Eva - Nicole M. (i read book TXT) 📗

CHAPTER ONE: THINKING

If you asked me about the last time I was happy, I’d lie to you. You see, often people lie about how they are feeling, in order to keep it a secret. Someone could be falling apart, but you’d never know. Someone could be planning their own death, but you’d never know because just moments ago they lied to you, and said that they are well, when really, the person is anything but ‘well’. It’s amazing, how feeble-minded we all are. Everyone is bearing a mask. Several of them actually, and concealed by one giant mask. No one really knows who you are, and if they get underneath one of your masks, or in other words, get to know who you are, there are still many masks they have yet to uncover. Or at least that’s how I see it. It doesn’t really make sense to anyone else except me. I’ve come to realize that I truly am alone. And sometimes being alone can distort your mind, and make you think ‘oddly’. But, if one’s thoughts have been distorted, it would only seem odd to others.
If one’s mind gets twisted around too much, it can cause that person to change who they are. Not only would their mind be distorted, but their personality as well. Making the person.. Mental? Hm, maybe.
But the question is, how does someone become mental? Well, there are a number of ways, too many to list. But most have to do with trauma. Say for instance, being kidnapped, or raped, or watching all the people you love die.
Yes, trauma can make a person insane. Maybe I’m insane. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much. I tend to do that.. But not often, in fact I don’t think at all too much anymore. This is the most I’ve thought about in a little over a year. I spend most of my time messing things up and getting trashed, so even if I wanted to think, all I’d be able to think about is how I watched them all die, which would only make me do more bad things.
I’ve forgotten how nice it feels to think clearly. Or maybe I’m not thinking clearly. In fact, I’m almost certain none of this actually makes sense. That’s right, I’m only making myself think this much to distract myself. Right now I’m craving the things that make people do stupid things. I can’t sleep, and it would be no good to get trashed this late at night, and especially with my mother awake. Or would it? Who knows. There’s nothing really to do here. This place is just a dull, dark reincarnation of the place I used to call my home, back when I lived with my dad. The place I used to live was brighter.. Seemed happier. This place is the same except.. Darker. Less cheerful. All the trees here are either dead or almost dead. There’s grass, but it’s all fake grass that’s used to try and make the place look nicer. It’s crowded. There are no movie theaters. One shopping plaza. And most of the parks here, are just fields with a swing or two. Yeah, I’m not too fond of this place. Naturally the only thing to do for fun, it to go out and get messed up. Maybe I should sneak out through the window and go find some people to get trashed with.
No. I can’t. I can’t risk mother finding out, she’d beat me for sure. When she’s not passed out from drinking, she’s like hell, minus the fire. I’m lucky that she’s been too trashed herself, to remember that report cards came a long time ago. My grades have gone to shit, and I couldn’t have her see them, so I burned my report card.. Along with a whole park.
It wasn’t a big park. It was a rather small one. It had one swing set, two benches, and sand. That’s it. And I wasn’t alone. I had four others with me. So, we set the place ablaze and hid in a nearby tree. We sat and watched as people spilled out onto the streets watching the flames. We watched several firefighters attempt to control the fast spreading fire. It took them about an hour and a half to calm the flames down until there was nothing left. And we sat in that tree, laughing at how easy it is to get away with things. There was no evidence that the fire was purposely set. All of what had been there was burnt to ash.
Afterwards we snuck into someone’s house. A person in our tiny group lived there, I think his name was Daniel. Hm, maybe not. Now I think about it, I don’t remember the names of anyone I was with that night.
Anyway, we snuck into his house, and stole his dad’s alcohol. We took three bottles of 190 proof Everclear. It’s illegal to sell here. Which makes things that more exciting. Breaking rules is quite fun, if you know how to avoid getting caught. And with having a mother like mine, always drunk and passed out, it’s not that difficult to get away with. It’s all her fault I’m this way anyway. If she hadn’t made me come live with her after dad was murdered, I wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with these kinds of people. But oh well, it works out since I don’t like being around her.
I don’t think I drank that much. But it was enough to fog my memory. Which was fine with me, considering that death is pretty much the only thing in my memory now.
I’ve tried drugs here and there. Every time I tried drugs, it was because one of the people I was hanging out with handed them to me. I never even thought to ask what was what. I just took it and hoped it would numb the pain I feel. And it did, temporarily.
I’m not that big on drugs. Like, if I had to go the rest of my life without them, I could. But it’s too bad that I’m choosing not to.
So, in short I just basically take what anyone gives me. I don’t ask what it is, they don’t inform me, and I just take it. It probably makes me look like an idiot, but when you’re in my position, you don’t really care what it is, as long as it gives you a rise. I’m probably not too far off from addiction, but I do know that I’m not ‘hooked’ on anything yet. I guess the only question is, will I let myself get hooked? And, if not, how close will I let myself get to it?

I have to admit, so much thinking is starting to give me a headache. But if I stop thinking, the memories will sink in again. I suppose I could sleep. My face is hot with exhaustion. When was the last time I slept? I do sleep, don’t I?
Wait, that’s a dumb question. Of course I sleep. I pass out sooner or later, and stay that way for at least a few hours. That’s sleep, right?
But if I voluntarily try to sleep, and it works, the memories will just seep into my dreams. No matter where I turn, the memories are surrounding me, and the only way to avoid them is going out and getting trashed. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this thinking thing up. I’m running out of stuff to think about.
I could always think about- No. That’s a memory. It holds death just like the other memories. I don’t want to cry about them anymore. So, I need to think of something to think about quick.
Hah, that’s funny.. Think of something to think about.
Hm, well, there’s that one time Sadie and I spray painted the garage doors and fences of the neighborhood three streets away from here. We nearly got caught. I mean, here we are, Sadie and I, having fun, when some old man comes outside, and sees us. Who goes outside at 3AM anyway? It’s especially weird considering he’s an old man. Don’t old people usually just sleep all of the time?
He started yelling at us from afar, saying he was going to call the cops. We ignored him. It was when he set his dog loose that we started to panic. He has a Rottweiler. And a pretty vicious one at that. We tried running, but obviously dogs are faster than humans. I guess we just acted out of instinct and panic, because the things you don’t want to do around a dog, is show fear, and run when the dog is obviously very fast.
Well, it’s safe to say we got away. But we wouldn’t have if it wouldn’t have been for the fact that Sadie can be a very violent guy. He doesn’t carry around a knife or gun, but a baseball bat. And I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to injure the dog. Or did he kill it? I don’t remember. I was too busy running. Sadie is probably the only person I’ve bothered to get close to around here. Everyone else I just use to get trashed. And sure, Sadie and I both get trashed. With different people, but I can’t deny that he’s the first friend I’ve had in a long time. And when he and I hang out, we don’t have to get trashed. We can just sit and talk. He’s the only person who knows about what happened to me, about the memories. But either way, I prefer to get trashed even around him, and he understands, because he too has his own memories that need to be numbed.
That night he yelled at me to run. To just keep running and not to look back. To run and find a place to hide just in case the dog decided to go after me. And I listened. I hid in a bush, and waited until I heard him calling my name. He wasn’t being loud, but it was loud enough for me to hear. And we left. But to leave we had to pass that same spot. Stupid me ran the wrong way. I guess stupid people do stupid things when they panic.
We managed to sneak around the old man, hunched over his dog in the middle of the street. I think he was crying. I don’t know. But the night helped keep us out of sight.
About a week ago, I was out for a walk. Going to meet Sadie and get blazed. I passed through that neighborhood, and all spray paint had been eliminated. It was as if we’d never been there that night.
But, I smiled, because I passed the old man’s house, and saw the very same Rottweiler chained to a small post in the yard. It had a cast around it’s front leg, but it made me happy that it wasn’t dead.
Dead. Death is scary. Especially when it’s happening all around you. It starts to make you wonder what it is that’s keeping you alive. Why should you be alive and everyone else dead.