Colours didn't bother them has much as they thought it would - it's bright, messy, confusing and inhumanly wonderful, but nothing could hold as much trauma as it had on them. But alas, here they where, on the brick of a panic attack in the classroom door as children flooded out of the classrooms and into the hallways. No-one seemed to notice as they chattered along, or running away and into the sunshine and sunny day as though it wasn't muddy and pouring down rain.

Their hands trembled but they managed to take their gaze off of the text on the sheet and fold the letter, stuffing it into their backpack as they pulled their yellow and orange hoodie from their bag and pulling the hood over their head. Grabbing their bag on their shoulder they screw their eyes shut and stumble out into the hallway.

Its noisy, shoulders bumping into one enough and shoes scuffing and shuffling around the place, the stink of unwashed bodies float around the air and sting in their nose as if it were some bad virus. People are shadows and cruel and friendly and caring among themselves and most don't even bother to take a glance at each other and try and to figure the emotions out. Most aren't like each other and no-one is different in more ways then one and they can't help but dig their fingernails deep under there skin, feeling bone and organs, because they really, honestly, can't stand the hatred that vibrates off of them like bess to honey. It's disgusting and stomach-churning, it makes them want to scream and yell and cry and vomit and wrong those who've wronged loved ones or themselves, but they just can't.

It's more troublesome then the life they live through at home, and really anywhere but school.

They don't find that concerning.

They shuffle out into the middle of the chaos and take deep breathes as they stumble and trip over peoples feet and shoes. It's uncomfortable laughter that passes their ear, uncomfortable stares, uncomfortable everything and now that they realised it, they hated it. Hated it's guts, would do anything to rid it.

"Go away," they mumble as the crowed draws in closer and pokes and prods all of their bodies as thought their lab rats without even knowing it, sickened them to the core. They know its no use, really, because they've chosen to stay there for this long, go out their way when they know its was dangerous, deadly, even. They're prone to panic attacks in this environment, if we're all be honest with ourselves, because for the love of them they hate loud, cramped, bumpy spaces where the walls are closing in-

They can't panic now, really, really can't. They breath in, out, in, out, and suck in a breath because only a few more rows and they're free. They look down at their brightly coloured, red shoes and place a foot forward before being forcefully jerked out of their own, bubble world. A gruff and a mumbled sorry by the person as their head turns sharply to face the classmate. They breath out a puff of air, grip their backpack straps tighter then they had before, and take a step at a time as they chaos thins out around them, pushes and pulls becoming less and less.

They puff out a ball of air and limper out of the hallways door, coming into a small garden area with other children scattered about. The path they wander is rounding a corner blocked by bushes and tress, parents sitting around them as they wait for their kids to get out of school. The area is large, though, trees and pathways and bushes all there, behind the short black metal gate that twists throughout the whole school.

They lower their head down and head out towards the gate.

The sun is setting by the time they lift their head to the sky, clouds gathering around in great chunks so that the rain was harder, making them try to focus more on where they were stepping rather then the shape or style of how they looked. It was dusty and overall disgusting, but if they didn't take the highway it would've been worse. The dust spits in their eyes as they shuffle along the sidewalk as cars zoomed and roared beside them, chill air thundering at them like beats to a drum, but they can't master up enough will-power to care. 

They sniffle a flinch when a car speeds past just a little bit too close, making the dust and mud sneer all over them in a hissing fit of rage, the rain drops suddenly turning vast and, undoubtedly, more harder then before. They shrink in on themselves and grips the hood closer to their face, hair already sticking to their forehead.

They don't like this.

They shuffle a little closer to the railing but otherwise don't make any more movements besides just walking tiredly, blinking every so often to make sure they didn't fall asleep on the spot. They'd had to be home by now, or at least somewhat close, that way when they got everything done they would be able to rest a little.

They shake their head and turn a corner, away from the lone sideway of the road and into a small path branching off to the side, caving into the small town. Weeds and glass was vomited along the pathway and stairs running down the hill, old kids toys and bikes stuck in the bushes, flies and maggots overruling them.

They huff and place their bag down on the top steps, crossing their legs and unzipping their bag, rummaging around for their lighter. They know its bad — everyone does, and yet all of them still do it — but one smoke won't harm them before going to hell, right? No one sees them, anyway, and if they did they would just chalk it up to 'teens being teens' and 'boys being boys' and whatnot, because with the hood and the hair and the clothing style they can switch and swap with genders because — well, why not?

Why wouldn't you do something that can keep you away and safe, if not just for a moment?

"Not very nice choose of words, kid," Fiona scolds, chuckling a bit as though that was going to cheer their friends mood up. "The worlds nice, you gotta remember that."

"The worlds cruel, sometimes,"  Will muttered to himself, "but sometimes its not. When there's darkness there's always a light, remember?"

"You guys are too wordy for me," Vile said. "Jeez, way to make me feel stupid."

The leaves rustle and they know that they should look over their shoulder, look at the faces that they call friends — even if the people of ten do not have heartbeats, its in best state of minds that they call them that — because if not they have to go sooner, faster, and when- if push comes to shove they will.

But not right now. They're just too tired.

So, so tired.

They pick their bag up, gather their things, pack the lighter in the front pocket of their bag and put out the cigarette, watching as the smoke simmers off the object they've come to live with. When its done they brush off their hands, roll up their pant legs, and step one by one down the staircase. The others whisper and agree to each other as they watch the teen go down the stairs slowly and tiredly, that they will do everything to make sure they are sane and make the night.

Everything.

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1280 words

welp, i tried. this was meant to be longer, and explain how, but like i said — this is a short book.

anyhoo, take care and remember to drink plenty of water (if you dont want to end up like me)!

Finished: 15/3/2021