way, from Battingham.
I looked away from my screen for a second, recalling the brief interaction we had last week about the way he looked, sounded, and how he carried himself. Our conversation was surprisingly pleasant, especially in comparison to all the other things that happened that day.
But I was also thinking about what he had said about his history with Rachel, causing a mischievous grin to appear on my face. Before I knew it, my mouse moved over to a big button with a green checkmark.
Gwenington I am still terrible with realease schedules :)
Just know it's because I want to make sure the story is actually good
I have always been interested in mountain climbers, not just because of their incredible ability to climb mountains, but because of the emotions they must experience when descending from those heights. They overcome immense challenges to reach a peak in both the physical and mental sense, but how long does this euphoria last? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? I doubt people spend entire days sitting on the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro because there's not much to do up there.
And when you're done sitting on top of a mountain, you still need to descend, facing similar challenges to those encountered while ascending. So many challenges just to return to your starting point, and it must take an huge toll on one's mental state.
Though I've never climbed a mountain myself, I do feel a certain kinship with mountain climbers right now. I've recently experienced something akin to climbing a metaphorical mountain of my own this weekend. I reached the pinnacle of my existence, briefly feeling like I could do anything. But, just like mountain climbers, I had to return to the ground, and it caused me a great deal of pain.
However, there is one crucial difference between me and mountain climbers. When they were on top of the world, they were alone. They chose to descend back down to the ground, to be with friends and family. For me, it was the opposite.
All my friends, with whom I had an amazing time on the mountain last Saturday, were still there. But down in the valley of sorrow, I was all alone. I wanted to spend the rest of my life on top of that mountain; that's what I told my best friend after she helped me reach the summit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her sitting next to me, wearing a pair of black headphones, with her eyes closed, swaying to the rhythmic sounds of her music. She was as oblivious to the world as I had been to her deception. Turning away from my imaginary friend, I gazed out of the bus's large windows, but the darkness only allowed me to see a pattern of little dots of light from the streetlights we passed.
I couldn't help but feel hollow down here. I expected to be angry after learning that Riley hadn't told me they were moving away, or even angry at the world for taking my best friend away. "Together Forever," she had said, just a day ago...
I did feel anger towards Rachel when she lost her temper after our last match today, but that anger dissipated as soon as I learned the truth she and Riley had been hiding. Instead, I felt like an empty shell, unworthy of existence. I felt that occupying any space was a waste.
My ecstasy on top of the mountain had been nothing but an illusion. I had been dancing with ghosts. I was just as alone up there as I am down here. So, if I would be alone either way, why even try to climb? I might as well stay here in the valley of sorrow, for I am even less than a ghost. I am nothing.
***
"Hey, Doofus, are you still going to eat that?" Riley asked, sitting on the other side of our lunch table. She pointed her fingers toward a plate of chicken nuggets that had been sitting motionless on my tray for the last 10 minutes.
Without even looking at her, I continued scrolling on my phone, offering a small shrug. I hadn't felt hungry for three days now, only eating during dinner to satisfy my mother. It's probably not the healthiest, but who cares.
"Well, more for me!" Riley responded gleefully, pulling the plate toward herself and munching on the chicken loudly. I tried to focus on meaningless memes on my phone, but even that was too challenging. The noise, laughter, and eating of the lunch crowd made me want to disappear.
I sensed a tapping on the ground, coming from Riley's boots. Her voice eventually asked the same question she had been throwing my way ever since our last dinner in Battingham. "You doing okay, bud? You look a bit down."
"I don't want to talk about it," I replied, actually looking her in the eyes this time. I almost hoped she could understand my feelings telepathically because finding the words to express the complete absence of emotions I felt right now seemed impossible.
Her hand transitioned from a clawing stance to a clenched fist, and I could almost feel her frustration about my inability to express my feelings. But, honestly, I couldn't care less. She would be gone in two weeks, so what's the point?
"Did you do the English homework for today?" I shrugged once again. Did my interpretation of the scene with the teacher at the start of "The Catcher in the Rye" really matter? Who would care about that?
***
The outside world appeared blurry, as a sheet of condensation had covered my bedroom window. My alarm clock read 07:30, but my eyes were focused on something else entirely. The center of my attention was the large mirror bolted to the wall right next to the door. In this mirror stood a person, a person I couldn't help but despise.
It was my own reflection, that of a small, rectangular teenager with a shaggy haircut, dressed in black and blue rags. A teenager with a face covered in acne scars, eyebrows bushier than a mammoth's, and a browbone that could double as a shelf.
It was no mystery why everybody always tried to avoid him, or even tried to get away from him. Him. What a terrible word that was. But that was how they referred to "Him."
I took a few steps backward and let myself fall onto my bed without even taking off the hoodie and jeans I was wearing. Instead, I rolled over to put my head on my pillow and wrap my body beneath the comfortable blankets. Looking up at the ceiling, I thought about the day ahead and how I really couldn't bear to be seen by anyone today.
My hand found its way below my pillow to retrieve the phone I had stashed there moments earlier. I let out a big sigh and started texting my mother, who had left early and should be arriving at her work soon. There was no way I was going to school today, so I needed her to call me in sick.
For more than 40 minutes, I just lay there, staring up at the blank ceiling. It wasn't until my pillow started to vibrate from incoming messages on my phone that I was disrupted from my misery. After receiving five messages, I eventually grew fed up with the interruptions and checked who was messaging me. It was Riley, and she was waiting outside.
For almost 20 seconds, I gazed at her messages, but there was no way I was going to respond. What was the point? Almost as if confirming my way of thinking, she sent a message saying she would be going on her own, while hoping that I was doing well. See, there was no point.
***
"So, you can't go to school because you're sick, but seeing your dad is somehow no problem at all? That makes no sense, mister, and I'm not having any of it. So, either you get that lazy bum of yours out of bed and off to school, or I'm going to call your father to say you're not coming this weekend," my mother sternly said, filling out the entirety of my door frame. The windows were still foggy, and my head was pounding from her yelling.
Although very distant, my dad felt like the only bit of light shining in the darkness that had become my life. He was like a faraway star in the night sky that would reveal itself periodically but played a big role in connecting all the constellations together. There was no way I was going to play in the tournament feeling like this, so if I didn't see my dad this weekend, who knows when I could see him again.
I threw my head back and groaned, "Ugh… Fine! I will get this head of mine, which is about to burst, to school. But you'll pay for the cleaning if it explodes in the middle of the classroom."
"Just get dressed, smartass. I have to go, but I'll be calling your school to see if you showed up," my mother said before turning around and forcefully closing the door behind her.
You couldn't exactly call her a helicopter parent because she wasn't home much or taking care of anything that got in my way. However, as soon as my academic accomplishments were threatened, she started to shadow my every move.
After pulling on my patented hoodie and jeans combination, I picked up my bag and opened it up. It was a black Nike backpack, probably the most unassuming backpack you could find. I wanted to stuff the books I needed for today's classes inside, but before I did, my gaze fell on a piece of paper buried at the bottom of my backpack's insides. I pulled it out and examined it to see if it was of any importance.
Ah, yes, of course. It was a note reprimanding me for not having done my physics homework last Tuesday, a note I was supposed to turn in yesterday along with my mom's signature. That wasn't happening anytime soon. I crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it under my pillow.
Now, I took a quick glance at my phone to see the time. "07:45," it read. Riley would probably be waiting outside in 15 minutes, and I wanted to avoid seeing her at all costs.
I strapped on my backpack and made my way downstairs. The plan was simple: get to school early and survive. There were more than enough bathrooms and corners in the back of the class to hide in for one Friday. I just wanted to leave all this behind and see my dad.
***
For the first time this week, I was finally excited about something. I had just come home from school and packed everything I needed for the weekend in my backpack. In about an hour, my dad would be here to pick me up, and feeling a little better about myself, I snuck behind my PC for the first time in a week.
Opening up my Discord, I was immediately greeted by a bunch of red circles with numbers in them, signifying notifications. I guess disappearing for multiple days makes people worried or something.
Going through the messages, I couldn't help but feel a little bad about my radio silence towards Jade, Lizzy, and Kelsey. They had been nothing but amazing this weekend, and I really didn't feel any ill will toward them. It's just that I knew anything I say to them will immediately be passed on to Rachel, and through her, obviously, to Riley as well. If she knew that I knew about her lies, she would be standing in front of my door day and night, trying to apologize for something unsolvable and unforgivable.
I simply messaged Jade, Lizzy, and Kelsey that I wasn't feeling well and would be online again when I felt better. I even thought about saying I wouldn't be attending the tournament next week, but for some reason, I couldn't do that yet. I didn't want to break their hearts already; I just let them be in blissful ignorance for another week.
I eventually got through almost all my messages, even the truckload of words of worry that Rachel had been sending my way. By "getting through them," I mean quickly clicking on the conversation to make the notifications go away.
The last notification, however, was a friend request from someone I didn't immediately recognize.
ARMACH: Hey Eminnie , I need some good offlane plays to help raise my MMR. You want to duo queue sometime? This is Arthur, by the way, from Battingham.
I looked away from my screen for a second, recalling the brief interaction we had last week about the way he looked, sounded, and how he carried himself. Our conversation was surprisingly pleasant, especially in comparison to all the other things that happened that day.
But I was also thinking about what he had said about his history with Rachel, causing a mischievous grin to appear on my face. Before I knew it, my mouse moved over to a big button with a green checkmark.
Gwenington I am still terrible with realease schedules :)
Just know it's because I want to make sure the story is actually good
