Not My Fault, Said the Loner


 I never did manage to tempt myself to a peaceful slumber.
I threw another random object I picked up across my room. Breathing heavily, I
slipped in a few curse words, and then I fell down on the floor. For years I
had always known that I was malfunctioned in terms of speaking to others, but
what happened today during the school hours was just too much.

 The fact she was there, at my school, was amazing… a ‘coincidence’
as some would call it, but I wouldn’t, for it can’t possibly describe how I
felt about the situation. This, of course, was promptly crushed due to my
natural shy-ish manner. How many words had I said to her? Five, seven? Less
than ten if I can recall. Bottom line, I just bailed out on my best friend
without even saying something close to a ‘This is so awesome that you’re here!’

 Not completely my fault… that’s what I’ll keep telling
myself. It wasn’t completely my fault. That’s what I always told myself when
something bad happened. Daniel moved away. Not my fault. Claudia left. Not my
fault. I got bad grades. Not my fault. Samantha broke up with me. Not my fault.
None of it, I believed, had anything to do with me, but at the same time I knew
it did.

 I noticed little details in people sometimes, even when I
don’t try to look. This is made me slightly paranoid, but not to an extreme
extent. What I saw in Claudia was her daydreaming ever so somewhat. Any average
man could dismiss this as regular teenage boredom, but my paranoia slated it
down as her thinking of some other guy. A third party member, just like all of
those times before.

 Another object was tossed across the room, this one leaving
a much larger dent in the wall then the previous ones I had discarded. I often
felt I was so pathetic that the only comfort I had was to release my emotions
when no one else was around to see or hear. It, in a way, relaxed me.

 Instinctively, I pulled out an old yearbook from the
elementary school I had gone to, the one I had met Claudia and Daniel at. I
marked both of their names and photographs so I could locate them easily.
Daniel was circled, and Claudia… was marked with a heart.

 Before I could lynch my emotions over seeing that symbol,
I jumped into my bed and continuously fidgeted on it, trying to blank out my
thoughts and get in a good night’s rest.

 I wasn’t successful. The night went on and found me
sitting cross-legged on the floor looking at more pictures, gathering memories.
The good times I used to have… where did they go? I finally opened up a group
of pictures that almost made me vomit; it was Samantha and I at the middle
school dance.

 She was dressed in a brilliant pearl-white dress that went
well with her blonde hair. Her blue-gray-ish eyes seemed to sparkle in the
photograph. Her lips were in the smile I had gotten so used to seeing when she
was in a good mood.

 I, in comparison, was wearing an incredibly well-cleaned
black tuxedo with a black tie to boot. It was a rare instance of me smiling,
actually having a good time. One single tear fell on the floor beside me. When
in my life did everything go south?

 Looking more into the background of the photo, I saw
Craig Johnson, the school’s football team’s quarterback, looking over at us,
more specifically Samantha. The third party character was there all the time,
and he ruined everything for me. As soon as he intervened, my ‘popularity’
dropped from maybe ninety to below zero.

Quietly to myself, I muttered some lyrics from Bohemian
Rhapsody. It was something I did when I was feeling down; recall lines from a

 “Nothing really matters… nothing really matters… to

 The notes exited my mouth naturally, my voice mimicking
Queen’s lead singer almost perfectly. I had always been told that I was a
talented singer, but once again I refused to let people know this. Samantha and
Claudia had both advised me to join choir one day. I disagreed.

 I was up all night looking out the window and seeing
faces, daydreaming in a sense. I hoped that, through another window, there were
other individuals doing the same, maybe reconsidering what they’ve done. 

This whole rest-of-the-day had been nothing but a
merry-go-round for my memories to come in and beat me while I was down. There
was only one thing I could do about all I had recalled for today, and it was
the simplest thing, the thing I have done all of my life.

 I’m alive and suffering. Not my fault.

The End

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