My alarm screams its deafening tune into the silence of my bedroom at six am the next morning. I groan, rubbing a hand over my raw, crusty eyes. It takes effort to pull the lids apart to greet the darkness. I can see shadows dancing on my walls, courtesy of the posters and newspaper clippings that past-me decided to hang on his red-and-black walls for a bit of decoration in the midst of all that chaos.

I try not to think about it too hard as I stumble from my bed, knowing that if I do, I will find myself in bed again and missing yet another day of the pointless bullshit that is school. I make my way to the shower, not having to feel around for the light switch anymore; no, I embraced the darkness a long time ago.

On a better day, thoughts would race through my mind at a speed faster than even light. Today, however, my mind is empty. The only thoughts that gather in it are thoughts about how empty it is. My feelings seem to have been erased, my mind put on hold, and my soul robbed of all of its life.

This is my reality.

I turn the faucet to its hottest setting and get in. As the scalding water burns my body and erupts fire over my skin, I close my eyes.

By the time I manage to find the willpower buried deep within myself to leave the comforting pain of the hot shower, it is nearly seven.

"Daniel, if you don't hurry up, you will be late again!"

"I'm coming!" I shout pointlessly back at my mother. She knows I'm coming. We've been over this.

I shrug on a sweatshirt of some colour that doesn't register in my brain, gray sweats, a black leather jacket, and dark red Converse. I brush my raven-black hair in a side part and I try not to think about how dull my eyes, which used to be a virtuous forest green, have grown lately.

I grab my backpack from its place near my door and pull it onto my back. It's a pale blue colour that reminds me of the sky on a day when the sun is just barely peeking out from behind the clouds. It's probably the only positive image that will be in my mind today.

I take my sweet time walking down the heavily carpeted stairs and out the door. From there, it's only a five-minute walk to the bus stop, where I wait, shivering furiously. The biting January winds are hell, even with my thick leather jacket. The bus is late today.

I wait a few more minutes before the rumbling vehicle, spitting black fumes and painted such an obnoxious shade of yellow that even my frozen heart cringes with disgust, grinds to a halt in front of me. I pull my large headphones over my ears and turn my music up loud. Hopefully the sound will drown out whatever other sounds my mind might want to make in the absence of normal thoughts.

I find my seat at the back of the bus fairly quickly. The low strums of an acoustic guitar start in my headphones, and I scoot closer to the window so that I can watch the images flashing by as the soulful lyrics of Oasis fill my ears.

The ride to school is no more than five minutes, but we haven't even been rolling for two before I feel the first paper ball hit the side of my face. Reflexively, I look to see who threw it, and am immediately assaulted with another, this one hitting dead-center and causing me to shut my eyes against the sting of paper edges flying into them.

I turn my gaze back out the window, ignoring the assortment of other objects that are thrown my way. I can hear their shouts over my music, which is turned to the highest volume. I feel any semblance of a good mood for my first day of school after Christmas break sinking.

I really was a fool to hope that anything would be different this year.

After what feels like hours, the school bus trundles up to the red brick building that is my old, painstakingly traditional high school. I grasp my backpack firmly, waiting until most of the people on the bus have gotten off before exiting myself.

The school looms like a prison in front of me, the gray undertones in the brick that come with being older than God showing more prominently than they did the previous year. I walk through the double doors and rush to find my locker, which this stupid school insists on changing with the coming of each new year, before the tardy bell rings and seals my first tardy of 2019.

Navigating the halls of Truman High is dangerous on a good day. On the first day back after Christmas break, it's a near madhouse. Everyone is conversing with the friends that they missed over the holidays, exchanging belated gifts, or simply being obnoxious. I almost trip a total of five times on my way to the maths classroom, and I can hear various slurs being tossed at me over my loud music. Finally, I make my way into my class, mere seconds before the late bell.

I am immediately greeted by our old maths teacher, Mr. Burke, who addresses the class as a whole when he tells us that he hopes we all had good holidays. I nod along with the rest of the students when he eyes us expectantly over his cracked spectacles. The gray hairs on his head seem even more pronounced now than they were last year.

"Today, we're going to be studying exponents," he tells the class. I internally groan. Exponents are shit. Math is shit. School is shit.

Life is shit.

With this final thought, I open my algebra book to the page Mr. Burke has written on the board, and attempt to immerse myself in the sea of numbers swimming before my eyes.