Snippet #1207696

Sebastian

Bleary eyed I stretch out towards the bleating sounds pervading my sleep. My hand fumbles across my bedside table, fingers dancing across deodorant cans, cold pizza and finally - my clock, 5:00am. The silence that envelops me is gratifying, but I'm unable to sink back into the warm arms of slumber. Senses still swimming through a thick haze, I sit up and swing my legs out of the bed. The room is bitterly cold, and I can hear rain lashing the window behind the curtains. I stand up and walk towards it, crossing the small hovel I call a bedroom. In honesty, it also doubles as my living and dining room, with a small partition separating my kitchen. Tugging open the curtains I am greeted by the grey dullness of London. A blue Ford trundles past, paint chipped and tail-light busted - I watch it until it disappears around the corner at the end of the street.

By the time I was dressed it was moving on for six in the morning, and a dim light was filtering in through the partially opened curtains. I splashed my face with a handful of cold water, grabbed my jacket and then slammed the door behind myself. Outside it was even colder than in my home; thick clouds coated the sky, and the drizzle still fell steadily. The walk to the bus stop would take fifteen minutes, by which time I would be sodden. Lowering my head so that the rain rolled steadily off the tip of my nose, I hurried my pace. The streets all looked identical. Lined with old-fashioned cars in garish colours, most missing their tax discs and at least one without a license plate. The houses were crammed in as tight as possible, tiny brickwork hovels with over-grown meter squared patches of grass. I loathed the place.

"Sebastian!" The voice caught me by surprise, and I almost tripped over in my haste to turn around. Sarah was hurrying along behind me, blonde hair matted across her face and a bright purple folder clutched against her chest. I couldn't resist a smile at her expense - though, in truth, I looked little better. "I was calling you for ages!" she said as she drew closer, cheeks flushed red and breath a little labored.
"Running late again, Saz?" The was more than a hint of caustic irritation - I was in no mood for it. She gave me a mock-petulance smile, and slapped me lightly on the arm. "Just in time, actually." The bus pulled up alongside them at that moment, and we hurried to get on. The bus driver was a fat middle-aged man with beads of sweat lingering on his brow, and he gave them both a disdainful look. Clearly, he wasn't impressed by the state of us. The doors gave a pneumatic hiss as they closed, and we spent the rest of the journey chatting idly about nonsensical topics. Sarah was perhaps one of the only friends I still had, and even she looked at me differently now. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass across from us, and my gaunt, pale face frightened me. I struggled not to glance at that face again, and tried to focus on Sarah. It went the same most mornings. A soft-motion blur of monotonous grey.

When we reached the school, Sarah hurried off to her class in a blur of blonde-and-purple. My lessons wouldn't begin for another half an hour, and I went through the usual ritual of fetching a coffee - black, one sugar - from the canteen. Thirty minutes later I had pulled on my tights and joined the line of seven other students. We began our usual routine to warm up, while our teacher observed. Madame Rosette was a short, thin woman who reminded me of a gnarled tree-root with wiry black hair and a sharp, strong jawline. She cast her eyes over me while I performed, and I could see the familiar flash of pity cross her face. When we finished the routine, I stalked off into the corner away from the others to complete my stretches, all to aware of their mutters. I had been back over two months now, and still they whispered. Eyes cast down to the ground, I did my best to ignore them.

By the time I returned home I was in a foul mood. I slammed the door behind myself and tossed my bag angrily across the room, knocking the lamp from his table in the process. The china base smashed, but I couldn't care less. I stopped momentarily when I caught a glimpse of a photo, now resting face-down on the ground. I left it there, and let my eyes fall onto the orange bottle laying beside them. I walked over, eyes staring through the translucent container and at the tiny white pills inside. Enough to kill me, I knew.

When I fell asleep, it was total. And hopefully endless.