| 1 | The World is Pretty Fucking Ugly Like Me Wasted On A Thursday Night

***

I sighed, eyes gazing at the clock that hung loosely on the ceiling next to the little crack in the wall that seemed to have been always there. I've never really taken an interest in school, let alone my own future in general—everything was just a stupid puzzle piece wanting to fall into place. I know that I was guaranteed to have a well-financed future, and I know that I will inherit my parent's stupid company and get an arranged marriage to some bitch in pink heels. I know that my children will give less of a shit about school as I had did, and I know that they will end up in the same twisting fate that I, and my parents, had endured. It was like an endless cycle that no one could break out of—a cycle of unfairness and heartbreak.

"Mr. Source?" The teacher's taunting voice had called out. My vision was dull, I adjusted my glasses and focused. Her misshaped greasy curly brown hair always bothered me, it looked so out of place, especially on her wide, pale shoulders. "Are you paying attention?"

I slouched in my chair and huffed as I crossed my arms. The class had their eyes directed at me; judgmental eyes that never really stopped following me around. I was just another spoiled, bratty rich kid with a stereotypical attitude, I didn't mind the stares since I've already expect it. Hell, I've been stared at like this for my whole entire life, nothing new and nothing embarrassing. Not like my parents would care about a rebellious action during school anyway.

"Mr. Source, do I have to repeat myself?" The teacher snapped. I cringed thinking of all the saliva that could have blown into the air and onto that poor student's face. "Are you giving another attitude?"

"Are you giving another attitude?" I mocked, quite loudly. Some of the girls giggled, the guys in my class just laughed loudly as they clapped their hands.

"Mr. Source, I do not like this behavior of yours. Do I need to ring you up to your parents?" The teacher warned. I sneered, rolling my eyes. Such a weak threat; like that would work on a spoiled kid, especially since that spoiled kid was a high schooler.

"Go ahead," I replied, "not like my parents ever cared."

"Mr. Source, your parents do care about you." She sighed, putting her papers down.

"Are you there to see if they're around? No, you're not. I'd suggest you should quiet down about my personal life," I began, straightening up my posture as I smiled devilishly, "I do have the money to buy this shitty school myself and fire everyone in it and turn it into a shopping center, so I would watch your mouth."

That got her quiet.

I resisted the urge to laugh at the reaction on her face; those wide hazel eyes that were frozen in shock, her chubby cheeks sagging down past her chin, and her pink lips, that were usually curved in a smile, were sunken down in deep thought, almost as if she was thinking of a retort but didn't have the heart to say it. She turned around, forehead wrinkled and eyebrows furrowed, and began to write on the chalkboard again. Her cherry red nails scratched against the chalkboard a bit as she fumed her anger out with the chalk. I knew I had already won.

I drew my eyes back onto the clock that was ticking rather loudly. It managed to drown out the sounds of the teacher's shitty way of writing down on a chalkboard, or maybe my mind just managed to drown out the sound. I knew the teacher had set it twelve minutes and thirty-eight seconds ahead of the real time; it would usually devoid students of hope on when class would be over. The overall excitement that class would be over in two minutes would be replaced with the reality that class would be actually over in fourteen minutes. Bummer, but it was only just for this particular class, math (which made it even worse, actually.)

So, I knew that class would technically be over in about four minutes, despite the clock stating that class should had been over twelve minutes and eleven seconds ago. Next period would be lunch, and then two more periods would result in the end of the day. I was excited to get out of this hellhole they called "A Fundamental Learning Environment For Young Adolescents to Grow and Feel Safe." It's funny how the teachers didn't feel safe, but after all it was a public school—cheap and filled with a melting pot of diversities.

Bored, I clicked my tongue and leaned back in my seat, nearly falling backwards into the desk behind me in the process. The girl that was sitting behind me squealed a bit as she saw my smiling, pale face. I winked and whispered, "Hello there, sunshine."

"Hello Seto, you're really funny!" She gushed, face tinted pink.

"Thanks," was all that came out of my mouth as I went to straighten my posture and fix my seat. I could feel the girl's smile going from ear to ear. It was quite delectable to bask in the thought of people actually falling for me because of my "popularity" and wealth.

I was busy dozing in my thoughts when the bell had rung. I grabbed my items and dashed out of the room and down the hall. My locker was upstairs, usually the taller people were sluggish and blocked the way on the staircase. I managed to make my climb and head towards my own locker. Isaac, who'd mainly go under the alias of "Classic Psy," was waiting at my locker. He'd opened it for me since he knew my combination. He grabbed my stuff that was cluttered in my arms and put it away neatly.

"You don't have to do this for me, I can do it myself." I crossed my arms.

"You can't even reach the top shelf, Seto." Isaac laughed, ruffling my brunet hair. I groaned, rolling my eyes.

"I'm not short if I'm not compared to you." I retorted with hesitance. Isaac towered over me since he was 5'8", while I stood at a mere height of 5'5", of course it would be logical that he would think that I was short.

"You're the same height as that ex-My Chemical Romance member, Frank Iero was it?" Isaac hummed, grabbing my lunch that was in a brown bag. I muttered a thanks before saying, "Yeah."

He closed my locker for me and put the lock on. I stood there, awkwardly fiddling with my pastel purple sweater sleeve that I had decided to wear. It was autumn, my favorite time of the year. It gave me an excuse to wear pastel, over sized sweaters, which were my favorite. I looked up for a brief moment as Isaac turned to make his retreat back down the stairs and into the cafeteria, I simply followed. The chattering of voices in sync bothered me.

"Where's Surok?" I asked, breaking the silence between us.

"He's ditching school, again." Isaac rolled his eyes, referring to the nonentity in the group.

"Damn, I wanted some of his food," I cursed.

"You're always eating his food, you can just buy some Asian food at the store."

"That's different! His food is homemade!" It was a stupid reason, but I did like his mother's cooking.

"Everyone watch out, the small, spoiled kid is getting angry!" Isaac teased, ruffling my hair again.

"Would you stop?" I huffed, making a sharp left into the cafeteria. The sea of faces and the roar of voices made my stomach churn; I hated being in a room with too many people and interacting. I remembered that "asocial" was the proper term for it.

I headed towards the table I had normally sat at; the one that was always in the middle of the cafeteria. Most people would stop and stare as I went to sit down, take out my meal that was ever so carefully prepared, and slowly, yet tauntingly, consume it. Isaac would always laugh at everyone else's reactions—maybe they thought rich kids never needed to eat.

The difference between me and Isaac were exponential, some people found it hard to believe that I was actually best friends with him. We were polar opposites on the main part, with Isaac wanting to get good grades and was rarely a blabbermouth that was rude, while I could have not given two shits about school, and had usually talked back to teachers. Sure, I had manners, but they weren't used a lot, especially in school. The teachers loved him, and the teachers feared me.

One major factor was that he came from a moderately poor family, while I came from one that was wealthy. We usually looked past that, though, for as we joke around like "normal friends" would. Surok would usually come around as well, but he ditched school a lot. Funny how he went against the stereotypical Asian, but I'm usually not the one to judge.

Isaac took a seat next to me and began to eat a ham sandwich while I just ate some fresh cooked turkey (not really fresh since it's been sitting in my lunchbox for about three hours actually) with some rice that was mixed in with vegetables. The purple haired male spoke up, "How was your day so far?"

"Crappy as usual." I replied, "I gave that math teacher a hard time."

"You mean Miss Harlour?" Isaac stated.

"Yeah, whatever her name is," I rolled my eyes, not really caring as I shove my spoon into my mouth. God, I couldn't remember any of the teachers' names—I just remembered their features and their room numbers. "The world is ugly, y'know?"

"I guess it is," Isaac had nodded. I didn't think he actually though that, but I guess he might have been being polite. It's been a while since I've heard him curse, a whole three day record actually.

I continued to ramble on, "I'm gonna jinx it, but one day everything's alright but then it just moves on. Life is shit and getting old is shit."

"Old?" Isaac blinked, "Oh. Right. How is that marriage thing going?"

"Shit." I cursed, scrunching my nose. "I'm sixteen now, the closer I get to graduation the more doom comes my way. How enjoyable it would be to be married to a pissy pink-loving bitch with the biggest of boobs and high heels, to the point where she towers over me." I snapped fiercely, the usual sarcasm evident in my voice.

"No choice?"

"No shit Sherlock." How many times have I said the word "shit" today?

"Think of the bright side."

"There is no bright side—the bitch'll probably be a killjoy."

Isaac chewed through his sandwich pretty fast, or it was just I'd haven't been paying attention very much. I managed to eat half of my own food then put it back in my brown bag lunchbox, Isaac frowned at this behavior, "You need to eat, killjoy."

I rolled my eyes, giving an exasperated sigh, "I'd rather not eat, not very hungry to say the least. Since when are you my mother, Isaac?"

"You're underweight!" He exclaimed.

"So?"

"Ah for fucks sake, never mind." He just rolled his eyes in defeat as he finished the last bit of his sandwich.

Isaac's record of three days without cursing was officially broken. I would mention it, but I've already gotten on Isaac's nerves enough already, he had a possible "itchy trigger finger" I guess. I awkwardly fiddled with my pastel purple sleeve until he decided to speak up. He did, eventually. How many minutes had elapsed, six?

"So, anything new about your parent's new company?" Isaac asked, quite dully. I bet he was just trying to be polite, he could have possibly cared less about my life.

"My parent's sixth company they're buying is bigger than the rest," I began, "we might get situated near a big city if the price isn't that bad."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"Two months of talking n' shit, dunno."

"You think they're actually gonna buy it, or perhaps invest in it?"

"Probably. That means I would have to move, though."

I could tell Isaac had some sort of discomfort at the thought of me moving. It would be understandable, we'd been friends for about, what, thirteen years? It wouldn't be such a hassle to visit him once and a while, but then again, I did rely on him as if he was my own brother. Though annoying as I may seem, I could tell he does care about me, but more in a secretive and motherly type of way. I suppose it was the equivalence of a child going to college and being separated from their mother for the first time.

"Ask your parents about it." Isaac concluded.

"Bu—" the sound of the bell and the screams of students rushing to meet the expectation to get to their lockers within the time span of six minutes filled the air. Isaac gave out an exasperated sigh, before cracking a smile.

"See you later, killjoy." Sometimes I would like to pry that cheeky smile off his face.

***

Part of me didn't want to endure more lectures and more teachers that had saggy cheeks and bland attitudes, so I decided to ditch school after history class. No one noticed a student wearing a pastel purple sweater just pack up his things in the middle of an empty hallway and just, well, leave through the front school doors and jump (barely jump, actually) over the brown wired school fence. I ended up ripping my favorite pair of black skinny jeans that I had bought from Hot Topic in the process, it was complete bullshit. That's what I get for leaving school early, I guess.

I yawned to myself as I strolled through the open road of the school grounds and out towards the forest area that was behind the school. Despite how creepy the forest did look at times, I found it as a safe heaven from all the stress that has been building up in my life. The grass was damp and shining from the storm that had came last night, and there were sounds of birds flapping their wings above my head, squeaking and scavenging for food for their younglings. As I continued to make my stroll of the grass stuck to my shoes. It would be so swell to spend a good half an hour picking off those clumps of grass mixed in with mud.

I made my way down to where the forest slightly cleared. It was a good distance away from school, no one would notice a boy standing alone in the forest with a galaxy backpack in the middle of a clearing. I situated myself and decided to sit down on a tree stump, making sure my already soiled pants wouldn't get anymore, well, soiled. Setting my backpack on the side of the tree stump, I reached into my backpack and took out a book, School of Creation I think the story was called, and my phone.

I set the book on my lap and decided to check the time—1:54PM. School would be over in thirty-six minutes, seventh period had already begun by the time I had made it to the forest. I shrugged, although there was nothing to shrug about, then unlocked my phone. No new messages, no new texts—nothing. I would have texted Isaac but he wouldn't appreciate his phone vibrating in the middle of class, A.P. English to be specific. I wouldn't want to be more of a killjoy than I already am. I cringed at the thought of Isaac repeating the word "killjoy" to me as I took out a cigarette from my backpack and lit it. Though I was underage and technically not allowed to smoke cigarettes, who'd actually give a shit?

Well, besides Isaac.

Speak of the devil; as if fate had just strummed its strings, Isaac had texted me.

Wasn't he suppose to be in class at the current moment?

Oh, what the rebellious guy he is.

new chatroom invite from classic_psy !

classic_psy:
seto, did you ditch school?
hello???
seto don't ignore me

setosorcerer has joined the chatroom

setosorcerer:
there's a slight degree in chance
that i may have ditched school

classic_psy:
my fucking god seto
you can't just do that!

setosorcerer:
wait why did you think i skipped school?

classic_psy:
oh i don't fucking know
maybe because everyone was in panic
that there was a fucking fire alarm going off
because some brunet killjoy decided to
set off the fire alarm???

setosorcerer:
well
it might have been
dunno
someone else??

classic_psy:
i found your shitty galaxy wristband
at the crime scene
if you bothered to gain weight then
maybe the wristband would actually
fit your wrist
you're lucky i found that wristband
and not a fucking teacher

setosorcerer:
i mean anyone could own a
galaxy wristband

classic_psy:
oh my fucking god seto
do you know how many teachers would
like to slash at your throats if they
had the chance?

setosorcerer:
id sue them if they stepped near me

classic_psy:
of course you would
for fucks sake honestly
god

setosorcerer:
chill

classic_psy:
oh my god go fuck yourself

setosorcerer:
my pleasure
literally.

classic_psy:
the alarm stopped beeping
we're going back inside now
ill see you later,
killjoy

classic_psy has left the chatroom

setosorcerer:
would you stop calling me that?
just fucking great

setosorcerer has left the chatroom

chatroom has now been deactivated
clearing all text message history
. . .

I rolled my eyes as I shoved my phone back into my backpack. I honestly should have been calling Isaac the supposed "killjoy." I simply gave out an exasperated sigh before gazing up into the bland sky above me. There were scattered clouds, no shades of blue or the sun's welcoming rays. It was cold, and it was one of those occasions that I had felt alone.

It wasn't like I had felt like all the other organisms around me were physically draining and dying, besides Isaac, but it felt like that I had been walking backwards in a sea of faces that were facing forewords. It was the type of feeling that clawed at your mind and felt as if, well, there was something physically wrong with someone not holding your hand along the way. I shook my head and spat on the ground.

The world is ugly—and nothing is worth my attention.