Is This It?

She wakes up in her room of black. Oblivious to the sun outside her confines, she rises. Stumbling, she makes her way to the bathroom, where she will stare in the mirror at her reflection, pale with piercings, and wonder, Is this it?

He is biding his time, on his back, in his room, staring at the many sports posters that adorn his wall. Putting on a jersey and jeans as always, he ponders like she, Is this it?

Another she is at the breakfast table, listening to her mother outline her schedule for the day, bombarded with extracurriculars she would rather not do. It is the same schedule as it always is each Wednesday, and she asks in her mind, Is this it?

Another he is cringing as he gets on the bus, prepared for the ridicule he must face that day, again. He is different, he knows this: he excels in every school subject there is, but when it comes to being social, he fails miserably. All the world wants to see is his too-small clothes and love of escaping into books. He sighs as the first insult comes his way, and miserably he questions silently, Is this it?

She is walking down the hall, conscious of the stares, and yet her expression suggests nothing is wrong. To her, it is easier to be odd, be different—at least you have no reason to question rejection.

He sees her walking down the hall, clothed in black, her face devoid of any emotion. He envies her for her courage, to be unique without fear. Perhaps, when this is over, he can be himself.

The other she smiles at him, for they are distant friends. He smiles back. Although they do not know each other well, they are from the same worlds. Safe, secure, bland. This is their world.

The other he keeps his head down and envies the boy and girl he sees. They are well-liked, popular. They are the untouchables and he is just the boy who wants to be left alone. He hopes that karma will be true to his word and that someday, he will be untouchable as well.

The day is over and she makes her way home. She does not see anything but the cement in front of her and does not notice the clouds above her. When they start to pour, she only looks up, staring, uncaring that the dark make-up from her eyes and lips is running off. She sighs. It is cleansing, and somehow she knows that in the end, things will be fine.

Looking out his window, he watches the rain slide down the glass. It seems to reflect his mood, melancholy, but the rain stops and he sees a rainbow. Two rainbows, three. He has never seen three before, and he thinks of all the things he has never done and seen. He vows to do them all someday. He smiles.

She is driving herself to her next lesson, her next activity. She is tired already, and decides to open the sunroof since the rain has ceased. It smells like rain, and this smell is oddly comforting. The wind goes through her blonde locks and it seems to whisper, Don’t give up yet. This isn’t it.

From his desk, his calculus homework spread out, he is surprised to see the sun out after such a rain fall. Not that it does much good. It is setting now, and the sky turns to a painting of reds and blues, oranges and lavenders, pinks and golds. It is so beautiful, he could endure taunting every day if he could come home to this.

It was a day, predicted to be like any other, and yet at the end of the day, they went to sleep with hope in their hearts. Such simple sights gave those four—afraid to live—that ‘it’ is only what you make it.

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Notes: This is just kind of a fic for people who do and endure the same things every day, all the while wondering, “Is this it?”

(Frowns). I’m not quite sure what to make of that fic. It was my first attempt here at fictionpress, and I’m not entirely happy with it. I just kind of wrote and let it take me where it would.

Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Written: July 22