"Life sucks, and then you die-- Yeah, I should be so lucky" -Breaking Dawn
It was eight o'clock, dinner time. My dad made stew, which was rare. We all sat at a nice, long, wooden table, cushioned chairs, and fine china.
The wal1s were plastered with plain dull colors, a big cabinet with more pale plates set up in there. An old dusty fish tank sat at my right. It hasn't been used in years, ever sence all the fish died. A box of old VHS tapes sat at my left, also with dust on it. A I took a look at the room, I sighed.
My family were all sitting at the table, locked in conversation, all but me. It was a topic I didn't care about, or at least, if it was important I would've remembered it. I didn't need a mirror to know my expression, it was obvious.
There are plenty of complicated and complex wors that I could use to describe it, words that would never leave my mouth.
A good word to call it would just be as it is, expressionless. Maybe even distant, whichever worked. There was a blurry spot in my glasses, something that bothered me, but I did my best to ignore it. What a shame, I thought. Maybe it would be better if thats what I was thinking about, if it's whay occupied my mind. No, oh no. I wish. Because it was so difficult for even my complex mind to describe what I was thinking right now.
I laughed to myself about this thought, and non of my family seemed to notice-- or care. It's usually what happens at the dinner table.
But the thing that was happening to me, was the horrid mental images that racked my brain. Horrible thing, as if the devil inself went into my subconscience and replayed all my worst fears over and over. Thing that happend to me and my family, things that would never happen. That
couldn't happen.
This is what's wrong with me.
This is why I'm alone. And as I stared at the the plates, as I stared at the walls, chairs, and table, I knew.
It would be difficult to keep it to myself.
