The alarm buzzed like a dying fly. Shrill, insistent, irritating. I should\u2019ve smashed it months ago, but I hadn\u2019t. It wouldn\u2019t matter. No one cared if I was late\u2014not school, not him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stared at the cracked ceiling, watching a faint crack worm its way across the plaster. It hadn\u2019t changed in months, but I liked to imagine it growing, reaching, spreading like a branch or a vein. Sometimes I thought about smashing my fist through it. Would it hurt? Probably.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
{Get up.<\/em>}<\/p>\n\n\n\n The voice was my own\u2014or it wasn\u2019t. It was too sharp, too cold, like it had broken off from the inside. It cut through the static in my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {Still here? Why? Get up. Or stay. Rot.<\/em>}<\/p>\n\n\n\n I groaned and rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. My arm brushed against something soft, and I opened one eye. There it was, the rabbit, perched on my nightstand like it had climbed there in the night. It hadn\u2019t. I\u2019d left it there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Its fur was yellow, once white, I think, and one of its button eyes hung loose by a single thread. Its mouth\u2014a crooked line of black stitching\u2014curled upward like a smirk. I hadn\u2019t noticed that before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It just stared at me. I don’t know why I still have it, but it’s kind of cute, I think.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {Why do you keep that thing around?<\/em>} the voice asked, somewhat quieter now, but not really.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ve been there all night,\u201d I muttered, ignoring him, voice hoarse. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n But it didn\u2019t answer. It’s a stuffed rabbit, after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNothing to say, huh?\u201d I sat up, running a hand through my hair. \u201cJust sit there and judge me, then. You\u2019re good at that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The rabbit said nothing, but I felt it watching, its gaze heavier than it should\u2019ve been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I swung my legs over the edge of the lumpy fold-out mattress, feet meeting the cold concrete floor. The rabbit tilted slightly, its loose button eye glinting in the pale light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShut up,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It didn\u2019t say anything. Not out loud, but in the quiet that followed, I could\u2019ve sworn I heard a whisper. A laughter. Or was it a scream?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Whatever it was, it was faint, mocking. Like it slipped out of the dream and curled up in the corner of the room to watch me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I can’t remember the dream itself\u2014just the laugh. It sounded like it was a part of a growling scream. Something like the bands my friends listen to. Something like when Dryan does his screams. But clearer. Much clearer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The bathroom was just off the corner of the basement, small and cramped, with a mirror that never stayed clean. I avoided it as I brushed my teeth, staring at the rust stains around the faucet instead. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The light flickered, throwing shadows against the peeling wallpaper. My reflection shifted at the corner of my vision\u2014just for a second, but enough to send a shiver down my spine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {You gonna look?<\/em>}<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShut up,\u201d I muttered through gritted teeth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {You should look,<\/em>} another said, softer but more demanding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, I looked up, barely recognizing myself. Immediately, I almost had to turn away. My hand gripped the sink, knuckles whitening. If I looked away now, I\u2019d never look again. At least I wouldn’t know I looked worse than usual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Messy black hair that stuck out in too many directions. Eyes dark and tired, bags like bruises, like I hadn’t slept in weeks. At least I look like how I feel. The faint scar over my right eyebrow, still curved like someone had carved a crescent moon into my face. My jaw was sharp, much sharper than I recall.. Probably because of my lack of eating lately. My skin looked pale, like the light was draining something out of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLooking good,\u201d I said to my reflection, giving no signs of expression. It sounded like a joke, but I wasn\u2019t laughing. Neither did the mirror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Splashing cold water on my face, I didn’t bother with my hair. It was never worth fixing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After a quick scrub with the toothbrush, I dropped it into the sink, swallowed the paste in my mouth and went above the morning routine. Folding the bed into the sofa, putting up the blankets and thin pillows… Somewhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ignoring the ache in my back from the shitty mattress, I grabbed a shirt off the floor and plumped onto the couch, taking the last drink of an old stale water that somehow hadn’t dumped over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There, on the chair by the couch, the rabbit stared at me. Its stitched mouth curled into that same crooked smile that seemed to say, “I know something you don\u2019t.<\/em>“<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMorning,\u201d I muttered, but it didn\u2019t answer. Of course it didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou were there too, weren\u2019t you?\u201d I asked, my voice low. \u201cIn the dream?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As I pulled the shirt over my head and turned to the rabbit, it tilted slightly, as if the weight of its stare had shifted. The light caught its eye, glinting like glass. I don’t know why, but I felt the need to reach out and push its face towards the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere,\u201d I said. \u201cProblem solved.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n {It\u2019s not,<\/em>} the voice whispered, but I didn\u2019t respond, instead wincing at a sudden striking pain that entered my chest. As though something was compressing it from all sides. I gave it little mind past a rub to my chest though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The room was freezing. The damp kind of cold that seeps into your bones and stays there. Rubbing my arms, I looked around at the mess: Dirty clothes piled in one corner. Empty pizza boxes and water bottles stacked in another. A drum set under the window, its cymbals dulled with dust. A beaten up electric guitar slumped against the duct-taped side of the couch, its strings mismatched and fraying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It’s not just mine. Half of it is my uncle\u2019s junk. Broken filing cabinets, a cracked lamp, and a box labeled [Summer \u201803<\/em>] taking up more space than I’d want to admit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The air smelled like old carpet and something metallic, faint but always there. The bulb overhead flickered once again, then settled into its usual sickly yellow glow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After a few minutes of getting stirred around and trying to get energy, I finished getting dressed, grabbed my backpack, slinging it’s only strap over my shoulder, the other had long since ripped away. The rabbit was still facing the wall when I left, but I could feel it watching anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took the stairs two at a time, the creak of the wood and the faint hum of the grav-rails above blending into the familiar rhythm of the morning. The kitchen was worse than the basement\u2014empty cans stacked haphazardly on the counter, a plate with something unidentifiable crusted over in the sink. I stepped around the mess, barely noticing it anymore, and unlocked the front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The hinge groaned as I pushed it open, the cool air biting at my face. The morning air was heavy with smog and the faint stench of gasoline, a cocktail of scents that screamed Deyor. I stepped out of the house and tugged my hoodie tighter against the chill, the zipper snagging for a second before giving way. My finger caught the rhythm first, tapping against the single strap of my worn-out, once sky-blue pack as the opening chords of Alwaysdrawn<\/em> by Moo Mightiers<\/em> crackled in my earbuds. The distorted riff buzzed in my skull, familiar and alive, pulling me forward like it had somewhere better to take me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The sidewalk was cracked and uneven, each slab trying to trip me up. Weeds pushed through the gaps, nature\u2019s half-assed rebellion against concrete and neglect. The trash from the night before was still there: beer cans, cigarette butts, empty clicksticks, and a fast-food bag tipped over by the curb. A needle glinted faintly in the gutter, catching the morning light like it belonged there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Across the street, a group of thugs crouched near a beat-up sedan. Its passenger window was smashed in, the shards glittering like ice against the asphalt. One of them was elbow-deep in the glovebox, pulling out papers, gum wrappers, and other junk. Another leaned against the hood, his eyes finding me as I walked past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smirked, the kind that wasn\u2019t friendly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kept my pace steady, my head down. {Don\u2019t engage. Don\u2019t look back,<\/em>} repeated in my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The music shifted, Signs of Trains, Joyce\u2026 Joy Fades<\/em> by Kinda Old<\/em> easing into my ears. The beat was slower, the lyrics a bit softer, like it was trying to match the rhythm of my steps. The guitar came in sharp and clean, the perfect counterpoint to the chaos around me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Two women stood near a fire hydrant up ahead, their heels clicking faintly against the pavement. They were dressed to impress someone, though it sure as hell wasn\u2019t each other. One of them let out a laugh, raspy and loud, dragging on her cigarette like it owed her something. The other one turned toward a car that slowed as it passed, its window rolling down just enough for muffled voices to exchange something I didn\u2019t want to think about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hopped over a jagged piece of concrete sticking out of the sidewalk, the corner cracked like it\u2019d been hit by a car. A broken beer bottle lay nearby, catching the sunlight in sharp, uneven edges. My foot almost clipped it, and I couldn’t help but think about how easy it\u2019d be to fall and leave a piece of myself behind. Maybe I wouldn’t even get up. Probably shouldn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The sound of the bus pulling up snapped me out of it. Its brakes hissed as it wheezed to a stop at the corner, coughing exhaust into the air, the doors opening with a metallic groan. I climbed the steps, the faint smell of sweat and burnt rubber hitting me as I flashed my pass at the driver. He didn\u2019t even look up, just waved me through like I was part of the scenery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I made my way to the back, brushing past backpacks, elbows and feet sprawled across the aisle. The seats were patched with duct tape, some of them so torn the foam was spilling out like guts. A couple of kids were already arguing over something, their voices cutting through the low hum of the engine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I dropped into a window seat near the back, tucking myself into the corner. My earbuds were still in, but I turned the music up just a little louder to drown out the noise. The song had shifted to something slower, a lazy bassline and soft vocals that didn\u2019t match the chaos around me but made it easier to ignore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Outside, the city slid past in a blur of gray and rust. Buildings leaned against each other like they were too tired to stand, their windows shattered or boarded up, bluring together: brick and concrete, graffiti sprawling like veins across their faces; it caught my eye\u2014the bright streaks of color on dull concrete, names and faces screaming out of the walls like they were begging to be remembered. I watched a tag bloom red and black across a crumbling wall, the letters sharp and jagged, screaming a name I didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe city\u2019s dying,\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {No,<\/em>} returned one of the voices. {It\u2019s already dead. You\u2019re just sitting in the bones.<\/em>}<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShut up,\u201d I whispered, I thought under my breath, but become uncertain when a woman infront of me turned her head slightly. Not interested in being called a perv or weird, I stared out the window harder, hoping she’d look away first. Luckily, she did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {Beautiful, isn\u2019t it?<\/em>} The voice had softened, almost kind. {Even decay can make art.<\/em>}<\/p>\n\n\n\n But I was too tired to argue with myself so I simply shook my head in response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A guy in the seat across from me was picking at the hole in his jeans, his earbuds dangling around his neck. He caught me looking and gave a small nod, more acknowledgment than greeting. I looked away again, pressing my forehead against the cold glass as the bus jolted over a pothole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The music shifted again\u2014Twice Over<\/em> by Velvet Threads<\/em>. The drums hit hard, the kind of beat that made me wish I was behind my set instead of sitting here, going nowhere fast. My fingers tapped against my knee, keeping time with the song.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another stop. More kids shuffled on. The air inside grew heavier, thick with the mix of unwashed clothes and cheap perfume. I sank deeper into the seat, closing my eyes for a moment, but the bus jolted again, snapping me back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The school was only a few stops away now, the gray monolith of it already looming in the distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {A monument to bad decisions.<\/em>} one of the voices said, and though I wanted to disagree, I found it hard to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Walls covered in graffiti and chain-link fences that did nothing to stop anyone who actually wanted to get in. Kids were everywhere, pouring in through the gates, some laughing and shouting, others moving like they\u2019d rather be anywhere else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I pulled out one earbud, letting the din of the bus wash over me, but my fingers still drummed quietly against my leg, chasing the rhythm even as the world around me tried to drown it out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The bus screeched to a stop in front of the school, brakes hissing and groaning like it resented having to work this early, a sentiment we all agreed with. I stepped off, the stale smell of the bus replaced by something sharper\u2014wet paper and overused floor cleaner, mixed with whatever the cafeteria was already burning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The school was ahead, gray lifeless except for the graffiti smeared across its walls. Layers of names, slurs, and symbols screamed for attention, some half-covered by rushed paint jobs, others standing defiant. A chain-link fence ran the perimeter, sagging in places where kids had bent it back to sneak in or out. But these were observations I made every day. Nothing was different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The courtyard was chaos. Kids clustered in tight groups, swapping phones and complaints about teachers, their voices a low roar against the occasional slamming of locker doors. The morning bell hadn\u2019t rung yet, but the building already felt alive, pulsing with teenage energy and frustration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I tugged my hoodie tighter, so tight it caused creases around the collar, and slipped through the crowd, my head down and my pace steady. {Don\u2019t stand out. Don\u2019t give anyone a reason<\/em>,} I told myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A voice called out, sharp and loud enough to cut through the noise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey, Caleb!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As I glanced up, my stomach twisting but that was before I saw who it was. DeShawn leaned casually against a row of lockers near the door, his smirk as sharp as ever. His sneakers were spotless, somehow brighter than anything else in this school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere you been, man? Thought you got lost on the way,\u201d he teased, falling into step beside me as I reached him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJust taking the scenic route,\u201d I said, my voice flat but not unfriendly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n DeShawn laughed, giving me a light shove. \u201cYeah, scenic. Sure. Probably dreaming about Phoenix again, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I snorted, but my ears burned. I glanced at the lockers, but before I could think of a response, DeShawn grinned wider.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSpeaking of,\u201d he said, jerking his chin toward the far hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And there she was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Phoenix. Red hair like fire under the fluorescent lights, spilling over her shoulders in waves. She leaned against her locker, her black eyeliner sharp and her band tee\u2014some group I didn\u2019t recognize\u2014hanging loose over ripped jeans. She was laughing at something her friend said, the sound clear and effortless, cutting through the chaos like it didn\u2019t belong here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My chest tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She glanced up, just for a second, and her hazel eyes met mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I froze. My heart stumbled, then raced, like I\u2019d been shoved into the bassline of a song I couldn\u2019t control.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDude,\u201d DeShawn said, his voice low and amused. \u201cYou\u2019re staring.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n {She\u2019s not looking at you,<\/em>} the voice whispered. {She never does.<\/em>}<\/p>\n\n\n\n I blinked, shook my head, and turned away, my grip tightening on my backpack strap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSmooth,\u201d DeShawn said, slapping my shoulder lightly. \u201cReal smooth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t answer, following him into the classes building as the bell rang, its shrill tone echoing off the walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The hallways were worse than the courtyard. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked on linoleum, and the roar of a hundred conversations swirled into a chaotic mess. I kept my head down, weaving through the crowd like I\u2019d been doing this my whole life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The usual faces blurred past\u2014kids I didn\u2019t know, didn\u2019t want to know, and a few I\u2019d rather avoid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWatch it, twig!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The shove came out of nowhere, sending me stumbling into the lockers. My shoulder hit the metal hard enough to sting, and I looked up to see Giant Grant towering over me. Letterman jacket. Crooked grin. More muscles than brain cells.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry,\u201d I muttered, trying to sidestep him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. \u201cSorry? That\u2019s it? You bump into me, and all you\u2019ve got is sorry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I clenched my fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou hear me, loser?\u201d Grant sneered, jabbing a finger at my chest. \u201cYou better watch where you\u2019re going, or\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The rest of his words faded. My breath caught, and for a moment, I saw it\u2014my fist connecting with his jaw, the crunch of bone, the way his head snapped too far to the side. Blood spraying across the floor. The cheer of the students, the screams of the students.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I blinked, and the image vanished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Grant was still standing there, his grin as smug as ever. His friends laughed behind him, their voices blending into the background noise of the hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou gonna cry?\u201d Grant asked, his tone dripping with condescension.<\/p>\n\n\n\n {Should have done it.<\/em>} a voice whispered with tremendous joy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said quietly, my jaw tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I swallowed the words I wanted to say, forced my hands to unclench, and stepped around him without looking back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s what I thought,\u201d Grant called after me. \u201cStick to your little drum kit, loser.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few moments after we escaped eachother, DeShawn caught up to me near my locker, his smirk replaced by something softer. \u201cMan, you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I shrugged, opening the locker and shoving my bag inside. \u201cYeah. Just Grant being Grant.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, well, one day, someone\u2019s gonna knock that grin off his face,\u201d DeShawn said, leaning against the lockers. \u201cYou thinking about volunteering?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A faint smile tugged at my lips. \u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n DeShawn laughed, shaking his head. \u201cYou\u2019re crazy, man. But I like it. Keep that fire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The warning bell rang, and he pushed off the lockers, grabbing his bag, and patting my shoulder as he began walking. \u201cSee you in history?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah,\u201d I said, watching him disappear into the crowd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As the hallway emptied, I stood there for a moment, my fingers drumming against the cool metal of the locker. The memory of that punch lingered in the back of my mind\u2014the impact, the silence, the chaos. But that\u2019s all it was. A memory of something that never happened. Maybe it never will.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I gave a slow exhale as I closed the locker. “Damn it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Morning Routine The alarm buzzed like a dying fly. Shrill, insistent, irritating. I should\u2019ve smashed it months ago, but I hadn\u2019t. It wouldn\u2019t matter. No one cared if I was late\u2014not school, not him. I stared at the cracked ceiling, watching a faint crack worm its way across the plaster. It hadn\u2019t changed in months, … Continue reading “Klucken \u2013 Fascicle 2”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-755","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/755","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=755"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/755\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":769,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/755\/revisions\/769"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=755"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=755"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=755"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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