Mixture

My Dad has been using the same shampoo for as long as my nasal senses can recall. I used to find the smell putrid, and would fan my face in a desperate desire for the fumes to dissipate. But tonight, as I was bogged by amsco cards and the haunting conscience of all the things I was neglecting to do, I found nothing but pure comfort in this smell. It reflected everything I love about my dad and everything bright that my future holds. I did not want these feelings to dissipate, not at all. I clung to the fumes for as long as they remained in the air, clinging to this feeling of hope and happiness.

This morning I returned to the halls of highschool after the week's vacation. Minutes after entering my hallway, I was consumed by hassle. Pressure, sticky unwanted warmth, sagging spirits, as if it was causing every junior physical pain to be present in that hallway. I was surrounded by, and witnessing physical pain. Realizing this I felt the need to keep moving, and escape. On my way down the hall I almost stepped directly on a puffy white face, belonging to a thin boy in a flannel tshirt. He lay motionless on the cold hallway tiles, and every surrounding face remained motionless as we all starred in horror at his limp body. This kid looked like a corpse. Laying in the middle of our cold, painful junior hallway. And not one person thought to seek help. If this incident was filmed, it could have been used as a documentary of stereotypical highschool behavior. Being concerned with little more than your own well being. I felt the need to escape this horrifying place where compassion is a phantom, nonexisting feeling. 7 weeks to go.

I guess I can sleep now. Now that I am tired. I am so tired.