Lot of 'I' used, to reflect his/my wanting for self worth, he/I needs to value himself/myself because as he/I say he/I has no one left. First person speech you see. Hopefully you can 'stick it out' or enjoy your way to the ending, its the best part, the way the final paragraph or so is written I am proud of. Many thanks for reading.
1,996 words.

     I stroke my forehead with the back of my palm. It isn’t exactly unbearably hot outside, but the small entrance to my house is surrounded by glass, so it acts as a tiny 4 by 3 greenhouse. Keys in the front left pocket, wallet in the back and iPod mini attached to my jeans, that’s how it goes, not that I have OCD or anything but my wallet tends to push my front pocket out making me feel slightly self-conscious as I already have larger thighs because of my past years of football training. Corey Taylor screams in my ear the opening lines of my current favourite song; ‘Everything Ends’ and I shut the door. It slammed a bit, which wasn’t my fault, the draft pulls the door harder than I wish to shut it. I walk to the end of my drive and glance at my shoes and smile, they are stained from times at a football court with some friends of my girlfriend, whom I now consider friends of my own, then look at my reflection in my mum’s Renault Laguna and after satisfying my ego and pangs of self loathing at my hair’s mess, I carry on.

     Same sight and same sounds, not dull or repetitive but comforting and reassuring, reassuring me that I’ve stepped out of the correct house and still wake up from the same bed, well the same house at least. Take a right. Cars seem to pass in packs on a weekend morning, four to five coming towards me from the junction at the end of my road and then three to four cars heading in the opposite direction, occasionally followed by a bus. Now the buses unlike the cars are amusing, be it the 174, 103 or 128, I neglect to mention the 499 because for this activity the buses have to be on the other side of the road to me, now when they pull up at the bus stop I cannot help but stare into the windows, see the lazy caged people inside, and make up a story as to their destination and why they are going there. Now I know for a fact that the woman standing when there are seats to sit on has just come back from shopping after receiving a call about her husband’s sudden disappearance. The police have no suspects but the woman in the bus knows who it is, the jealous bunny boiler whom the husband used to be involved with, her name is Kim. As the bus pulls away I feel sorry for Jamie, bus lady, but my attention is pulled away to a man standing at the bus stop on my side of the road.

     I side step him easily and smile at my less then awkward reflexes. My head drops as it normally does when I walk but I do not know the reason. I am not unbalanced enough to have to watch my every step, nor am I depressed, and believe me when I tell you that there is nothing inviting to glance upon the pavement. I begin to think back to a book I read in Waterstones once, it was on star signs, the zodiac and all that, well the part on Pisces stated that; ‘…a typical Piscean male will have extended appendages (yes I giggled at that part too) often the legs, (yes I frowned at my own immaturity here too) hunched shoulders…’ it carried on but maybe that is why I look down when I walk? Now I must ensure the reader is aware I have no attention deficit disorders, no ADD or ADHD and when it is needed my attention can be focused entirely on one thing. But yet again my attention was diverted from the ground as in front of me a young girl stepped out of Abigail’s Café. She was wearing; black converse; a short black skirt; a studded belt; a Linkin Park sweatband on her wrist; a read and black MCR top and a necklace of some sort hidden just below her low collared top. In that order I might add. Her eyes glanced at my with a smile peeking out of the corner of her mouth, this was most likely due to my shirt matching her sweatband. She walked past, neither said a word, hindsight allows that girl to debate as to whether she could have saved me.

     After passing that girl and letting the euphoria of seeing a sweet face settle, I reached the traffic lights and paused there for a moment. It wasn’t a moment that I needed to think, its’ just that, well, the lights had turned green, walking would have been suicide, or at the least an annoyance to the passing drivers. Anyway I had a moment and seeing as I had no one to converse with I remembered those converse shoes and wondered if the owner would have allowed me to draw on them. A friend of mine draws on his, signs, symbols, names of bands and people. My song changed and I had listened to it far too often recently so I switched my iPod mini onto random and let Linkin Park run through my ears. I crossed the road at last and wondered what people thought I was doing. Egotistical I know but I never said I was a nice person in fact I’m actually not a nice person at all. But I figure if I sit wondering what others are doing, some might wonder what I am doing. Going to see his best friend, to see his girlfriend, to the shops or maybe to the college? No couldn’t do that, it’s shut.

       Looking up I saw the empty sky, empty apart from the sun of course, but there were no clouds. That kind of scared me sometimes, its’ just this immense pastel blue blanket over me that carried on beyond my eyesight. I don’t think people think enough on that matter. Something so colossal that it actually goes beyond your ability to see its end, or its start for that matter. But then again how do we know it has an end or a start, if we cannot see it? I guess those white coats tell us all we need to know nowadays don’t they. I chuckled at the world’s unshakable defiance not to question unless they are paid to. The only one’s that do are children and some teenagers, who are then told by adults either the answers or that they can question what ever they want as soon as their room is tidy. I think children are brilliant. Simply amazing. The most intelligent and logically creative thing anyone ever says, and everyone says it at some point, is ‘catched’ you know when a child has taken the rule that ‘ed’ goes as a suffix to note that something is in the past tense and naturally puts it on the end of ‘catch’. Yes its wrong, but that doesn’t make it any less special. All amazing things come in small packages. You’ll notice that when you find a favourite piece of music and the best part is only a few seconds long, usually an intro, ending, bridge or an alternated version of the normal chorus. One example is in the song Krwlng by Linkin Park. The sound between the time 1:30 and 1:35 is so beautiful it actually makes my heart ache with the innumerable possibilities of sad moments to remember in my life.

      I stop and view the college I am passing. My dad used to work there. He doesn’t anymore of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have said ‘used’ to work there. But when he did when I was 9-11 years old we would pick him up after work sometimes. And then me and my brother would go to the hills around the back and roll down them. I did. I’d like to again one day. With a group of friends, with boys and girls in it. I’ve never had such a group. I almost did, I was ever so close. And then it fell apart, people split up, people moved, people argued. Now all I have left is myself. I’m already over half way there, where am I going? As if I would ruin your surprise. I am an exceedingly good poet. A real poet mind you, not the small hey look I can rhyme, time, mime, chime; or I can use repetition, ‘the final fall from which I failed’; but real poetry. Listen to this, I memorised it; “We are the singulars, oddities, and irregularities, so lets stop being the anomaly, and be the catalyst and insist things be changed. Because I’m sick of being at the bottom of the food chain, social train and being called a piss stain.” That is real poetry, a feeling of cathartic release that isn’t forced or called upon but that naturally flows.

       Here it is; the last corner, last turn, my Waterloo, my curtain call. I break into smile, Waterloo. I’ve been waiting to use that in a sentence for a while now. Ever since I began my history project and the meaning of someone’s downfall can be stated with the one word, Waterloo. Along with other words, Achilles' heel, Hannibal’s Scipio, Hannibal’s Clarice Starling. I’ve been ok until now, now it gets to me, my stomach kicks in, that nervous sting of your insides swirling. I place my hands onto my stomach to calm it down and I jerk. My hands are freezing but of course they are they always are no matter what the situation, summer, winter, spring or autumn, inside or outside the house. I notice how close I’m getting and pull my bag of my back and take out its’ contents. Tears fall down my face, each one wrought from one unwanted memory after another. I gasp and screw up my face trying to concentrate. I warned you I’m not a kind person. A quick flash of his hand in yours, your temple on his chest. I inhale harshly, drop one arm and raise the other to push the doorbell. One last glance and I regret this view that I have of your house, it was always nicer on the inside. I guess that’s because when we began our relationship I always wondered what it was like on the inside. Now a year or so later I know the inside as well as my own home. My hand lowers and shakes a little and I get a chill run up my back forcing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention. I see a shadow of red in the front window by your door and hear the clicking as you unlock the door. Lyrics of songs run through my head; “and I give it all away, just to have somewhere to go to, give it all away,  to have someone to come home to, this is my December, this is my time of the year, this is my December, this I all so clear…” The door pulls open and you stand still. You think you know what’s coming and break into tears of your own, are they tears of sadness or regret, or false tears that have no name or origin? I curse you in my head, in my heart and in every inch of my body. I curse your lips, your smile, your eyes, your nose, your hands, your body, your walk, your talk…your hair, that intoxicating aroma that it creates that envelops me in windswept whiskey and cinnamon, a smell that I’m all too familiar with. You step forward in your naïve nature thinking you could hug this pain away. You think you can catch me and stop me from falling? I pull my hanging arm up and raise it to my head.

         Silence. Your face pauses. Then screams. I fall. All I wanted...was to be catched.

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