A/N: This is for the June WCC. Next time, no competitions during exam period…

If you don't think this is just brain sludge (which it is, no denying it)…please send some love? Review? Vote? Provided I made the deadline of course. Time zones…


You know that feeling of being lost? Of having fog stinging your eyes beneath their protective casing, obscuring your vision while tickling the organ with a feather of pain? The feeling of bitter liquid crawling down your throat as your parched tongue laps about the roof of your mouth for nourishment? As if you're suddenly stuck in the middle of a desert with no oasis in sight after a week at one of the most expensive resorts on Hawaii? Yeah, that feeling. Feels like shit, doesn't it?

Ah, why the hell am I even bothering with this? It's not like I'm going to get anywhere whining like a child and throwing a little hissy fit. Hell, I'm not going anywhere fast. I'm not even sure where I am. Stuck somewhere I think. Inside something. It's as squashy as hell, whatever it is. And dark.

It used to be light. Fucking bright. Too bright really. Burnt like hell, them Polaroid cameras flashing all over the place. I couldn't even manage a five minute walk from my so-called home to school. It was cool and all at first, but the attention got rather annoying. You're probably thinking this is the usual sob-story about some rich egotistical kid – and you'd be right. So there's no need to torture myself over those damn memories. Hell, even this black place, full of boredom, is better than that.

Not better than the light though. Anything's better than this hole after all. I'd call it Hell…but isn't Hell supposed to be bright? You know…all shiny and fiery and whatnot with this devil up the top with his poky staff, glaring down at us inmates as he slowly crumbles away into a fried chicken? Much more fascinating than Heaven though, with its "beautiful" rivers going nowhere and the same fruits every day? A total bore really. So was being the angelic kid everybody expected.

But after a while, that got boring too. The bad-boy act. Smoking pot in corners of the school-yard, tearing around the roads with my scooter and knocking down old grannies who couldn't support themselves without an extra leg. School wasn't any more tolerable though; I was a whole lot better off skipping every second class. There was nothing stimulating about doing three hundred pre-algebra questions in a week…although when I sat the entrance exam, a small part of me wished I hadn't thrown the book under my bed after the first three. But in those days, there was a world of possibilities, and I wasn't going to waste my time on stupid math problems when I could be sneaking magazines from the variety store and trading for coke. Or more pot.

High lane. Fast road. Whatever you want to call it. I was on it. And I wasn't gonna pull the brake. Sure, I'd reconsider – and then deal myself the reverse hand and wind up back at square one.

One of those days, I got lost. Too much I guess. But it must have been coming on for awhile. Or maybe it was an overdose. Hell, I don't know. Don't really care either. I just want out. Mum's patting my hair. I wish she'd stop that; it messes up the gel. Then she moves her hand. Now my head feels cold.

And it gets colder. Crying. Mum's crying.

And when you're stuck in black like me, all you can do is think. And it's pretty damn annoying. I've got stuff to do. I don't want to think.

But hadn't I wished for so long I'd get a break from the fast-lane so I could do just that?

But now that I'm here, I want out.

Ah…I believe we've already been here. It's the damn fog. As I said…to myself. This is pathetic. The story of me, myself and this black hole stuffed with cotton wool. At least if it was fog, it'd be cold. Then I could occupy myself with shivering.

Heh. How the mighty have fallen from grace. I've got better things to do than shake my body. Lest it's for a girl.