The False Security Of Our Sand Castle short story

[CuM2cmU 0]

the false security of our sand castleam i different or unique? she never answered me; then again she was always quiet. there was something about this girl; in silence, she seduced everyone. maybe that's why i'm here. she just kicked me; she?s not too happy that i took all the blanket. with monday morning breath, i lean over and kiss her anyway. she makes this weird grunting noise and turns away. it's 6:39am; better get ready for school. get your *bottom* up. she doesn?t move. we?re gonna be late. another grunting noise and she stretches. i roll off the bed and pick up the condom while making sure nothing leaks out of it. somehow, we are both in the car by 7:15am. i try to put brick by ben folds five on, but too *BLEEP*ing depressing, she says. well what do you want / dunno / you pick one then / nirvana / isn?t that too heavy for 7 in the morning? / no. as usual, she wins. smells like teen spirit; *BLEEP* that, it smells like *bottom* in my car: maybe i should quit smoking. we don?t say a word: maybe we are immersed in music or maybe we just have nothing to say. then she breaks the comfortable silence: your parents coming back next monday? / yea / so we have the house to ourselves again this weekend? / well i might throw a party. i think my parents finally realized they are going through a mid-life crisis. suddenly, out of the blue, my parents flew to the bahamas for two weeks, leaving my little brother at my uncle?s house. freedom: this is the taste. snow-covered roads usually annoy me, but today, they?re almost soothing. with the snow reflecting the sunlight, i have to squint my eyes; damn the man, danny, who stepped on my oakleys. silly boy/ what? / your eyes look funny / well you try to look at the snow and drive / suck it up / how old are we / you have a funny face / we match. i don?t remember the last time we had a real conversation. today, her hazel eyes are blue with the sweater; she looks cuter than usual. with my red button-down shirt i bought from goodwill, we strangely match in a contrasting way. my silver necklace ? the birthday present from her for $19.95 - provides a nice touch against my black t-shirt underneath. why are you looking at me like that / i think i?m falling in love with you. that one definitely took her by surprise. she, again, dove into her patented silence; i should have kept my mouth shut. a little slip and the car crashed into a tree; i don?t think there was enough salt on the road. i think i was crying when an old man with freakishly long hair helped me out of the car. was she in pool of her blood or my blood? was i screaming and crying like a little girl? i don?t know; it?s all a blur. i just want to sleep for now. it?s hard to tell with the old pa system but the principal is saying something about holding a memorial service for her. i think that?s making me cry again. this is my first day back at school and every shitter either looks mad or sad: some say murderer and some say it?s not your fault; i just want to say shut the *BLEEP* up. the school psychologist pages me. he tells me to talk: let it all out. he has a dumb comb-over with glasses too big for his head; i can?t trust anyone who wears a pink shirt and a green tie. are you having any alcohol or drug problems? is he for real? lots of people turn to them when they are grieving and i understand that. i don?t think he understands i?m not everyone. i?m different. or unique. though i?ll never know which now. what are you thinking right now? / i think you are being paid so that i don?t kill myself / are you thinking of suicide? / no / talk to me / about what / anything that?s on your mind. doesn?t he get that i?m tired of crying? do you miss her?i miss her silence. she talked through her eyes: sometimes with the looks of sadness, asking me to hold her, or once in awhile, that kiss me right now look, wanting to *BLEEP*. it?s hard to tell but i got used to it. but of course, i don?t tell him this, not with his nose hair hanging out. i have to use the bathroom and it?s going to be a long one; can i leave now?walking home alone is the hardest part; silence without her is too awkward. the crunchy snow is my only companion today. my palm pilot says it?s been 151 days since i kissed her. i took her right next to the george washington bridge from the new jersey side, where you can see the entire lower manhattan; in that pitch darkness, it?s a kodak moment. can i kiss you / no / can i kiss you / no / can i kiss you / no / please / no / why not / because / can i kiss you / no, then she leaned over and kissed me; her taste lingered on my lips all night. i think i can still smell her; it was infinite. i have to stop reminiscing and get a life. when i was a kid, i loved building sand castles: that was a rare moment where she spilled what was on her mind; it was my queue to shut my trap and let her talk. this one time, my father and i made this huge sand castle: she spoke of her dead father; that might have been the key to her eyes. next morning, i woke up and it was washed away. i cried. / well, you can come to my castle one day / funny / no, when i?m a multi-billionaire, i?m going to build a castle / funny / you just wait and see / great. i shouldn?t have opened my mouth; she was back to her one-worded sarcastic responses. 2am eastern standard time, with that salvador dali calendar above my head, i can?t sleep; i know how the narrator from fight club felt. my right arm, where she used to fit, feels empty. rolling around, trying to find that comfort spot, glycerine by bush fills the room: i?m never alone, but i?m alone all the time, gavin rossdale says. the speakers hang right above my bed, and i am inside the music. with the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chbosky, choke by chuck palahniuk, and emporium by adam johnson, it?s hard to decide which to read tonight. i look outside my window, and suddenly, i must go. 3am, i steal my parent?s silver accord and start driving. where to? it doesn?t matter. one time, i kissed her and she tasted like chocolate; i liked that. i stop at dunkin? donuts for coffee and bagel. the speedometer points at 115mph; relaxed, in a dream state, i fly through the buildings and trees surrounding (protecting) me. trapped inside the metal, alone with my music, comfortably i?m driving.4am, i?m near the shores; i wonder if it?s just a coincidence or some subconscious *BLEEP*. and of course i start building my first-ever sand castle. it?s freezing but i?m already numb: comfortably numb by pink floyd ? that was our song. i learned how to play it on my guitar but i never got to play for her; it just hit me that i never will. that makes me sad. in half an hour or so, i finish my horse *BLEEP*; i?m too embarrassed to call that a castle, but the effort counts. this is where i would invite her to live in my castle with me - the picture perfect, over-romantic moment of the anticipated kiss. maybe it was love; maybe not. under the ephemeral glimmers of the dawn, the ocean is washing our sand castle away. i?m crying, but over the ruins of the past, what we build could be anything.