Writing Memories of a silent good bye [PG-13 -- Drug Reference]

[lea]

I was lying in bed one night, lost in thought. My mind drifted over this and that, and picked up on a high school memory about my Senior math class.


Well, more about the kids in it.

Or lack of, as there were a grand total of four guys and two girls.

Two of the guys were jerks and slept/skipped most of the time, so I tend to X them out of memory. Eh heh heh.

What sticks out about the classmates left was Nick.

I had known him since seventh grade. He had some type of charisma, some type of energy that drew people to him, people from different stereotypes. He was stereotyped as a Goth of sorts, as he loved heavy metal, was naturally a very white boy, and wore his favorite color (black) all the time. As I got to know him, I found him to be one of the acedemicly laziest people I knew.

And one of the ones that always broke the curve in class. u.u

He loved Shakespear and math class. And the woods. He smiled when it rained. And when he thought no one was watching, he liked to daydream.

He loved art. Drawing was his forte, no one could deny that. His drawings were amazing, whether they be simple and clean, or complex and intruiguingly morbid. The latter he did a lot of, actually.

As we grew, I learned more about Nick. His stepdad was never home, never there. His older brother always beat the crap out of him for his money, as he was a heavy drug user. In ninth grade, his mom died of cancer.

Tenth and eleventh went by, dragged out and in a blur, as school time always goes.

One random day during twelfth grade lunch, Nick announced mid group discussion that he had become a drug dealer. Everyone stopped and stared at him.

No one knew what he was going for, with that choice. Shock value? Quick and easy money? Did he really need it that badly? He started to drift away from people; it was hard to talk to him anymore.

One morning, before homeroom, I heard insane uncontroleable giggling as I shut my locker door. I turned around, and there was Nick, clutching the wall. His face was dark red, and his eyes matched his face. I quietly panicked. Something felt wrong.


?Nick.... are you ok??

?Teeheehee?

??Nick? Are you high? o.o?

*more giggling*

"=("

?Mhm. =)?


My heart dropped. Oh God.

Soon after, it was graduation, and most people lost contact, as most people do. Tis a natural thing, after all.

Things were already kinda on the messy side in my life, stuff happened, and I moved out of my mom?s.

Right before I moved out, I was driving around, and but who should I see, sitting on the bridge near the lumberyard, but Nick. Of course I parked my car, and walked over to where he was.

I almost cried in shock. His naturally blond hair was dyed pitch black, and hung in greasy clumps down his neck. His face shone a deathly pale glow. But the worst was his eyes.

His blue eyes were bloodshot. Looking into them, it was scary how you could see that a lot of him was gone. I don?t know how else to describe it but that he looked half empty inside. Oh sure, he could sorta hold a conversation, but immedietly it was recognized that what made Nick [i]Nick[/i] had withered away. He had moved out of the house, and worked a job part time at the lumber mill, to explain his income. Yes, he was still a drug dealer. ?Traveling medicine man?, in his words.

It almost made me cry, to talk to him.

When we parted ways, I quietly said goodbye.

I wonder?if he is still around today.

[CaptainAnarchy]

Wow, that was a very morbid story that made me keep reading. It also has a wonderful moral to it....don't do/deal drugs... Let me ask this, is this a true story? And I really do wonder if hes still around today....

[KarmaOfChaos]

[color=deeppink][size=1]Good story lea. It reminded me a bit of this book called "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien. The book is filled with various "short stories" which all relate to each other in some way. Your story had the same feel of those in his book - that each story did not start out intending to make a point, nor did they end that way, but they did, just in the way they were told.

You have a unique writing style that makes the story very personal, you seem to be having a conversation soley with the person who is reading the story. In this way, you pull the reader in, make the reader feel and visualize things the same way you do.

It's good stuff, but the massive amounts of space between each paragraph seem kind of pointless.

-Karma[/size][/color]

[lea]

[QUOTE=KarmaOfChaos][color=deeppink][size=1]
It's good stuff, but the massive amounts of space between each paragraph seem kind of pointless.

[/size][/color][/QUOTE]


Hmm, the long bits of space are the same reason I put them in my O posts. When I think the font is small-ish, I feel really claustrophobic, and I have to put big spaces, or else it will annoy me to no end untill I do. (I dont know how to change the font size to how I would like, so yeah.) =P


[quote name='CaptainAnarchy']Let me ask this, is this a true story? And I really do wonder if hes still around today....[/quote]


Yeah, tis a true story. =\