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By Drew Mann

I wrote this for art class last semester..I was in a bad mood, it was before New Year's, around when I was comtemplating various insane concepts and reasoning. Who know's though? Maybe it's still there. It made my art teacher think I was suicidal..


Lying with his arm under his head, sheets tangled and pushed to the foot of the bed, clothes strewn around the room, Daemon stared up towards the ceiling, admiring the intricate weaving of the spider above. The spider, using each arm as if they were knitting needles, spun its hourly web. If only life were like that, he thought as he stared intently, if only my life could be spun again and again to the shape of my choosing…oh how great that would be.


He looked at the clock. 6:15, the beginning of the daily routine, better hit the shower, he thought to himself. The water glistened as it trickled off his skin and hit the porcelain, washing away all that had gone wrong the day before, today he starts anew…today will different, he hopes.


The long walk to school was always something to be enjoyed, the only time he could think clearly, the only time he was alone with his thoughts. As the sun rose in front of him, it’s beautiful, bright rays blinding his eyes as he walked, he contemplated the days events. He followed the seemingly never-ending stretch of dirt road into town, admiring the beauty as the sun shone and reflected off of the dew-covered grass.


He stood at the foot of the large, towering building in front of him, casting it’s shadow like a dark aura, consuming all that came within reach. He walked up the bulky cement stairs. Everyday, he’d recite the same words from his favourite song in his head…up the stairs, the station where, the act becomes, the art of growing up…he knew that if he wanted to survive he shouldn’t take everything so personally, but how could he not? How could he just ignore it when they called him a freak? When they pushed him around? When they stared?


Through the halls, he walked, discreetly, so as not to show any fear, because he knew that if he did, they’d tear him apart. With their arms…with their words… with their eyes… He knew what they were thinking, he knew today would be just like the others, he knew, but he did not understand. Push. Shove. Whisper. Stare. This was life…


Drifted off in English class again, if only he could sleep, maybe then he’d be able to distinguish between the real and not so real, the dreams and the nightmares. A dream come true, to sleep, to escape his nightmare…if only for a few seconds.


The bell rings, a rush to the door, five minutes to get to class. He didn’t care anymore, time as a joke to him, his enemy. Time had only made things worse for him, time made the wounds rot, time fermented happiness into an abstract concept, oh so far out of reach. Time was not to be trusted. Time could not be trusted.


Ten minutes late. He managed to avoid the usual mob of them, always pushing him into corners, making his chest tight, making it hard to breathe, making a gasp of breath a birthday present, waiting to be unwrapped. He wished he could forget it all…spin a new web, not matter how deformed, anything would be better than this


Stroke of genius. The science class had already started their weekly lab; he had so much to work with at his disposal. He approached the front desk, so many chemicals, he didn’t care what they were, what they were called, what reaction they produced when mixed. He only wanted one reaction out of it, the one that would drown out the darkness with light, the one that would make everything so much better.


Pour, pour. Mix, mix. Stir, stir. The time had come. God only knows what this would do, he didn't care, he quickly drank every drop. Tingling.


Fifteen minutes gone, why wasn’t it working? Dizziness. What went wrong? Burn. His stomach twisted in pain. As the burning got worse, he bent down and screamed. He watched as they all looked in horror. What’s wrong with him? What has he done? Why would drive him to have done that to himself? The burning, the pain, the horror, the relief. The darkness set in, his vision clouded, the screaming stopped. As the web that had been spun his whole life unravelled into lifeless silk on the flo
or, he let a sigh of relief.