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Indigestion

No, I’m not about to write an article about indigestion, I thought it an appropriate title for the following story.

Indigestion

He sat on the kitchen floor, back against the cupboards. His eyes were open, but staring off into space in such the way that they may as well have been closed as far as he was concerned. He felt cold, even though there was no reason for him to. He was wearing a fleece and the heating was on, yet he shivered. He thought about the day’s events, and when he reached the moment he was currently at he thought about them again. It really had been one mess of a day. He thought about it over and over, trying different perspectives, different orders. He ran it forwards, backwards, sideways if that was even possible. He thought about the moment in class when she’d told him. Well, hadn’t even told him, just pointed, and mumbled sorry. It had been the worst moment of his life. It had felt like his brain had fallen through his neck and knocked his heart into his stomach which ended up cascading along with all of his other internal organs down to his feet. It was a moment that would be in his mind forever, similar to what had occurred the week before, but totally different. He’d felt sick to his stomach for the rest of the day since then, but he knew it had nothing to do with anything he’d eaten.

How was it that a day like this could come so soon on the heels of what had happened last week, when he’d had the best day of his life? How was it that his whole world could be turned upside down with a hand gesture? The rest of the day passed in a blur from that point. He didn’t pay attention in classes, and when he got home he couldn’t do homework, he couldn’t work on college applications, he couldn’t even sleep. He put on The Daily Show to try and forget it all but he couldn’t laugh. Even when he was able to focus on the show he just didn’t find it funny. He doubted there was a thing in the world he would find funny at that moment. He felt like he might not find anything funny ever again. Well, that was an exaggeration, but he felt like he was allowed to exaggerate, rather that he needed to exaggerate to fully communicate the utter emptiness he felt inside, which wasn’t just from not being able to eat.

He tried to think of what he was going to do now. Doing nothing would drive him insane, he knew that for sure. He’d done nothing his entire life and always regretted it so nothing was not an option. The past five weeks had been weeks in which he had done something, and those had gone pretty well, at least until today. Maybe this was the sign that his luck had run out. He sighed, he was at a loss for what to do, he was at a loss for what to think, hell he was even at a loss for what to feel. He’d felt it all that day. He’d been angry, in denial, depressed, even accepting a couple times. Anger had been his favourite, except he didn’t know who he should be angry at, other than himself for feeling this way in the first place. He ended up just lashing out at whoever happened to be near. He wasn’t angry now though, but nor was he in denial, or even depressed. Well, maybe a little depressed. He wasn’t accepting either. He felt like this still had to go somewhere. Last week had meant too much to him not to go anywhere. He thought back to last week, a happier time when everything had seemed right with the world. He remembered the moment, standing with her in the unused stairwell, the way she’d smiled, the feeling of her hair in his hand, of her hands on the back of his neck, of her lips on his. All he’d been able to think about for the rest of that week was that he wanted to do that again, and he still felt that way now, but it was coupled with the knowledge that it wouldn’t happen.

He turned his head and looked at the empty space next to him. He imagined that she was sitting there with him on the floor. He imagined how much better that would make him feel, and that made him feel worse. He imagined that he would uncross his arms, and put one around her shoulders. She would lean against him, maybe rest her head on his shoulder, and all would be right with the world. He imagined that they would talk. They would talk about anything, he loved conversing with her. He would say something funny and she would laugh, then he would kiss her again. A slight movement somewhere caused his eyes to refocus and he saw just the plain white emptiness of the kitchen cabinets. He almost lost it right then and there, he was flooded with so much sadness and anger and everything he’d felt for the past five weeks rushed into his mind. His stomach tightened and he thought for a moment he might actually get sick, but the feeling died down, and he was left numb, void of thought and emotion. He thought about today again, and got no further than he had before.

As he was sitting on the floor contemplating all of this his dog came over and lay down against his leg. He didn’t think that anyone could have been more comforting than the dog at that moment. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t ask questions, she just knew something was wrong and did what she knew would help. Either that or she wanted something warm to lie against. Either way it didn’t matter much to him.

“Well, I’ll always have you, won’t I?” he said to the dog, and in that moment realized exactly how pathetic his life really was.


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