Drama, Psychological
4 min
Cycle
Charlee B
Charlee B
Age 13-17 category | Fall into Fiction Short Story Contest 2024 | San José Public Library
His tears fell like rain on the dry ground.
His knees were getting scraped raw from kneeling on the ground.
Warm streams of water fell from his black eyes, although they trickled down slower than stories usually portray crying.
Guilt and sorrow collected in his chest, weighing him down with a cold ball that never let up its pressure.
Fifteen years of existence and yet he never understood it.
Why was he cursed to care so much about those around him?
Some people see it as a gift, of sympathy, and empathy, but they can never see the truth behind it.
To him, it was a curse.
Most people weren't as "logical" as he is.
They couldn't understand what he understood.
Not to say they're stupid, they just don't think like him.
They perceive his care about others as attacks.
Attacks on their existence, what they believe, who they are...
And he could never understand why so many people's existence relied on him being how they wanted and thinking what they wanted him to think.
Every time a new threat, insult, or words of bullying were thrown his way, his walls would once again go up.
He would put on a facade of always being happy and cheerful for those who didn't know what he really thought inside.
He purposely kept people in the dark, because if they truly knew what he thought, they too would join the people who despise him.
But, once alone, or around those he felt comfortable around, perhaps family, he would break.
The cold ball of guilt and sorrow would overflow and spill into his heart.
It would cause him immense pain, though it would never last a long time.
But if it never lasts, why should he change the cycle?
After a day he'd feel fine again, so why dwell on it?
Again and again, the cycle repeats.
Again and again, the harsh words secretly gather into the icy ball and sit there until he's finally alone once more.
He cares about people.
He wants them to be okay.
But they don't see it.
He wants to fix people.
He wants to help people.
He wants to say a magic word and all their problems would be gone.
But he can't.
All he can do is wait and pray they will get better.
But will they?
He does not know.
All he can do is hope.
Such is the curse of the one who cares too much.
Little by little, it chips away at him.
Or at least he thinks it does.
A small part of his mind whispers why don't we just give up?
They don't want help, we cannot help, so what's the point of destroying ourselves like this?
But his heart won't let him.
And so he lies to himself.
He tells himself he will be okay continuing on like this.
It doesn't hurt him that badly, right?
But the voices pile up.
The voices whisper 'scum of the earth' simply because deep down he only wants the best for people.
Because he doesn't think the way others do, the voices tell him that his caring is really hate masquerading as care.
But who can he tell about this?
Little by little the voices seep into his daily life.
In the papers in his room, in words on the street, in signs in restaurants, in the books he reads.
Even just a glance causes a knife to stab through his heart and the bad thoughts return.
The traitorous part of his mind whispers 'What if they're right'?
'What if you are bad'?
But his heart won't let him dwell on it.
His heart won't let him feel the pain that's gathering until he's in his worst moments.
Then it all releases like a flood, washing over the people he loves with cold, unforgiving water.
He never meant what he'd said to his brother.
"Why don't I just give up?" He asks, words spilling out of him.
You see, it's another defense mechanism.
Get what you think you want to say out, don't think about it, then do damage control after it's all done.
But all he's doing is making it worse.
His little brother tries to calm him down, but he's too far gone.
Why shouldn't he just give up?
What's the point?
Sacrificing his well-being so others can ignore everything he has to say and wrap it up with more unforgiving words that eat at him every second?
Letting the whispers and voices circle in his head until he's driven himself crazy?
"If you can save even just one person, isn't that enough?" His brother asks softly.
Even if there's nothing left of him once all is said and done, he knows that's what his heart will make him do anyway.
His heart is just as strong-willed as the voices are.
"People hate me. Contrary to popular belief, I don't like it when people hate me." He says, not meeting his brother's eyes.
"What are you going to do about that? Make them not hate you?" His brother says softly.
"So I just shut up and suck it up like always. Great, thanks." He says.
"Did I say that? I'm sure you don't like everyone, Deus. I know you don't like the man who murdered our neighbor last week, so why should it matter if they like you or not?" His brother questions.
"Because I'm like that. I'm weak." He admits. "So you want me to just deal with it."
His brother extends his hand to him.
"Not at all. Get your mind off the sad things. I don't hate you. I'll help you." His brother says. "There's more to this life than what other people think of you."
He sighs, closes his eyes, and grabs his brother's hand.
"If only the real world were as easy as this." He whispers.
He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.
He gets out of bed.
He puts on his cheerful facade.
And
The
Cycle
Continues
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