Fan Fiction ❯ Cynical ❯ Cynical ( One-Shot )

I sat alone in my pitch black room. My mother always asks me why I sit in the dark all the time. "Why do you do that?" she practically shrieks when she finds me in here, without the lights on. Why? Because I can. I can control whether I want the lights on or not. Its not like she can come in, turn the lights on, and put a lock on the switch, saying, "You have to have the lights on now " So I sit here, in the darkness.

I sniffle slightly. And give a small cough, and then a shiver. I'm sick. I'm sitting up in my bed, though, blankets covering my legs. But on top, I only have a thin tank top on. I don't care if it won't help me get better. It's the world's that I'm sick. So now, the goddamn world can make me better, without any help from me. It wasn't my fault in the first place, so I don't need to do anything about it.

The snow is falling outside of my window. So softly, I can't hear it. But I know its there. It's the reason I got sick. Because I was outside for too long without a coat or shoes on. Why? I don't know. I was running after something that blew out the door when my sister opened it to go outside and play. I can't even remember what it was. But I ran after it, down the street, and to the park that's two blocks away from my house. Just wearing a long sleeved shirt, and a skirt that my mother made me wear. Nothing else. So I got sick. And you see, it's the world's fault, but, also, it's my mother's fault as well.

I sneeze, and finally open my eyes. Whenever I sit in the dark, I close my eyes. What's the point of having them open when I'm in the dark? I can barely see anything anyway. So I just close my eyes. I gaze around the room, feeling melancholy. I hate that word. Melancholy. It makes me think of dogs spitting out seeds. But that's how I feel now.

My room is messy. I have more clothes, books, and other meaning things on the ground than I can count. My mother always tells me clean it. But now she's making an exception because I'm sick. Otherwise, she's come into my room when I'm not in here in the dark, and cleans it up herself. I hate it when she does that. She always looks at everything she picks up, whether it's a book or even a blank sheet of paper, she looks at it. And she sees if I have anything in the pockets of my pants. She doesn't know that I know this. It's obvious, though. The first time she did this, I found the ring that had been in the pocket of my pants that were on the floor on my dresser after she cleaned my room. She's so subtle.

I see the outlines of all of my shelves and appliances that I have in my room. The room is dark, but the low light outside is reflecting off the flakes of snow that are falling, and the snow that is already on the ground. That's one of the reason's I hate winter. Its too bright outside at night, because, no matter how dark it is, there's always a little light that can be reflected off of the snow. And its cold. I hate being cold. My room is heated, but I'm still cold now. There are many more reasons why I hate winter, but I can't think of all of them now. And even if I could, they're boring, so I wouldn't say them anyway.

I hate my life. Why am I even living? I've wondered this so many times before, but now I can't think of a reason. I used to be able to: my friends care about me, my mother used to, my sisters did, and then, of course, there was my father. I loved my father. But he left. Do you want to know why? Well, I can't tell you, because I don't know. He just didn't come home one day. At first, my family and I thought he was dead, but, about two weeks ago, we received a letter from him, saying that he's had a mistress for a really long time, I can't remember how long, though, and now he wants to marry her. Just up and leave, then marry that stupid bitch. I even knew who she was. He worked with her. I met her on "Take Your Daughter to Work Day," which has somehow changed to "Take Your Child to Work Day," because I'm sure people complained about girls just going to work, because we weren't special enough.

She was a total air head. No brains, just a nice body. I never thought that, but I'm sure my no-good father thought that. I can't see one good thing about her. When I'd talk to her, she'd always call me "little girl," even though I was twelve when I first met her, which was three years ago. Obviously, now I'm fifteen, almost sixteen, though I wish I wasn't anything at all. Then I wouldn't have to sit in here and contemplate about my crappy life. I wouldn't have to be anything, and that would be better than the way everything is now.

I slowly get out of bed. I have the flu, because of the damn cold. I feel awful, but I can't stand sitting in bed. It's not like I hat sitting in my bed for a really long time; I do it even when I'm not sick. But when I get the flu, which is every goddamn winter, I feel too restless to sit in my bed. So I always get out of bed, and do stuff in my room, shivering, and getting sicker and sicker the whole time. I'm always sick for Christmas. No one cares, really. Christmas has lost all of its meaning to my family. Now all it means is presents. Presents, presents, presents. It doesn't matter to me, though, because I don't practice a religion anymore. But that's just me. My family say they're Christian, but they never go to church, much less pray.

It's actually Christmas now. Christmas Eve, to be exact. Everyone's downstairs, opening presents, comparing what they got, then throwing everything into a pile, and moving on to the next presents, without giving thought to what they even got. All that mattered was who got the best presents. Then everything was thrown into their closets, to be forgotten. Sometimes the presents are pulled out in July, and played with for about two minutes, then tossed back into the closet to rot.

No one even bothered to come and get me. They just eat dinner, and started opening presents at their usual time. Maybe the reason no one got me was because every year, when I'm sick, someone pulls me downstairs, and I just lie on the couch, watching all of the "happiness" around me. I usually complain, too, since I'd rather be in my room, alone, in the dark, than be with my family.

I'm cynical, and I know it. No one even has to begin to tell me that. I know. I've known all of my life. I know the fakeness of people, and the whole world. Nothing, to me, is real. All of the smiles that I get, are fake. I can see the people straining to look happy, and usually not succeeding. I even made a poster of that. It's in my room now. It's a picture that I drew of a person with a smile on their face, but tears on their cheeks. Then, in writing, "Don't you feel this way? I know you do, you just don't show it. Faker." My mother has tried to make me take it down, but I never will. Now its behind another poster that my mother bought me for my last birthday. Hidden.

A screech echoed downstairs. I grimace from my spot near the door. "Someone got a meaningless present that they apparently wanted." I grumbled to myself. I didn't see any presents for me under our fake tree. That's because I didn't make a list, like my sisters did. My mother told me over and over again to make a list, and when I didn't she said, "Fine, you don't want anything, you won't get anything I'm not gonna waste money on something that you don't want, because every year I have to guess Well, this year, I'm not gonna " When she said that, I just turned around, and went to my room. She screamed after me to come back and talk to her, but I kept walking. I locked my room with my homemade lock. My mother would never get me a lock, so I just made one. It works very well, actually.

My room is locked now. That's because everyone always barges into my room, without knocking. I don't have privacy. After all of these years, I don't even know what privacy is anymore. Nothing really has meaning to me anymore, so I don't care if anyone sees my stuff, because its nothing to me. It never has been, and never will be. My life doesn't matter, so neither does my stuff. Oh well, It'll all be over soon.

I've been planning this for months. I'll die on Christmas Eve. I'm gonna take my mom's whole bottle of sleeping pills, and go back to my room, curling up in my bed, and fall asleep forever. I've made a sign that says "Merry Christmas," in small letters. I'll be holding it. So, when someone comes in to wake me up on Christmas morn', I'll be in my bed, holding the sing under the sheets, asleep forever. Whoever finds me will throw back the sheets, and find my sign, wishing them a good holiday. And then that'll be it.

I wonder if I'll even be given a funeral. Probably not. I'll just be buried in the backyard, most likely, and then be forgotten about. I'll be gone, and no one will even know the difference. I don't have friends, so no one at school will even notice my absence. Not even my teachers. I always sit in the back of the room, never saying anything, or doing anything. So I go unnoticed, the whole time.

I silently unlock my door, and open it, sneaking into the hall. I'm almost in the bathroom when I hear a small sound behind me. I spin around to find my youngest sister, who's five, standing in the middle of the hall. She's looking at me with her big brown eyes. "What?" I almost snapped. Even though I don't like my family, my baby sister has always had a little of my favor.

"Why aren't you downstairs, Colleen?" she asked me, in her soft, gentle sounding voice. That's why I've always liked her a little bit. She's soft-spoken, unlike my mother and other sisters. They always yell, no matter how close to each other they are.

"Because no one came to get me," I answered bitterly. She stared up at me curiously. Her dark blonde hair was a tangled mass around her head, as usual. She could never keep it straight. No matter how many times my mother would brush it, it'd never stay straight for long. I liked that about her also. She didn't try to look like anyone else. She didn't care what people thought. Of course, she was only five, but at least she wasn't turned the other way yet, like everyone else that I know.

"I have a present for you," She said, even more softly than before. "I was gonna give it to you downstairs, but you weren't there. So I came up here." She looked at me anxiously, as if waiting for me to do something. I was frozen, though. I hadn't expected her to say that.

"What is it?" I watched her curiously as she ran into her room, which she shared with my second youngest sister. She returned quickly, clutching a piece of paper in her hands. She paused for a moment, looked at the paper, then held it up to me. I took it from her, and gazed at it. There was a picture on it. Standing in the middle, was a drawing of me, with my name over it. Then, next to me, holding my hand, was my little sister, with her name over herself. Then, on the bottom of the page, where the words, "Merry Christmas, Love Elli." The words were written to the best of Elli's ability, I could see. The girl could barely write anything. And the drawing must have taken a long time, because the details were amazing for someone her age.

I looked at the picture for a couple more minutes. Then, tears came to my eyes, and I knelt down and hugged my baby sister. "Oh, Elli, this is so sweet " I could only manage to say that, for my throat was choked with tears. She hugged me back. Then, as I pulled away, she regarded me with curiosity.

"Do you really like it?" she asked me earnestly, and I nodded. "I worked really hard on it. Someday I want to draw as good as you can. You should be an artist." Her words made be feel bad. I was about to go and kill myself, and here was my little sister, would adored me. I couldn't do it now. I couldn't do it ever. I finally got control of my voice.

"I don't have anything for you, Elli, I'm sorry." I said to her, but she didn't seem to mind to much.

"Can you draw me a picture?" she asked. "I don't want anything else. I know I made a Christmas list for Mommy, but I don't want any of the stuff that I asked for. I just want a picture from you. Please?" She looked so pleading, of course I would do it.

"I'll have to give it to you tomorrow," I told her, "I can't draw something tonight."

"That's fine." she answered. Turning around at the sound of my mother calling her, she ran downstairs, glancing over her shoulder at me once.

I smiled slightly to myself. I went back into my room. I immediately tore up the sign that I had made, and began to work on a drawing for Elli, with a renewed spirit. I finally had a reason to live for. I drew my version pf her picture, and planned to give it to her first thing in the morning.

I didn't finish it before I became tired, though. Setting my supplies aside, I looked at her drawing one last time, and settled myself into bed, falling asleep peacefully.

A/N: I don't like the ending. Oh well, though. I do like the rest of this, though. Heh, Christmas early.

Did anyone understand the melancholy thing? I'm sure some people did, but for those who didn't: Dogs (collies) spitting out seeds (from watermelons). Melon-collies.

Please review. For anyone who reviews this, I'll review some of their stuff.