It was a couple of days ago when I heard knocking coming from my uncle’s room. It couldn’t have been literal knocking though because it was this deep, pneumatic sound as if someone was driving a hammer into the wall. At first, I paid it no attention and returned to my poker game. After all, I had heard my mother come downstairs moments earlier and we were in the process of fixing up my uncle’s room. She was probably just starting on the day’s work early.

However, after the knocking continued for several minutes, I decided to check it out for myself. I closed my laptop and slipped on some socks before getting up. I felt ready to leave but my body froze with my arm outstretched toward the door handle. The knocking was getting louder. Chills shot up my arms as my heart’s beat synchronized with the rhythm coming from my uncle’s room. The handle simply wouldn’t turn. Then, I just pushed through my door and the noise stopped. It felt like my heart stopped as well.

The weird thing was that my uncle’s door was closed. My mom never closed doors behind her; especially when she expected my sister and me to help her. I was hesitant, but I managed to call out to her. The word “mom” cracked as it left my lips, leaving me sounding worried as hell. But, there was no response. Timidly, I asked if she needed help but the answer was the same: silence.

I won’t lie. I was a bit freaked out by this part. Leaving the door closed, I ran up to my mother’s room and threw open her door. There she was, lying in her bed eating sunflower seeds. And there I was, panting like a dog in the scorching heat. Obviously, she looked at me like I was crazy and I had to come up with some bullshit excuse as to why I almost took the door off of its hinges.

This meant that she was never in my uncle’s room and I had no idea what was making that knocking sound. I had to get it over with. I went downstairs and just opened the fucking door. I thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but the knocking continued. His room was mostly as he left it. We took a couple of boxes off the shelves in the closet but most of them were just filled with random cds and movies and shit. He had a lot of Beatles memorabilia on his bookshelf though so we decided to pack those things up and save them.

But there. He was. On the bed.

Or what was left of him. His heart. I meant his heart. His heart was on the bed. There it was in all of its bloody glory, drenching the sheets in a bright red coating of freshly made icing. It was tied up by all these vines that seeped through the rug and snuck through the cracks in the headboard so it could keep him fastened there. He was stuck here. His heart was the thing making the knocking sound

I realized that I was on the floor crying. Somehow, that knocking penetrated my ribcage, making my heart beat in time with his. It was like the world was expanding so wide before my eyes that all of the inconsequential details I was made to believe about the world was stripped away in one fell swoop like a stubborn bandaid. It hurt. But I could see him.

Dion. My uncle. Wearing his signature tight blue jeans and dirty green Beatles sweatshirt. Even though he was smiling, I couldn’t stop crying these purely disgusting sobs that shook my entire body. Before he could do anything, the dam that built up in my heart of regret, pain, and sadness finally broke.

“I’m so sorry… If only I had come when the screaming started. I was scared so I just stayed in my room playing poker like a fucking idiot. Maybe if I wasn’t so stupid and tried to ask if you were okay and needed help, you’d still be here. I wasted so much fucking time just standing outside the door. The handle just wouldn’t move. I was so fucking scared. I’m sorry. I ran to my mom as fast as I could. I didn’t know you were dying. I didn’t know that the last time I’d see you would be your lifeless body hanging off the bed.”

I felt his hand on my back like he was hugging me. It only made me cry worse. I’m pretty sure snot was coming out of my nose at this point. It was really disgusting, trust me.

But, after awhile, I started feeling comforted, like his hug was healing all of the scars and wounds inside of me. It was this full body heal and it made all of the pieces of the world fit back together. They were broken for so long.

“Are you okay?”

My mom was standing in the doorway, looking down at me crying on the floor. Slowly, I pulled myself up and hugged her as hard as I could. I wanted to transfer that same full body heal to her. After all the shit we’d been through these last few months. First, my dad passing on Christmas and now my uncle following about a month after. We all needed some healing just about now.

Recently, swaths of far right parties have been cropping up around the world to combat what is now known as PC/SJW culture. An evil leftist invention that is meant to feminize our men and put people of color or women in positions of power that they don’t deserve. Or at least that’s what many right leaning websites say. And frankly, it seems to be working. Brazil, the country with the biggest pride festival in the world, recently elected a man who said that he would beat up two men kissing in the street and rape women who deserve to be raped or even the AfD, a far-right party in Germany who wishes to set up holding camps abroad to stop migration all together, is gaining power.

California, specifically The Bay Area, has been a bubble in which I’ve been happily living in for around nine years now. The weather is nice as it never really goes over 90 degrees sans rare occasions and it never really goes below 50 either, most parts of it are relatively safe, San Francisco pride is one of the biggest pride parades in the world, and most of the people I’ve met have been liberal. Sure, there were quite a few conservatives, but it wasn’t Jair, let’s beat up “the gays”, Bolsonaro. So, I thought that I would never come across a person like this in real life and if I did, I have spent enough time dealing with trolls online to know what to do. 

My school is quite like The Bay Area. You know, sunny, liberal, and likes to flaunt our money around while the rest of The Bay Area struggles to get by and we look down on them screaming “HAHA, SCREW YOU, PEASANTS!” Side note: most students pay the full $45,000 tuition and somehow my school wrangles more money out of everyone’s pockets with 100% of families donating money to the school every year. My mom gives like $100 but some people legitimately add on another $1-5000 on top of the $45,000 tuition. Okay, so the other kids at my school are rich, living in their lavish mansions and chilling in their jacuzzis until midnight, but that doesn’t make them assholes… right?

Well, it’s history class and I’ve just gotten back an essay I’ve spent a shocking amount of time slavery over. “Comparing and Contrasting Chinese and African American Immigration to California”. Not the most interesting subject, but it was one of the last essays of the year so I needed to do well on it. And it paid off! I got a 95; yay me! I’m basically skipping up those stairs to the cafeteria, throwing open those double doors, and letting the comforting smell of eggs and bacon guide me over to my friend’s table. 

This friend was actually the only person there even though he wasn’t actually sitting down yet. He’s a really smart Indian kid who got a 36 on the ACT even though he routinely tells me that he can’t do anything remotely English or Reading related. We all know that kid. Anyway, he asks me how I did on the essay, I tell him I got a 95, and his awkward smile quickly turns into a frown. You could see the creases form on his face as he looked at me in confusion. Then, as soon as it was there, it was gone and he smiled again as if he suddenly figured out the solution to the problem that was blaring inside his head a moment ago. 

And he did.

He placed and arm on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I don’t want this to sound… racist or anything, Xavier. But you do realize that you only did well on that essay because you’re black, right?” 

Imagine you’re me, okay? For a split second, your mind just freezes over and you stare at him with that same look of confusion he gave you earlier. You realize the reason he was so confused was because he couldn’t fathom how you were smart enough to get such a good grade at this school. The school you had to test into and beat out hundreds of other kids with much more money than you. I mean, the school loses money whenever you sign up for another year. So… Why would they pick you? I mean, he’s right. You’re not that smart, you’re not charismatic so you have no idea how you got through the interview process, and he’s been your friend since sixth grade so he knows everything about you. Maybe deep down you knew what he said was wrong, but even deeper down you don’t want to lose a friend. You’re too scared of being alone and he’s one of the only friends you have. So you laugh. You laugh and tell him that he’s right. That you’re just some stupid black kid who got their grade saved by a teacher who liked them. A teacher who was too scared to give the black kid a bad grade on an essay about race.

I believed him. A different friend had said something similar a few months earlier. He recently had been accepted to Cornell and told me that I should apply too. I joking reminded him of my poor performances in math and how that would probably prevent me from going since it brought my GPA down but it seemed like he actually believed in me. He told me that it was fine if I wasn’t good at math because since I was black, I could get into any college I wanted without really being good at anything.

That’s how affirmative action works.

I was being gifted a free path through life that I didn’t even know existed. While everyone else stayed up until two in the morning studying for their next physics test or spent hours on the weekend going over vocabulary words with their strict parents, I didn’t even have to do anything. How did I get into this school? Luck? Yeah, that was probably it. They just needed that token black kid to look good in school photos for “diversity”. 

I like to think that they had good reasons for saying those things. Maybe they didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but the reality is that they still thought the only way I was able to be successful was because of my race. You can’t police people’s thoughts, I know that, but the fact that they thought like that in the first place is problematic. I’ve met more and more people like this and I can never exactly tell them that they’re wrong. Something just feels… well, wrong, about it but I’m too scared to be alone so that Indian kid and the guy at Cornell are still my friends to this day. Both of these people are self described liberals; especially the guy at Cornell because he has told me several times how much he dislikes conservatives. It’s almost as if they are fine with tearing others down as long as it doesn’t involve people like them because then it would hurt a lot more. The more you distance yourself from what you’re saying, the less it hurts. It has created this society in which people will do anything to feel the slightest bit of superiority.  A society where my school friends are allowed to playfully compare their scores and figure out who performed the best but as soon as I enter the conversation, they immediately expect me to do poorly and if I don’t it’s because some outside force is giving the black kid a helping hand. What other choice do I have?

I don’t know who in their right mind gave my stepbrother his driver’s license, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve it. I’m thinking that to pass a driver’s test in Modesto, you just need to show that you can start up a car and not ram it into a building immediately because when I think of a decent driver, I do not think of someone who manages to leave a part of his truck hanging off a mountain every time he turns a corner. Now, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt: this mountain road was narrow… and my sister was screaming her lungs out, but she was screaming because of his incompetence. The seven of us, packed tightly in the small truck, could only pray that my stepbrother, Kenneth, didn’t drive us off a mountain and let us end up as forgotten piles of human remains at the bottom of the valley. My stepsister repeatedly yelled at me to shut my sister up but with all the commotion reverberating in my eardrums, I was more focused on not puking all over the truck. Eventually, we reached a tunnel, and cool air rushed into the truck while Kenneth started honking his horn like crazy. Apparently, that’s a Californian tradition.

Apparently, it was also tradition for my stepdad and his family to go camping every year. However, my mother didn’t have to go. Instead, she shipped my sister and me off with a farewell hug, hoping we’d learn something worthwhile up in the mountains. I can’t speak for my sister, but I was in no shape ready for some learning, considering the fact that I was deathly afraid of heights and everyone in my stepfamily. I’d known them for less than a year and I was supposed to entrust my life to them out here in the wild? Please no. Their rough and tough demeanor terrified me. My stepdad frequently made fun of me for being weak and one of my stepsisters, Marquelle, always commented on my feminine eyelashes and how they were weird. I lived with six of them: three stepsisters, two stepbrothers, and one stepdad, but there were many family members on the trip that I didn’t know.

Day One of the camping trip started when my stepbrother put a bunch of people in the bed of a pickup truck and proceeded to drive very quickly to the top of the mountain in an attempt to scare us. After my sister’s little screaming fest earlier, she wasn’t invited, but since I was so quiet earlier, they thought I’d be fine with it. Here’s a little hint: I was not. What was I supposed to say to the guy who repeatedly called me out for being weak? “Yeah, I don’t want to take a drive up to the top of the mountain because I’m afraid your son is gonna throw me off”? Seemed like a great plan to me! So I stayed quiet and got in the back of the truck. The stepsister who talked about my feminine eyelashes a lot could tell that I didn’t want to be there, probably because I asked her numerous questions about where we were going and that I flinched every time the bed trembled slightly (I was flinching a lot). She kept trying to reassure me that everything was going to be fine by saying that they did this every year, but I was thinking that there was a first time for everything. They might take this little trip every year, but Kenneth was a new driver and could somehow slip off the narrow path and down to the rocky depths below. Anyway, we were driving up to the top of the mountain and the woods were so dense that I could hardly see three feet into them. It was at this point when my oldest stepsister, the only one old enough to drink, said that she had to take a piss. Kenneth slowed down and let her hop out of the back. A female family member I didn’t recognize went with her to make sure she was safe and the two walked down the path some way so they wouldn’t be seen. Beforehand, Kenneth was driving so fast that small pieces of bark and dirt were flying everywhere from under his wheels and I kept thinking that we were going to die.  Now, I was relieved: the peace and quiet were a welcome change. That is until Kenneth decided he had waited long enough and drove off without my stepsister and the other girl. You know, just casually leaving them in the woods. I told Marquelle that that was kind of rude and asked if we were going to go back for them. She said that they’d find their way back to the camp eventually. They did not. In fact, they were missing for six hours and no one went out to find them. When they finally made their way back, people just mumbled a “welcome back” and continued on with their camping activities.

So what were these camping activities my new family liked to partake in? Drinking. Really, that was all they did. Sure, we had a campfire and made smores, but I got the feeling that we were doing that especially for my sister and me so that we weren’t completely bored. That proved to be unsuccessful because most of the camping activities my sister and I partook in were sitting and watching other people do stupid things. My stepbrothers played beer pong until darkness enveloped the entire campsite. Larry, who was a bit older than Kenneth, got so drunk that he disappeared into a tent for most of the night. (The next day I learned that he was throwing up a lot of that time). When it was time for me to go to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I always had trouble sleeping in new places because of a fear of something bad would happen to me in my sleep. This fear was amplified by the fact that I didn’t have my dreamcatcher with me. I used that thing for everything and entrusted my life with it. I was just lying down, hoping that I would eventually fall asleep. I employed the old tactic of counting sheep, except I could only think about how cute sheep were and got distracted while counting to five. I then listened to all the strange noises the nighttime animals were making while my sister was sleeping soundly next to me. I could hear the familiar sounds of owls and crickets, but only God knows what else was living in those woods. Between all of nature’s racket and the occasional snoring fest, I never fell asleep.

Day two of the camping trip arrived and I was trying my very best not to fall asleep at this point. I’m pretty sure to complete this mission, I drank all the soda in the cooler and started eyeing that beer as a secondary source of energy. Mind you, I was only in 2nd grade, but I’ve got to start sometime, right? I didn’t end up drinking beer, but I did end up doing something kind of sketchy.

My stepdad wanted to teach my sister and me how to shoot a gun. In the past, when he told me that he was going to get me a BB gun for my birthday, I thought he was joking. Now, I realized that he was serious. I didn’t want anything to do with a gun; I thought they were evil and only caused death and destruction, but my stepdad’s words about me swam through my mind. I was a weak pushover who would surely get used in his life because of how soft I was. So when he handed me a gun, I took it. I was too scared not to. The entire family took turns shooting at empty beer bottles that were placed on tree branches. Immediately behind the trees was a vast lake that seemed to stretch for miles for its width. The length was different because if you squinted your eyes, you could make out the shore on the other side. There was another family camping there. However, my stepdad didn’t trust my sister or me with a gun so he took the gun back from me, did most of the holding part, and let me aim it. If I was way far off, he’d just correct me and everything would be fine. I missed the first two shots. Even though I wasn’t expecting to hit any of them, I was still competitive and wanted to at least hit one can so I could say that I did better than my sister. The recoil wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be since I wasn’t really holding the thing. Anyway, I was aiming the third shot when- “EVERYBODY GET ON THE GROUND. EVERYBODY GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND NOW!” My stepdad ripped the gun away from me, placed it on the ground, and harshly whispered at me to kneel down, which I did immediately. My heart started to beat quicker and quicker, but something told me to look at who was making that noise. So I stole a glimpse at the police officer behind me who had his weapon drawn. I couldn’t stop looking at him. This is the part of the story where you all will expect me to end it with some sort of tragedy. I mean, this is textbook: a bunch of black people, a couple of guns scattered about, against the police? Someone’s going to get shot, right? Well, someone did get shot at. But, it wasn’t us. The police asked something along the lines of “Who’s in charge here?” and my stepdad went up to talk to them. I feel like he tried to guilt trip because he stressed the point that there were kids here and the police were scaring them. Even though it seemed like guilt tripping, he wasn’t wrong. My sister was shivering on the ground about 10 feet away from me. The only good thing that came from my stepdad talking to the police is that we got to know why they were there in the first place. Apparently, it was the people across the lake. They called the police because they believed that some people on the other side were shooting at them. After figuring this all out, my stepdad decided that police presence kind of puts a damper on camping, so we packed up and left.

My mom greeted my sister and me with a friendly screech of “AHHHH MY LOVELIES ARE HOME. HOW WAS THE TRIP, LOVELIES???” My sister looked at me and I looked at her. “Fine” we replied in unison. My stepdad seemed to like that answer as he gave an affirmative grunt and walked towards his room. My mom’s enthusiasm was honestly quite off putting as no one really talked on the trip back. We were all thinking about what had just happened on our trip and if we should tell anyone. I felt that this was proof that my new family was dangerous and not to be trusted. Obviously, if they could not stop the police from showing up when a little kid was around, they could not take care of and account for a little kid’s feelings (You know, despite the fact that he had five other children). My mom would eventually find out what happened on the trip and I believe that was one of many things that led to the decision of moving away from my stepdad.

You’re worth more

than this organ trapped in my chest

whose voice no longer sings

of grand escapades throughout the stars

and prismatic bubbles

whose skin,

feeble but mystical,

illuminated your eyes

with unadulterated bliss.

Those eyes,

now saggy and tired,

will witness the birth

of a truly breathtaking star.

A star who will partake

upon a journey

to navigate the universe.

A star whose curiosity

unlimitedly expands,

and gruff asteroids

and silky moons

will treasure your innocence.

But its time

to swim amongst the cosmos.

Your eyelids speckled with iridescent stars

so everybody knows you are coming home.

I have to leave now,

I’ll be off on my own mission

trying to find the strength

to tell you

that I’ll see you tomorrow.

Soul,

what color would you exude?

With endless possibilities,

would a hue outshine the rest?

Maybe deep down they have their little civilization,

waging war

and swimming through the dense sea of mania

so a hue shines a bit brighter than the rest.

Maybe if I talked to my crush,

you'd ooze swaths of orangish-pink

as my heart bleeds for affection.

A battle would commence,

a navy blue and embroidered purple tinges:

the fear that my heart will sizzle with just a few words.

Even though fear plagues my actions,

you'd see a kaleidoscope of emotions

ranging from the yellow hue of euphoria

to the stark whiteness of despair,

a color so blanched that it stains my eyes with misery.

Each hue shines their own light upon my heart,

mixing together to make my soul sparkle. 

Preface:

The spiderweb of life catches my nightmares as they descend towards my subconscious. Sticky, unable to move, the nightmares panic and become entangled in my reality. They're there. Haunting me. I just can't see them. The spiderweb lets the good dreams through. Like some benevolent god that wishes for me to be blinded from the horrors of this world. If the spiderweb breaks, the nightmares crash down upon my life, wreaking havoc on my senses. A holocaust of my sanity and wellbeing. It destroys everything. Everything I have left.

Then I'll die.

The Dreamcatcher:

When people talk about nightmares, they usually mention the occasional phobia dream. Drowning, falling, and being chased are some of the most common. My nightmares were different. They racked the darkest depths of my subconscious to create the most violent and horrendous dreams and force me into submission by making me scared to sleep. This usually manifested in the form of family members hunting me down and brutally slaughtering me.

Aching limbs, bloodshot eyes, and a busy mind were side effects of me trying to escape this violence. I'd sit up on my bed, covers were thrown somewhere across the room, serving no purpose as I was not there to use them. My head would be leaning against the wall. Eyes forward, staring into the abyss.

I would stumble out of bed and tiptoe along the wall to the kitchen. Once I got there, I would feel for the light switch and preemptively shut my eyes. It would take a while for the light to turn on. It would flicker a bit, disapproving of my midnight escapade. But I was on a mission. I grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and crept to the sink, only letting the water spill out in short bursts. (I would receive hell if my mother woke up) I filled the glass and downed it.

Then I downed another one. It sloshed at the bottom of my throat, having a hard time making it down. I pretended it was a shot. If I was drunk, I wouldn't fall asleep. After all this, I slowly turned off the light and felt my way back to my room. My bed was hard and lumpy. Though, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was knocked out. Not exactly according to plan, but life happens.

My mind was even worse than my bed. It was a war zone because I could imagine this creature in my head playing with the strings of fate. A large black figure, terrifying red eyes, big pincers for hands, and a killer stare that would bore into my soul if I ever saw him. Traditionally, if he cut my string, I'd die. But instead, if he cut my string, I'd have a nightmare. And this creature was fucking pincer happy.

I'd wake up screaming, sweat rolling down my face, my breath choppy, and I'd be wheezing as if I had been crying. I'd wrap my arms around my shoulders, myself being the only person I could hug. The only person I could confide in and I was so cold.

This went on for two years. Every night a new nightmare. A new way to torture me. As if the universe was punishing me for some incredibly terrible wrongdoing I committed. I just did not understand why it had to be me. Why did I have to suffer through seeing my grandmother cut my fingers off or witness my mother shoot me in the head? After hours of debate, I came to the conclusion that it was because I was cursed. Simply doomed to live a life of darkness that would slowly envelop me like one of those serial killers you see on the news.

Then I was ripped away from the small number of friends I had left and forced to move across the country to the west coast. I was one of five people trapped in a small car while driving across the entire country just to escape my father. He kept trying to sue my mother for custody over my sister and I. He never won, but that did not stop him from trying.

Nightmare after nightmare plagued me during this four-day "vacation." The only solace I received was a comfy bed to sleep in when we stopped at some hotel off the highway. That night, I was dragged eight miles through the mud to be slaughtered like a pig. I woke up drenched. Then I calmly took a shower and made my way down for breakfast.

Along the way towards our new life, we stopped at some sort of antique store. I don't remember if I picked out the dreamcatcher or if my mom got it for me, but I do remember tracing the little spiderweb with my fingers and feeling the allusiveness of the feathers. This dreamcatcher contained freedom I could not imagine. The freedom and power to decide the fate of young children like me. The harbinger of nightmares and good dreams.

I used it. Every night. Then, in the morning, I would jump out of bed to see if my nightmares were caught in the dainty little spiderweb taped to the wall above my head. It seemed to expand in size. As if it was filling up with all the nightmares it was catching. I broke down. The tears falling off my face and staining my bed with euphoria. My two-year long streak of nightmares stopped dead in its tracks now that I had some sort of powerful god looking after me. I no longer had to sneak around the house at night to down glasses of water. I no longer pinched myself or hit my head against the wall. I didn't know what this feeling was. It was overwhelming. Something that started tingling in my toes and spread through my entire body.

I was able to function again. I made friends with a bunch of local school children and we would actually play after school together, running around our apartment complex as if Life would not try its damned best to corrupt our pure hearts.

Then we moved again.

Another day in a stuffy car was another day I had to question all of this. At the time, I did not understand why we had to keep moving. I kept having to say goodbye to all of my friends and promise them that I would stay in touch, even though I was too young to own a phone.

When I unpacked my bags and started to move my things to the new apartment, my reality shattered. I held in my hand the dreamcatcher that kept me pure for a year. The sole thing that was stopping my horrible nightmares from returning. The middle of the spiderweb flew carelessly in the wind. The feathers were bent and the edges of the spiderweb were the only thing left intact.

I looked around in the frigid air, terrified with how disgusting the world was. How heavy the bricks were that I was forced to carry. How salty the chips we ate for snacks were. When we were all done moving in, I carefully taped the annihilated dreamcatcher above my bed and hoped that it would do its job correctly.

I was on edge for the rest of the night. We had this small moving-in party where we ordered nice food and stayed up until midnight. Kind of like New Year's, but I didn't participate. I was in my room, trying to keep the devils out of my head. The tape I put on the spiderweb fell off immediately, the web in defiance to my actions of kindness. Sweat rolled down my face and my breathing began to quicken.

The dreamcatcher hung there through the night, softly swaying in the breeze that crept through the window-

-and the spiderweb of life let everything through.

"The counterpart to people living solitary lives in public might well be those who have chosen to shut themselves away. Known as hikikomori, these are people, mainly men, who haven't participated in society, or shown a desire to do so, for at least a year. They rely instead on their parents to take care of them. for people aged 15-39. But it could easily be double that number. Since many prefer to stay entirely hidden, they remain uncounted" (National Geographic).

I first learned about the hikikomori during high school. School would have these lectures that taught us the importance of going to college, getting a job, etc. I was in agreement with them. The concept of locking yourself away for years on end was actually ludicrous. My girlfriend, Eva, and I sat in the back of the auditorium and snickered at the pictures of men in their late twenties or thirties with piles of manga stacked up beside their beds; the men getting deathly thin from eating only cups of ramen and other ready-made meals.

Prince?

We'd often sneak out, my girlfriend and I. We hung out under this tree in the furthest south part of campus. A part that no one really knew about and if they did, they did not want to visit. Everyone else was concerned with social status and which girl or guy they'd bang next, but us... We just sat there. Sneaking cigarettes and looking at the outline of the tops of buildings against our gated community. We'd lie down and waste the hours away just being together. We didn't need to talk, just be there, ya know?

Priiiiince?

I dug my pencil into the paper as hard as I could, ripping a hole straight through it. My teeth were gritted, my knuckles turning white.

Prince... Please... The voice called again. It knocked itself against the door, trying to get my attention. But if I ignored it, it would go away.

Dinner's ready. I'll leave it by the door, okay?

Silence spread through the air; it pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. The room shook as an amalgamation of darkness crept from under my bed. The darkness crawled to the door, checking it out, making sure it was safe.

Look... I know you're mad because school didn't work out, but you shouldn-

"Leave me alone."

The darkness pulsated as the voice spoke. This voice had no right to talk down to me like that. It knew that there was this darkness around me. The darkness did things to me. Part of it was comforting and the other part horrific. When I looked into the darkness, I saw a reflection of my own soul and saw how disgusting it looked. Battered and chipped in different places, the same darkness covered my soul. I knew a soul like that shouldn't be let outside.

But... just eat ok-

"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

The darkness provided comfort. I give into it and the voice went away. It's almost like

Magic.

It made me laugh that things worked like that. I was expected to be all nice. All prim and proper, but when it came down to it, I enjoyed being in control. And I was in control when I was safe in my room.

I kept this picture of my girlfriend in my pocket to remind me of our time together. I used to take the picture out and just stare at it. I could get lost in those chocolate brown eyes for hours. And I did. We had this secret hideout in the basement of her house. It was a large tent pushed up against the wall. In the dark, it was easily overlooked despite its size. Though, we had an oil lamp in the middle of the tent so we could see each other—even though it might have been more intimate in the dark. It was childish, but it was where we did most of our bonding. Against the tent, we cuddled to conserve heat in the cold. I learned about her family and how she despised them because of the unspeakable things her father did to her and she learned about how my mother was making me live the life she never had. Our first kiss was when we shared a cigarette, the smoke intertwining with our breath. Pushed up against the edge of the tent, we stayed there for a while. It was just us two against the world for the majority of high school. We thought that would last for years to come.

But my stomach began to growl. The darkness swirled around the door, its force deciding to linger in my gaze. Who knew what horrors lurked beyond that door. A place of complete darkness and void of feeling is my guess.

The last time I opened the door, there were demons all around me. The demons did not have faces. Their eyes were scratched out with the same ferocity in which I stabbed the paper earlier. Their soulless eyes bore into my own soul, trying to extract it. They looked through me. As if I were invisible. They moved in swarms. Each demon was assigned to their own swarm. Other swarms hated each other—I witnessed a bloody battle between two swarms. However, the swarms seemed to come together to do one thing: antagonize me by not acknowledging my existence.

Instead of the usual sun, the world was outlined in a solemn black. Only street lamps birthed the tiniest bit of light. It made it hard to navigate the university campus. My heart was constantly in my throat. Maybe one demon would decide to notice me and hunt me down.

The darkness pulsated again. There was another knock at the door. Another voice to torment me. This one had more spring in it when it spoke. It almost sounded happy. The darkness did not like that.

Prince!

Staying quiet is the best course of action. I watched the darkness leak under the doorframe.

Prince?

Then the door opened.

Outside, the walls were covered in dark paint. The couple steps before my door where sawed out. Down, down down, for miles. The gates to hell were opened. A pristine white light shone through this hole and a demon covered in darkness crawled out of it. I grabbed my knees as tears started to escape from my eyes. High pitch squeaks replaced words and I could feel my body rocking back and forth.

The demon bag to talk with the voice from earlier. I could only hear snippets through my tears and shaking.

He's 23!

Traumatic experience...

Babying him!

He'll remember me...

A strong force clasped my shoulders and pulled my chin upwards. There was the demon's scratched out eyes. Completely empty. I could imagine maggots and cockroaches crawling out of them and running down the demon's slender form. Fangs dotted its mouth, creating a field of knives while its mouth salivated.

It growled my name.

Prince~

My body froze over.

Prince!

Please stop this...

"Prince!"

Then, there was no demon at all. In fact, a person stood in its place; a girl about my age to be exact. After squinting a bit, I could tell that it was Eva. An older, more beautiful, version of her, but definitely the same girl. She had the same pretty brown eyes. Fear dominated those eyes as she shook my shoulders. Her brunette hair was flying all over the place. My tears were transferred to her face instead. She was acting as if she cared. Where was she all of these years? She did not care about me.

It was funny.

My chest began to expand, laughter rising in it. I surrendered my free will over to a different type of demon. My entire body was shuddering uncontrollably as a raspy laugh escaped from my mouth. It squeaked at first but eventually evolved into something more powerful.

The girl let go of my shoulders and stepped back. She crossed her arms. She was scared.

Why are you trying so hard? The demon let go of my body. The laughter stopped.

"W-w-what?"

It's like you're trying to be crazy. The silence spread once again.

I haven't seen you in years so I thought I'd come to visit and look at you! She paused for a second and grunted in frustration. I mean, look at this!

She bent down and picked up my notebook that now rested at the foot of my bed. It was tattered, almost decrepit. When she opened it, dust flew out and filled the air. She showed me the first couple pages. They were all about my senior year in high school. Every single page after the first couple had holes drilled into them and the writing became more paranoid.

"H-how long a-go?" I managed to squeak out.

Five years.

She let that sink in.

Your writing becomes more frantic after I moved.

I was too blinded by anger and sadness to find out why she moved. I just knew that it was coming, and when it did, the world kind of imploded. I was in this kind of stasis where I was too frozen to do anything about the move or even talk to her about it. She was the only person I talked to in and out of school. She was the only person who stook up for me (And trust me when I say that private school kids make dangerous bullies). The world was covered in this darkness as if the man above decided to paint it black. A mere stroke of the brush on this canvas we call Earth and my entire life is gone.

I fell forward, pulling her into a weak embrace. She went limp in my arms, shuddering a bit from my touch. I pulled back, worried that I did something wrong. She looked me in the eye and tied a smile to her face—it hardly reached her cheeks.

We haven't been like this in years. I'm engaged.

The darkness crept along the walls in my periphery, making its presence known but not attacking. It grew bigger, eventually taking over everything around me. A sharp chill found its way into the room and covered my body in its frost. My body trembled.

I looked behind me to see nothing; the back wall of my room was gone. The same phenomenon was occurring with my bed, it was in space, almost floating. The darkness hadn't enveloped the front side of my room. My girlfriend was still standing there, expectantly, but a bit sad. I immediately thought that if I could push her out of the darkness then it wouldn't envelop her. I stretched my hand out, but she was so far away. The brown strands of her hair rested calmly by her sides.

Maybe if we kept in touch, we could've had something but you never responded to my messages, my girlfriend said.

I swam through space to reach her. I knocked away planets, comets, and asteroids just to get a little closer. It was sticky like quicksand. Space tugged down on my ankles, trying to keep me attached to my bed.

Not everything is gonna go your way, Prince.

My bubble popped and I hurdled down back to the Earth. Eva ran a hand through her hair.

We were dumb kids. People grow up. You haven't.

I looked at her weakly.

The world is going to destroy you. Beat you down and put its disgusting boot down on top of you so you can't get back up. But you can! Like, we used to laugh at people like you. I know you don't want to be like this. Just... Get up.

My head hurt. My limbs felt like they were chained to the bed. The rough steel rubbed against my hands as I yanked against the chains, trying to move.

"I need help..." I croaked. Eva stared at me like I was crazy.

You need to get up yourself.

I screamed and put all my effort into one final pull. My skin bristled and tightened around the chains. They were pulling against my skin as if it could tear off at any second.

But then I was on the floor. I don't remember how I got there, but there I was. Covered in my own sweat and tears and curled into a ball.

I looked up and Eva was gone but the clack-clack of her scarlet red shoes reverberated through the hallway and found a home in my soul. That sound would come back to haunt me every time I had to make a decision in my life. Every time I went to sleep, I could hear her leaving me. Leaving behind everything we had. Then I realized that we had nothing. That everything we did together could be chalked up to the idiocy of our youth. That I really meant nothing to her.

My last moment before I completely embraced the darkness was me lying on the floor, my weathered body crumpling in on itself, and I was screaming my soul out.

My delicate fingers caress your tender neck

feeling your smooth skin prickle from my touch

I long for your rough lips on mine

setting fire to my lungs

while you take control of me.

On the roof we dance

under the direction of the night sky

the moon our conductor

the stars our fans

their divine light

a spotlight for our performance

the universe erupts in applause

as your coarse lips meet mine

and your buzz carries me away

Intoxicated by your spirit

the night brutalized by your love

I wake with the remnants of your care

staining my soul

your number etched into my brain

always ready

always wanting

and I know this relationship won't end soon

because I'm already addicted to you 

When that ball of crystal ice in the sky disappears

and the horizon burns full of hatred

i want to know

if I'll still matter to a world eradicated by my own greed.

Will my ancestors ever welcome me to their legacy

or do my blackened wings override the ties of kin

buried by shame, I'll fly to the end of the world

my feet dangling off the side of this jilted planet

hoping for a sign

that in the end, I was worth more than these curséd wings.

When we forsake our masks

terrified by the brilliance of our own souls

the streets will no longer be deserted

and every creature will see themselves for the first time

We'll come together

in a silent prayer

begging as if the hatred in our hearts

never manifested into the devils we became.

And I'll look out towards our sun

its magnificence

setting for the final time

and I'll know

the thorns that kept my heart in its cage will perish

and my tears will flow freely. 

I.

Once I realized I had a thing for guys, my life changed for the worse. Whenever I thought about love, my heart would squeeze itself incredibly tight as if someone was getting off on the idea of crushing it. My heart would thump inside of my chest nervously, but excited at the idea that I was doing something wrong. I could imagine that smooth hand wrapping its delicate fingers around my heart. Got to know its ins and outs before playing its little game. When I questioned myself, it would squeeze my heart so I couldn't breathe. That hand had a name; it was Enes. Pronounced "Ness" because he was from the Netherlands.

Whenever I think back to my time with him and how it made me feel, I'm only able to come up with one word: safe. All I wanted was to feel his soft arms around me and find a place on his neck where I could relax my head. I wanted to feel warm.

I wasn't allowed to feel warm in real life. I came out as bi in 7th grade and that's when I stopped getting hugs from my friends. I guess they weren't comfortable with it. I can't blame them; I wasn't comfortable with it either. If I initiated the hug, they might have thought I was coming on to them and my already dwindling social status was more important than being warm. I told everyone I liked the cold anyway.

I was 13. Enes was 15. I spent his 16th birthday with him though. We met playing Mario Kart Wii and that's what we did on his birthday. Me, him, and a couple other friends played MKW for hours, laughing and carrying on (We even sang him Happy Birthday). I picked the worst track in the custom tracks pack over and over again just to piss the others off. The hours blurred together then and I didn't realize that the night was creeping up on me. From time to time, people would yell my name and ask for something but I never knew what they asked for. I didn't listen to them. I was known in the Mario Kart community for sitting far away from my TV so it probably looked like I was staring off into space for the better half of the day. Just mesmerized by all these colorful pixels that meant the world to me. Time didn't matter then. I just wanted to spend it with him.

We didn't make it to my 14th birthday.

II.

Once, one of my best friends sent me a meme that asked something along the lines of, "If there was a pill to make you straight, would you take it?"

YES.

He thought I wouldn't respond that fast. He thought I'd say no. He thought it was a dumb question hidden inside a dumber meme, but it was too true for me. I wanted to be a girl for the longest time because liking guys was a curse. If I were a girl, at least I'd be accepted because everywhere I went, someone had something against me. I didn't know it made me an enemy until I brought it up in casual conversation. It was as if I thought liking guys was normal. As if I was normal.

I wasn't in many large chats. They made me nervous since your messages often went unnoticed. It was like people were ignoring me. Messages scrolled by quickly. Especially on Skype where there was only one main chat. But, when I agreed with the girls in the chat on how certain guys were, the chats would go completely silent. It was as if I committed some blasphemous act and people didn't know how to respond.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

- Are you a fag?

Squeeze.

- What does that mean? Haha

- You like taking dick up your ass, don't you?

I left. I didn't talk in big chats for a while after that. I went on to tell a good friend about my sexuality to figure out if anything was wrong with me. She blocked me. So I asked another friend: someone who I looked up to.

- Well, it's unnatural. That doesn't mean it should be a big deal between us though.

Not natural? Oh. I already had so many unnatural things about me. I really didn't need another one. I used to place my head down on my desk and cry until I had nothing left. By then, it just sounded like heaving. Then, I'd roll over to my bed and hide under the covers. There were monsters all around me in this world and if I wanted to survive, I had to become one of them. One of those monsters so I wouldn't be hurt again. I didn't want to get eaten alive.

I became one of them with Enes' help. He helped me to develop an attitude, which was just another wall to erect so people couldn't see the real me. Or maybe I enjoyed cussing others out and not valuing their opinion. After all, I got positive feedback. Enes used to say that he loved it when I was in a bitchy mood.

I was the leader of a Mario Kart Wii clan, which is like a sports team. I made Enes co-leader. After his appointment to the position, the clan reeked of wilted white carnations. King Enes ascended to the throne quickly and I became the puppet king. I wanted to be a queen and rule alongside him. A benevolent one. I wanted to be respected and cherished. I'd treat my subjects well too. Catherine The Great-like

But being a puppet was hard. I had to please Enes, exacting his rules among our players. He'd often come to me, saying that he didn't like this player or that one. All the people in my clans were friends, but I kicked them out if Enes wished it so. He told me that we were going to make a better clan. One with better players that could compete with the greats. I was destroying my life.

But he was the only person who could calm me down. We became inseparable, the king and his puppet. Everything he did, I did as well, which included ignoring my friends to hang out with him. I didn't understand why people began to leave me. I was just being a good boyfriend. Though, I forgot I had a mind of my own. He just made me so happy and warm so I was happy forfeiting my free will if I could stay warm.

We'd stay up til' it was pitch black outside. I was tucked snuggly under the covers, staring at the ceiling with him in my ear. His voice was kinda deep, sultry. It sent shivers down my spine.

- You know, no matter how far we're apart, we're still under the same sky.

- I never thought of it like that.

- Can you see the stars?

I blinked, continuing to stare at the ceiling. All of a sudden, light pooled in from the window and sparkling stars inhabited my ceiling. They created intricate shapes and figures that I could never name but was in love with nevertheless.

- Xavier?

- Yeah... Yeah, I can see them.

I didn't realize I was crying until he asked me what was wrong.

III.

One day, Enes pulled me into a chatroom that encrypted your messages so well that when you left, the computer couldn't decrypt them. I realized that something might be wrong with him. My heart raced. I thought he was going to break up with me.

- Can you keep a secret?

- O-of course, what's up?

- Do you know what cp is?

I exhaled, relieved. He wasn't breaking up with me. He just wanted to ask a dumb question. I leaned back in my chair, it creaked under the pressure. I was so relieved that I forgot to respond. Another question mark appeared on the screen and I scrambled to the keyboard.

- No. No, I don't. What is it?

- Child porn.

- What?

- Child porn. I'm into it.

I never thought of Enes as a predator. He was my boyfriend.

Mine.

I'd never had one of those before. And I was taught that people were supposed to stick together through everything. We were going to get through this.

- Oh...

- Is that fine with you?

- mhm....

- Good. Then there's one other thing.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of the screen. He was typing for a long time and my heart only beat faster every second. I thought I was having a heart attack.

- I'm also into bestiality and gore.

He included a link.

- Do you like it?

I clicked on the link. I've been on this site before, Derpibooru. It was for My Little Pony art. I went on it occasionally when I was a lot younger to browse for cool pictures. I knew there was a dark side to the website, but I never visited it before. I knew something was wrong when the picture was blocked by this shocked looking pony asking me to input my age because the picture was Not Safe For Work. I scanned the title of this work of art.

"A Machine's Got To Eat"

I quickly entered in a fake birthday. I used the same month and day of my actual birthday, but the year was pushed back a ton.

What I remember of this picture was a machine holding Pinkie Pie, a character in My Little Pony, upside-down by the hoof. She was screaming, her cheerful pink hair darkened by her own blood. There was nothing left of her stomach. Bones haphazardly poked out while her innards were strewn about. The machine looked pleased with what it was doing. I didn't like how he calmly called this gore. It was something more than that. It was sick.

But I couldn't look away. It was mesmerizing in a disturbing way. I didn't like it. Don't get the wrong idea. I just couldn't rip my eyes from the screen.

I clicked away. I deleted my search history. I deleted it again and again as if I deleted it enough, I could get that image out of my head. Then I remembered I was talking to Enes. I needed to answer. What do I even say about this? Well, I had a decision in front of me. Either I denounce him and tell him that he needs help or I accept and love him.

But I was looking for something. Something that started in the pit of my gut and slowly spread to the edges of my body. Soon, it'd become my shield. It enveloped me, this little bubble that of mine supplied everything I'd ever need. It made me feel warm. And Enes could provide that. Plus, aren't lovers supposed to stay together for better, for worse, in sickness, and in health? He was sick. I could be the cure.

- Yeah... I love it. Almost as much as I love you~

- I love you too, cutie~

Warm.

IV.

Sex.

It's an important part of a relationship. So, once he brought it up, I wasn't surprised. I just wasn't ready. I already devoted all of my time to him. I felt all itchy at school when I couldn't use my phone. The only thing I looked forward to was consultation. Then I could pull it out and talk to him for 30 minutes. I couldn't spend more than 10 minutes without thinking about him and an hour without talking to him. What more did he want?

I knew what I wanted:

Validation.

I needed someone to tell me that they loved me. That I was worth it. That I wasn't the pile of worthless garbage I thought I was. Normal friends wouldn't cut it. I needed that connection. That intimate connection. I craved it. I could be anyone you wanted as long as you told me you loved me.

I even tried learning Dutch. It was to surprise him next year on his birthday. I wanted to have a conversation with him in his mother tongue. I spent hours on Duolingo trying to learn the basics. To say it was impossible would be an understatement. The letters formed words in ways that didn't make sense and all the words I remembered were getting lost in my brain so when that little green bird asked me to regurgitate one, I had a hard time searching for them through the fog in my head. Oddly enough, I always remembered one word in particular: Gevangenis. That's the word for prison.

When he came to me asking for nudes, I didn't say yes. But I also didn't say no. The thought of sharing something so private, where I was so vulnerable, made me uncomfortable.

- Don't you love me?

- Yeah...

- Then send me a picture. It doesn't have to be much. Just wear only underwear.

I felt like he was watching me. Like he could see me through the screen and watch my naked body. I knew he was judging me, but I loved him. So I did it. I took off all my clothes, except for my underwear and looked myself over in the mirror. I hated the way I looked. I was too chubby. Too shy... Too... black.

I've had troubles with my race for a long time. I grew up around people of all races, so not necessarily just black people. We were invited to everything: Birthday parties, community events, etc. I loved it. But once I started getting older, I noticed people began to treat me differently. People would tiptoe around my senses, poking at prodding at them to see what was okay to say and what wasn't. Could my friends call me bro without it sounding weird?

I quickly realized that me being black was like me liking guys. Everywhere I went, something was wrong with me. This was especially prevalent on the internet where anonymity is used as a shield to protect racists. They would throw every slanderous word in the book at me. Also, the amount of times people asked me "That's okay to say, right?" or "You're not offended by that, right?" was honestly disturbing. It was like I was this other thing that people couldn't comprehend. A zoo attraction for people to stare and laugh at.

So when Enes told me he liked the way I looked, I didn't believe him. He was one of the only people I told that I was black on the internet. Being black was disgusting. I didn't understand why the universe cursed me like that.

When I sent that I underwear pic to him, I threw my phone across the room afterward. I questioned myself. Why the fuck did I just do that? I felt so slimy, so disgusted, so violated. My phone was laying face down on the floor across the room. I was still semi-naked, still raw. I turned it over slowly

- You're really hot~

V.

It was my fault that we broke up. I ruin everything I touch. Things weren't as enjoyable in our relationship after I sent that first picture. I started to get extremely paranoid. In our clan chat, he'd flirt with this other gay guy who I'd been friends with for a couple years. When he found out I was black, he said this straight to my face,

- I don't like black gays. They scare me.

Enes wouldn't let me kick him from the clan. There was definitely something between them, but Enes kept reassuring me that there was nothing. That it was all in my head. From then on, whenever I looked around me in real life, people were always talking about me. Whenever someone laughed, they were always laughing at me. This darkness was creeping up inside of me and I was scared it was going to take over.

Enes played with this darkness. He quelled it at times and groomed it at others He saw everything in me. He saw parts of me I didn't even know existed. He knew I was starting to get bullied at school. He knew I was sick and tired of people playing with my emotions. He knew I wanted to do something about it. He especially knew I loved him and would stick with him no matter what he did. So he asked for more pictures.

And I gave them to him.

I was always frustrated once I got home from school and he was able to calm me down. He was able to coerce me into giving him whatever he wanted. Some of that coercion came with threats. He threatened to release the pictures I'd already given him to my friends. I knew this was my fault, but I still wanted to stick with him. He was everything at this point.

I got really angry at him one day for making fun of me in front of my friends. I finally exploded. The darkness overflowed out of me and cloaked everything around me in black. That's all I could see: hatred. He was supposed to be the one defending me, but he was doing the opposite of that. I yelled at him a lot and he took it quietly. Seeming to understand and agree with my anger. Then, after I was finished, he broke up with me.

At first, I thought he was joking. He was really funny so this must've been a joke. Then, I started apologizing. The screen was spammed with "sorry" and "don't hate me" and "I'll be better" but he didn't except them. He was done with me.

I blocked him out of anger.

Then, I unblocked him the next day.

I yelled at him.

He yelled at me.

I told him I loved him.

I called him names.

One of which, was the screen name he used on Skype and Mario Kart:

Madness.