Daniel smiled a wicked curve of his lips, rose red as the blood pumping down his thighs. Thick trails passed aimlessly towards his knees. He shook at the sound inspired by the songs on the radio, all the same compositions in different parts. His fingers dangled the kitchen knife soaking itself in human life while his teeth chattered cold. He watched the hot emotion slip out among the lines. Desperately, his time was short. He looked out of the bathroom window, high above the brutal scene below, where the sun was only beginning to bow behind mountain majesty. Diagnosis: yet another dreary night spent headfirst in the shadows, with the shadows. Daniel saw his reflection and the mask it wore, lying dismissed on the countertop. This was the consequence for listening to those around you. A broken doll who knows its place stands out only when told. Daniel was the toy soldier to every broken doll, paying his dues eternally by bleeding in privacy, forever at attention's claws.
The phone was ringing in harmony with his ears. Chance was getting smaller and smaller, with that fatal noise attracting danger, for anyone to be saved. Waiting in the wings on Daniel's immorality were pre-set zombies of teenagers. Neither friends nor enemies, they fed the energy radiating from Daniel's false persona. He was the light to their glow, and he stood expecting more phones to ring until he answered.
"I can't take the pressure." He fell into his familiar bed, still feeling the pulse in his veins. "I can't lie to them anymore." He imagined the mask destroyed and crumbling. In that moment, all life seemed to drain from his body, sleep placing a tormented hand on his eyelids.
"Danny. Danny. Danny." It echoed through his dreams. "Danny. You need us. Tell another lie, Danny." The zombies cried a chorus. Daniel dreamt in front of them the same way he saw movie screens.
There was the window, blackening every detail in the self-destructing room. Daniel could just barely make out its spinal wooden frame. He rubbed his hair against the pillow, pushing dark philosophies further back in his mind.
“They were all so real, and still illusions. Representatives of my fears, I’d guess,” he paused, “And I’m talking to myself.” Embarrassment crept up into his ears. “I’m so lame.” A final sigh and his eyes were closed once more.
Daniel sat waiting for the gas fumes to suffocate him, and secondarily for his mother to remember that he existed and had a school to attend. His head buzzed in the fashion of concert hall bees. Anger charged the bees; electric, playing with matches. The garage door opened and Daniel’s mother floated through it. As always, she was surrounded by herself.
“Mom? I think I should maybe go see a therapist. Just for a while.” He preoccupied his thoughts on the cementland outside the car’s window.
“You don’t need to.” Distance.
“I thought maybe it would help me sort things out.” She didn’t reply. Daniel bit his lip as he tightened the scarred skin below his waist. He wanted to tell her how he really felt, to ask what she wanted from him. The air was thick. He looked down at the black nail polish chipping on his fingernails, keeping time inside his head. All he could think of was disappointing her. Not making the ever-so-hard to achieve cut. And another cut drifted through his mind, striking half notes.
“Maybe I’ll send you to Christine. Would you like that?” Daniel didn’t answer. “You would like that. She reminds me of Grandma Great. Do you remember Grandma Great?” He shook his head.
“Mom, I’m going to this... writing group. We can’t be late anymore.”
“Writing? What are you ever going to need writing for? You wanted to be a doctor, remember?” Some battles, never meant to be fought.