• I’m too tired to deal with reality. My life is the epitome of insanity, and that would be okay if the parts I didn't enjoy so thoroughly shriveled into nothing; but that's impossible because nothing is the basis of every existence. Nothing eats anything because it is everything. Everything in this world could not exist without nothing. I’m the only one who can see that though; people thought I was crazy, or high on drugs therefore I never fit in.

    When I was six years old, I had told myself that I had lost my respect and compassion for humans because the only humans I knew were the triggers to my misery. I said I wanted to be in a world that was nonexistent to everybody else because my current world was no longer amusing. Earlier, I had overheard my parents talking, saying they didn’t want me, saying I was just a worrisome problem child; that was the day I became a monster.

    The moment my mother entered my personal premises, I was hit with a massive wave of her lilac rose perfume. “What are you doing?” I hissed, irritated that she had the nerve to violate my space, “you’re tainting my inner sanctum and I do not in any possible way appreciate it.” The woman froze and failed to respond to my original question, though after a short while she flipped her midnight hair from her burgundy eyes and took a step forward.

    “I am your mother you know Liam,” the faint wrinkles around her eyes deepened as she managed a sad smile, “and you are still required to visit on holidays.” I lived in a house that sat quietly to the left of the long winding driveway to my parents’ home; behind a large willow tree I had named Weepy as a child. I’m only seventeen years old, but I didn’t want to be around my family. They didn’t get it; they didn’t get anything.

    “I don’t care if you’re my mother,” I muttered as I got up to put on a shirt and shoes, “I am your son you know; I should receive the same respect and privacy you give the rest of your family.”