Crystal Boundaries of a Skull

by twalaight sparkhul

Chapter 1: The First Second of Eternity

I yawned, rising from my bed with a shudder.

I hated it when my fingers dragged against some odd material, it always made me shiver. You know, like when your fingernails graze across a sort of cardboard/wood material, and it just grates on your skin and nails. One of my worst pet peeves. My hands smacked against the wooden drawer next to me as I slowly slid off the bed.

In plain, black boxers, I flopped to the floor and opened the drawer, pulling out some socks. I pulled them on, and reached into a small drawer. Of course, I was kind of organized…oh, who the fuck am I lying to? I’m not organized. I just had one place for my outfits. I pulled out a black cloth jacket, a plain white t-shirt, and black sweatpants. Simple stuff, really.

With a sigh, I slipped on each piece of clothing, and stretched,the sun from the outside hurting my eyes. Ow. Ow. Why. My eyes are sensitive.. Why do I always have to wake up to sun in my eyes? These are the questions I ask myself regularly. Why does this painful thing happen; where did I go wrong in life.

My family was downstairs, relaxing, talking, and eating a nice breakfast; eggs, toast, and bacon. I heard the soft chatter and smelled the cooking meat. A hearty breakfast, if you ask me. I was… the one who wasn’t always happy. The one who wasn’t always nice. I get that it seems like “oh, woe is me, I’m sad and edgy”, but it’s just a depressing thing to think about that I try and avoid; but it always ends up in my thought process, somewhere. I always make mistakes.

I made my way downstairs, wincing as the pain of a headache caught up to me, and, this one in particular hurt like hell.. This was one of the worst headaches I’ve experienced, it was hurting like hell. Well, I suppose it is time to get on with my day, as always. I walked down the spiral staircase, and smiled, having only happy thoughts about my family. It..was nice. It was nice to be with them.

There’s one thing I keep doing, though, to my loving family. I kept on… snapping at them. I thought back to a week or so ago.

My mom, Sarah, was just giving me some friendly advice, while I was sitting at the table, eating. “What? What do you want?” There was a small amount of hurt in her eyes when I snapped at her, and I softened, guilt fueling my self-hatred just that little bit more. Oh… why did I have to be so angry? My fist clenched, and slammed against the table as my eyes stung from the pain. I hit the table hard.

Another time was when my sister was speaking to me calmly, asking if they could touch something, such as my Doctor Who memorabilia, one of the cheap, but still nice ones, and I immediately uttered No. Let go! in a flat, cold-like rage tone. I hated how on edge I was. I seemed to be paranoid about everything. I understand why.

I think years of being bullied and toyed with in school made me who I am today. I hate that. I despise the idea that I became a bully. I don’t want to be one, but it happened. I want to stop it. One way or another, I will stop becoming a person of hatred. I want to be a person of kindness. Someone kind. Someone happy, someone you can rely on. I want to be helpful.

That’s all I really want.

After having a bit of existential thought in the kitchen, I backed away from the counter, hands being placed in my pockets. My family had worried but sad stares, but my mother seemed to at least somewhat understand my thought process was, I could by her eyes. They had a sort of glimmer to them, of wanting to help. My mother was always nice like that. I grabbed my plate of food, and sat myself down at the table, and my dad asked one question...

“So...how’s life?” I put my fork down, along with the piece of toast I held. Unknowingly, I had put force into the motion of putting down the fork; it clattered against the auburn wood table. Putting my index finger to my chin, I looked down, and thought. Well, I have a lot of self-hatred, I’m mean to my family, and I can’t seem to become a better person.

“As good as it can be.”

I said that in such a morose tone; how ironic. My headache grew stronger in intensity, and I put my palm to my forehead, trying to stifle my pain.

“Dear, are you okay?”

My mother said those words to me, and with a smile, but with pain in my voice, I spoke to her. “I..yeah..F-fine.” I went back to eating my breakfast, thinking about life, and what I was going to do next. I practically inhaled it with how quickly I was eating the meal. The pain grew unbearably intense, and I staggered up from the table, quickly making my way up the stairs as I clutched my head. Why? Why did it hurt so bad?

Comments

[Magnus Orion]

This has real potential. Real potential.

[TheSoulBlades]

Well, I guess I’m on board this train now. Let’s see where it goes!

[MkktBkkt]

I don't see tremendous potential as 1st commentator, but I'm intrigued how it all can evolve further.
Don't know what to say about second chapter. May be ok further down the road, but now it paints incomplete and somewhat strange picture.

[Razzy]

Seems like a friendly guy.