I'm bored, here's some writing.

[Waker]

"The Same" by John Waker.



Part Uno:

7:30 AM.

Life.

Walking into school with the same hairdo, same zits, same face, same slinky figure, same black backpack, same reputation,
it felt almost as if it set in perfectly with the rest of the world's agenda. It's sickening, I thought, how everyone can
be drowned out in their own world while everyone else's travels around them like planets in a vast universe. It's
sickening how those who aren't invited to those worlds are shunned into star space like garbage excreted from the
atmosphere of the planet I live on.

It's sickening to look at.

IRC the night before taught me a few things. It taught me that thick skin plus a high ego and a sewn-shut mouth meant
survival. It meant a reason. It meant a statement to yourself and no other person. The statement may be silent, somber,
timid, and drag, but it's still a statement.

Lumbering through the hallways, headed to period 1, like every other day, I can't help but recall it as if the words were
to be said in my voice... text, it seemed, replayed in your head like a record. Over and over it spun, telling it's tale,
until you can't hear, take, or play any more...

Part dos:

10:00 AM.

Traffic.

The daily routine progressed as normal. "The Statement" as I called it, was law now in my mind. People were raving how
everything was about social class. Those who text on their cellphones, idiots wandering the halls with their pants below
their ankles... As I write this, I feel like an old man, criticizing how you should be wearing your clothes. Sadly, it's a
sign of stupidity.

The words of The Statement kept floating around in my head. Naturally, the IRC channel was filled with every sort of
person I've seen, alive or not. What happened in IRC stayed in IRC. That didn't apply to thoughts or ideas. What you
thought of in IRC carried on for the rest of the day. Maybe two days. Maybe four. Maybe a week. A month. A year. Soon
after, it seemed, you became a slave to the ideals of the channel you were embedded to.

And it worked like clockwork.

Part tres:

12:30 PM.

Capacity.

The noise of the dull, monotonous idiocy that filled the halls around me made me wonder if I was an egotist, or someone
who truly thought dominance of the timid nature of a personality made one's shell thicker than steel, making it
impenetrable to outside blows. Whatever the case, times don't change, nor do the blows that each kid suffers.

Last night five kids got caught in a drug bust. Cocaine. I wonder what was going through their head at the time, cocaine,
a bullet, or an idiotic choice. Whatever the case, as said, times don't change. And apparently, nor do the people.

Lunchtime was the free period. Gossip about the bust circled around the tables that littered the linoleum flooring the
schoolboard had cheaply dug up and lain down without prompt. No objection had been made to cafeteria food, none to the
teachings, and none to the structure of overall school life. Clockwork... eventually clocks must run out, right?

A mind can only harness whatever information that's available to it at the present time. Perhaps that's what's limiting
those from secluding their thoughts...

..Though why would anyone want to do that?

So yeah. Story I was bored with at work. Circles around a Kid in Highschool who becomes scarily involved with the net.

Should I progress with this? (Those who have seen the IRC discussions know what it's about.)

Y/N?

[Digital_Mantra]

I'd say keep going with it.

[zephyrtronium]

It seems angsty, cliché, and directionless.

[Waker]

Zeph: Pretty much, those parts are what I had on my mind at the moment flipped out on Notepad.


Part Cuatro:

4:30 PM.

Home.

Slinking past the rails of the stairs as the sun blared through the windows, I couldn't help but notice that everything was quiet... Silence was welcome in this case. It meant that you didn't have to think about whatever was flooding your ears.

Backpack dropped by the door, the seat that had been there since I could remember invited me over. Buzzing about my desktop, checking my mail, opening the IRC client once again drew a smile across my face like a crayon. Windows popped open inviting me back, and my online identity was as solid as steel embedded in concrete. Relaxing back with a small sigh, I looked out the window. Osaka usually is bright at night, and the afternoon sun just kept me wishing I could hold my attention there for long enough to realize it.

News of the drug bust was fluttering about the channels. No doubt many of the kids at school inhabited these worlds themselves, calling it their "Home"... I was one of them. There had been reports of gun violence, and even one of the kids killing themselves with a small revolver. Their ages ranged from 14 to 16...

Kids.

I leaned back further and let myself drift into pointless, utterly useless thoughts... just as I preferred. I couldn't help but think about the kids caught or those who died during it. They were kids... what business would they have in drugs? Names... I needed names... maybe then I could piece together their personalities.

"Screw it..." My thoughts seemed to echo. "Sleep, then research. Work smart, not hard..."

Black.