Love From The Bowels Of Non-Existence

Fear. It's what flows through all of us at some point, unless you're mentally retarded or something of that matter. Most people think that fear comes from things that we do not see or hear, but from my point of view . . . it’s what we can't control. In my case, fear causes an exploding sequence of chain reactions that cause me to get lost in the labyrinth of my imagination. Each thought drifting me further and further from the reality I must face and taking me to worse places. Kinda messed up, isn't it? Being fearful is like having a bad case of asthma. My inhaler usually tends to be my iPod. With my headphones in my ear canals, it is becoming more and more evident that my inhaler is failing to save me from myself.

I really don't know why I’m getting so fearful about college, I mean really I never thought being a senior in high school was going to be so unnecessarily stressful and beyond my grasp of control. At the same time my mom keeps getting on my ass about finding what I want to study in college. The fact that I can't decide on what I wanna do scares the crap out of me. The thoughts of firefighter, mechanic, chef, doctor, teacher, and ceramic artist all ran through my head as ideas that I could possibly major in, but nothing stuck out. I noticed that as I matured from freshman year, people started treating me less like a kid and more like an adult, someone with a mind, opinions and thoughts. The pressures of adulthood were weighing down on me and I could feel them semi-suffocating my thoughts as I walk down Wilshire Boulevard, hoping that I make it to the bus stop before the actual bus does. As I walked swiftly I heard a nice fat bus coming from behind me followed by a nice big swish of wind that just happen to toss the papers in my binder like confetti over the sunset and into the street where I saw tires of cars run over the last chance to save myself from failing the government class I’m required to take to graduate So here's a grand idea, why don’t I just lie down and die!

"God Damn it!" I Screamed as I looked down to the street where my papers laid, decimated and battered into mutilated garbage with my name on it. "jesus! When the hell am I gonna get a break?"

"Oh my God! That sucks" Said a passenger who had just gotten off the bus. I looked up and saw a girl from school walking towards me, but I couldn't remember her name.

"Zack, did you lose anything important?" She asked

"No, Not really, just my chance to get a diploma."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, but I should be okay if I work hard and make another half-assed project." This girl was stunningly beautiful. She whipped her long honey suckle hair around and helped me pick up the remnants of my government project. The more time she spent helping me, the more I became embarrassed because I had no idea what her name was.

"Hey, since you seem to be shit out of luck, and since I seem to have spare time, why don't you come by my house and I can help you with your . . . thing." She offered. Her wallet slipped out of her purse and as I chased after it, her Monrovia High ID came out. When I picked up her stuff, I saw her ID. I had finally remembered. Her name was Scarlet Summers.

I had her in my geometry class. She was the straight A girl that half the class had secretly bagged on, including myself in that count. Nothing in the world had ever made me feel like a bigger asshole than realizing I hurt someone so nice.

"Are you sure, Scarlet?" I Asked

"Wow, I thought you were gonna try to play me off as some nice chick you never met."

"Yeah, about last year, I was being dumb and I'm really sorry for all those things I said."

"Yeah it's fine. Just don't pull that shit again. Deal?"

"Yeah."

We took a fifteen minute walk on 5th Avenue where she lived. Her house was a nasty, stomach wrenching blue.

"Here we are!" She happily exclaimed

"Cool" I said hiding my opinions of the house behind my teeth

We went directly to her room where we spent hours working on resurrecting my project from trash heaven. It was 10:30 at night, and I was worn out from all the writing and researching.

"Hey thanks for helping me out. I really appreciate it." I said while unwillingly drawing my self closer to her. For some odd reason I just couldn't take my eyes of her hazel eyes while noticing a strange feeling trying to burst out of my chest.

"No Proble-" Her voice drifted off as her nearly silk lips touched mine

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" I said in remorse

"Don't Be. I was planning on this"

As I left for home in the cold night, the events that took place refused to exit my mind. What the hell did she mean by "planning on it,"? It was merely coincidence, right? My head was in knots along with my stomach about how simple homework help turned into a ghetto date from the bowels of from what I thought was non existence. Scarlet was someone who I never thought this would happen with. Her and I just happen to be total opposites. I was the extremely social seventeen year old guy who managed to mess up his chances to get into a good college like 75% of Monrovia High students and Scarlet was. . . well, Scarlet.

Scarlet was the type of gal that hung out with a select group of people at school who were weird, loud and over dramatic to say the least. That particular section of the school was known as the "Weird People", go figure, huh? They had all had one distinct attribute in common. They were all very anti social to the point that they relied on their group like a security blanket. but they were good people for the most part, just a little emo if you know what I mean

I always wondered why she sat with them. She wasn't anything like them. To me, it was a mystery. To others, she was just another weird fuck at the "weirdo spot" under the stairs everyday at lunch. I could tell she wasn't just another person who had managed to get sucked into that particular group of people. There was something more to her. Something that separates her from everybody, even the weird people that no one had seemed to really give a rats ass about. It was unknown what made her stand out to me, but my mentality was still drowning in that kiss of randomness that seemed to be unadulterated by society and all of its sloppy kissing styles.

Her kiss was something pure and surprisingly addicting, so addicting that I found myself contemplating whether I should walk back to her house just for some more lip locking. Not much later after I finished my two and a half mile walk home, I noticed a piece of myself was missing. My cell phone. Me being without my phone was like my stepfather being without a beer in his hand with the remote for the TV in the other. My journey for the night was only one third of the way done. I now had to return to Scarlet's house, get my phone and come back to my humble abode where my mother lay sleeping and her husband lies awake, drinking the wages, pissing the money we needed for our rent away into the abyss of the sewers of Los Angeles.

The walk back to Scarlet's house was an uphill battle. Half way there, my legs began to fail me and the pain began to scream passed my level tolerance as if they were wrapped in barbed wire, but I continued. The streets were covered in darkness and ominousness as much as my throat was consumed with thirst and my body drowned in weakness. About an hour and a half later, I found myself in front of Scarlet's door, knocking as my remaining breath left my lungs. Large blurs of her blue house, the street and other homes on the avenue spun around me like a deformed marry-go-around. The earth's gravity became over bearing for my body and brought me to my knees in the matter of seconds. I soon found myself facing the pebbles of broken asphalt like a cross turned face down. I took a breath as my senses failed to relay information of my surroundings. On Scarlet's doorway, I fainted asleep, in the dead of the night.