Ch.1- Painful Re-awakening

The voices in my head aren't really beings or their own consciousness, I know that, yet somehow I am able to still pick out their own thoughts, separate from my own. However, I am unable to know for sure whether every original thought or mental image belongs to me or my head's permanent residents. The only thing that really bothers me about them is that for some ungodly reason they won't stop BOTHERING the crap out of me!--You're too fun to mess with-- rings invasively through my head, "I know" I respond aloud as I open my eyes to the gloriously mundane ceiling of my room. 'Plain white is such an interesting color' I ponder, when Aria, a more permanent fixture of my mental landscape invades once again --It represents purity and peace--. 'Ha! The one thing that color has never provided!' A smirk making its way across my face. Often, I wonder whether it's possible that my whole life is a lie. I know I'm a basket case and I hide it well, but I can't help feeling that there is a remote chance I'm in a padded white cell somewhere, staring off into the abyss of my own imagination. --It also can represent freedom and joy-- She continues, 'Ironic' I think as I cut her words in half, 'I've never felt truly free in this household.'

--That's probably your fault--

"Shut up" I whisper aloud as I sit up to look about my desolate room. Aria, seemingly understanding I'm not in the mood to talk, flutters off to some remote corner of my imagination. I can't help how drab and dreary my room is...don't want anything that I could possibly harm myself with I guess. Not that it even makes sense, the most my parents care to know is that I'm a little bit depressed. No way in god's dead earth is I telling HER of all people what I actually experience. I'm not really that suicidal, everyone knows that when you're really that sad you just kinda get numb after a while. Fear of failure dictates most of what I do anyways, including that precious little suicidal gem of a thought. I shake off my morning grumps and try to slump and roll my raggedy bag of bones over to my dresser. The closest option is the one I pick, simple as that. I've never been one to really care about how I look, and I personally wouldn't care if everyone wore potato sacs and straw hats. 'Actually, that might be kinda cool' I chuckle to myself as I slip on the daily necessities of a plain blue T-shirt and some grey sweatpants. --Looking as handsome as ever-- Aria returns, followed by my clear and exhausted message to just 'leave me the hell alone today. Not like it really ever works but hey, worth a shot I guess.

--Rude, why do you want me gone anyway?--

'I want all of you gone, not just you'

--We aren't leaving--, she snaps back.

Ignoring that little conversation, I admire my handsome figure in the mirror, trying to psych myself up for the day. I say handsome but maybe that's just a little bit of a stretch. I may not have an acne-free face or a six-pack of solid gold, but I'm relatively fit, skinny, strong jawline, 'in some other world where perfect skin and abs weren't the gold standards I would definitely be a catch' I subtly lie to myself. Unfortunately, I'm forced to rely on my truly non-existent personality. Looking at the time, I jump with realization, "I'm 5 mins late already!". Stumbling down the stairs, I ran headfirst into the kitchen, literally.

"Are you okay Eli?" my mother calls out to me, "You're already late for school you know. And don't forget what you have today!"

Still rearing from smacking my head, I ask, "Wait, what do I have today?"

"Your new therapist appointment? Remember?" She glances over with what I would consider an accusatory look.

"Ohh" Unsurprisingly, my last therapist couldn't handle me, and my mother blames me for that. Just like she blames me for my father. I know I'm broken, but I swear I don't usually do that kinda thing on purpose. Usually. Well, the therapist was an extenuating circumstance, as I had very good reason to believe she was spilling whatever I told her to my mom. 'Totally not cool.'

--What Isn't?-- 'You weren't meant to hear that' I snap as I return to my daily scramble; I never can seem to find where I put those stupid shoes.

"How long till the bus is here?" I ask while looking at the clock, I know the answer but I don't like it.

"Five minutes" She responds, "There are protein shakes in the fridge, have one and get going."

'A boring breakfast in texture, what my daily protein lacks in variety, makes up in flavor and convenience!' I roll my eyes in sarcasm.

I grab a protein shake, zip up my backpack, and head for my shoes. I slip them on and take off for the door, despite that annoying little crunchy bump that happens when you fold the back of the shoe in with your foot. --You're going to miss ittttttt.-- She chimes as if I didn't already know. I make a break for the bus stop, and after jumping a few bushes as shortcuts I manage to slide myself through those grimy plastic see-through doors. I make my way to the very back, rows of empty seats between the next passenger and me.

Being busy is a good thing. In this modern-day we tend to find ourselves complaining about having so much to do, missing parties, or scheduling around our work till we're always "busy" never any truly free time. However, the need to contain and maintain busyness is something many of us find ourselves doing. We try to force progress and change by ignoring the mental hum below our shallow anxiety and procrastination. It's here I sadly know, I am no longer busy on this bus, and I have nothing to create busy with. I'm left alone with my thoughts once more…

What would have been an unusual and pleasantly silent bus ride was starting to put me on edge. I know I constantly complain about my voices but they have been silent for far too long. I even found myself longing for one of Aria's annoying little quips. I check the time: 8:30. It's barely been 10 minutes since I got on the bus yet I cannot shake this abnormal sense of dread. 5 minutes later and I finally crack.

'Hey, who's up for some spot the weirdo'- A little game I had invented where we all participate in trying to find someone who can outclass my crazy, even if only a little.

A minute goes by and the lack of response has me biting my nails. 'They love that game' I think staring at the scenery go by trying to shake my unease.

Suddenly, I see a lampost falling towards the school bus as we drive right at it, quicly and without warning. I hadn't had time to think or react when the bus sped right into the metal pole, warmly and silently, and as if nothing had happened to me at all, my vision shifts from a series of beautiful shades to a theatric fade to black.