Imagine a world staggering beneath the weight of over eight billion souls, most leaving behind a unique scar of cruelty and neglect. It’s a burden too heavy for our Earth to bear. And I, a mere blip, found myself on the precipice of non-existence. A Tuesday etched into memory, the second-to-last day of school, and the prelude to my abrupt end. I offer you, reader, not just a recounting of my last week and the only proof of my existence, but also a stark warning.
At fifteen, I was awkwardly wading through the stormy seas of adolescence, complete with the scourge of hormonal surges and the unfortunate sprinkling of acne dotting my face. My world was wonderfully wrapped up in a corner of our high school cafeteria, a realm presided over by Emila. The dazzling subject of my dreams, she held me under her spell with her enchanting beauty. Her hair, a river of glistening platinum, formed a comforting canopy around me, filling my senses with a tantalizing mix of coconut-scented shampoo and the memorable reminder of our gym sessions.
“Alex. ALEX!”
My Emila-infused daydream was interrupted by Elijah, my only friend in a table full of acquaintances.
“Did you see the TikTok I sent?”
He asked, a twinkle of devilish delight dancing in his eyes. I fumbled for my phone, eager for a dose of Elijah’s promised comedy, only to find the video was no longer available with unsurprising speed.
“Man, it was comedy gold! Imagine Thanos, asscheeks and all, telling the most offensive shit. Legendary stuff”
Elijah chuckled heartily, his laughter echoing around the room.
“Sure sounds like it”
I muttered, my gaze returning to Emila. Her attention was stolen by my older brother, the infamous Mikey, whose joke had her laughing. Mikey, a final year student with a solid record of academic underachievement and a proclivity for marijuana, was a walking, talking, stoner stereotype. What was unsettling was his inexplicable charm with the wide-eyed freshman girls, a twisted hobby that gave him an unusual sense of satisfaction.
As the bell shrilled, signaling the end of the school day, Mikey abruptly stood up, the metal chair beneath him screeching. His next words, a slurred mix of slangs and contemporary cuss words, were aimed at summoning his freshman fan club. At the same time, he requested for Emila to join their quest for illicit pleasures. Emila’s reaction was a fusion of disgust and amusement, an expression I decided to commit to memory for my poetry. She gracefully declined his offer with a well-rehearsed flip of her hair and a disdainful wave of her hand, then she returned to her conversation, laughter pealing from her like sweet music, completely oblivious to my heart hammering in my chest.
Around me, chaos broke loose as the cafeteria, now released from the clutches of academic torture, transitioned into a war zone of wild whoops, boisterous laughter. The last sight that graced my eyes as I exited the cafeteria was the bewildered expression on the face of our school janitor, as he stood paralyzed amidst the storm, mop in hand It was a fittingly ludicrous end to another thrillingly mundane school day. With that, I picked up my bag, donned my headphones, and began my solitary trek home.
The burden of unrequited love weighed heavily upon my weary shoulders as I trudged homeward. In dire need of a hit, I fumbled for my go-to vape, only to be met with the light show of a dead battery. As I hit the 7-Eleven on my route, I was looking forward to seeing Antonio, this dude who seemed more interested in cracking jokes than caring about checking IDs. But instead of Antonio’s playful smirk, I came face-to-face with a new character, with wrinkles that told stories of time gone by. A wave of disappointment washed over me as I nabbed a bottle of Dr. Pepper and headed for the cash register.
“What happened to Antonio?”
I asked, putting my drink on the counter for the mystery guy.
“Who?”
He muttered, his focus on the soda can he was sliding under the scanner.
“Antonio, the guy who’s usually here in the evenings”
I explained, a hint of irritation in my voice.
“Dunno. I only started here last week. I just know the young girl who takes over when my shift ends”
He responded, his words leaving a gap in my world, like a punch in the gut of my usual routine.
Taking a bubbly swig of my Dr. Pepper, I tried to swallow the truth of teenage life. It was like walking into my favorite cozy room, only to find the furniture rearranged haphazardly. The change was unexpected, and unwelcome.
Finally trekking my way home after sitting on a bench listening to music for what Must’ve been hours. I walked under a sky that seemed to be experimenting with shades of orange and purple, I felt a strange kind of solitude sneaking in. My thoughts kept playing a merry-go-round with Mikey, Emila, and now absent Antonio - the trio that had become the stars of my high school drama.
My front door protested loudly under my foot’s frustrated kick, and a slurred
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
Bellowed from the living room. My mother, ensnared in an alcoholic haze, lounged over the couch, her shaking finger accusingly pointed in my direction.
“Did you forget that I get migraines?”
The smell of tequila permeated the air, filling my nostrils as soon as I crossed the threshold. I sighed, hoping for a lifeline.
“Is dad home?”
My mother sank back onto the couch, her voice a whisper
“No.”
My father, the only one who occasionally lent an ear when I complained about Mikey, was perpetually chained to his cubicle, another cog in the corporate machine.
I ascended the stairs, each creaking step a harmony to the melancholic rhythm of the dark. The silent house held the weight of my unease, my chest tightening with an indescribable yearning. Tucked away in the solitude of my room, I pulled out my phone, the screen’s glow illuminating my apprehensive features. I typed out a tentative message to Emilia, a small confession of the feelings that had long been gnawing at my insides.
“Hey, Emilia, I…”
First message sent. But before I could finish my second text, the dreaded words - ‘Message Failed to Send’ stared back at me. My heart sank. Was it a sign? Maybe the universe was intervening, telling me it wasn’t the right time, or perhaps, it never would be. Disheartened, I slung my phone aside, letting the unsent feelings hover in the digital void. Slipping under the comforting shroud of my blanket, I drifted off into a sleep, with dreams tinted in hues of Emilia and unspoken words.
The next morning started out ordinary until it was splattered with the color of angst when I pleaded with Mikey that morning to stay away from Emila. His response?
“Amelia, the freshman? Didn’t know you had a thing for her.”
His nonchalance was maddening.
“Emila. As your brother, I’m asking you to back off”
I clarified, hoping it would penetrate his stubborn exterior.
His perplexed expression turned into a nonchalant shrug.
“Damn, been saying her name wrong the few times we spoke, and she never bothered to correct me.”
Mikey shrugged and walked away, leaving me feeling dismissed and unheard.
Feeling a mix of frustration and confusion, I left for school and shook off the encounter with my brother and headed to my first-period class. As I stepped into the room, I expected to see my usual teacher, Ms. Thompson, waiting at her desk. However, to my surprise, it was someone else entirely—a teacher I had never seen before. I had really liked Ms. Thompson too so to see she got a substitute on the last day was dissapointing. Yet his resemblance to Ms. Thompson was uncanny, from the way he held himself to the tone of his voice. I knew something was off.
I glanced around the classroom, taking in the unfamiliar arrangement of notes and papers hanging on the walls. The subjects and diagrams were foreign to me, not matching the usual decor that adorned this space. It was as if I had entered an alternate dimension, where everything seemed the same yet completely different.
As the class went on, the new teacher droned on with the same monotony I had grown accustomed to, but it felt hollow, lacking the genuine concern and passion that Ms. Thompson always displayed. The other students seemed oblivious to the change, talking and cutting up as if nothing was amiss. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Throughout the rest of class, my mind wandered, retracing the events of the past few days. Antonios unexpected absence, the failed text to Emila, Mikey’s nonchalant reaction to my warning about Emila, the strange teacher in place of Ms. Thompson—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. For the first time, I realized how little attention I had paid to the details of my daily routine. But now, with this subtle shift in my surroundings, I couldn’t help but question everything.
As the class finally came to an end, I gathered my things and made my way out.
The unfolding of the remaining classes before lunch did nothing to alleviate the paranoia that was steadily creeping over me. In my second-period class, usually dedicated to cleaning out the science lab, I noticed a set of instruments that we’d never used before. My peers didn’t bat an eyelid, but to me, the incongruity was unsettling. Then in English, our final class reading didn’t correspond to the assigned book. The text seemed different, as though it had been subtly altered.
Physical education, typically a free play session on the last day, was different too. Coach Peters was blowing a whistle I’d never seen before, its pitch more grating than the usual. And just before lunch, during the end-of-year assembly, the principal’s speech, usually so predictable, seemed off. It contained references to events and achievements that didn’t match my memories.
As lunchtime arrived, a mix of anticipation and anxiety filled the air. Even with my world falling apart I found time to worry about Mikey’s presence around Emila. However, Emila was nowhere to be found. When I mentioned this to the group as I took my seat, my words were met with silence, as if I had become invisible.
Sitting alone at the edge of the table, I sought solace in our group pictures, hoping to catch a glimpse of Emila. I opened Snapchat and scrolled through my camera roll until I found my favorite picture of her. But to my surprise, Emila was inexplicably absent from the image. I blinked in disbelief, rubbed my eyes, and questioned my own perception. How could she have vanished? In the photo, my arm had once embraced her, but now it hung empty at my side.
“Guys, where’s Emila?”
I asked, passing my phone to Elijah. He stared at the screen for a long moment, as if emerging from a trance.
“Who?”
He finally responded absentmindedly, his attention quickly diverted by a video shared by another friend.
Taking back my phone, I desperately searched for more pictures, only to find that they had vanished—her Instagram, Snapchat, even her parents’ Facebook profiles. Panic gripped me, and I screamed
“WHERE IS EMILA!?”
My voice resonating through the cafeteria, reverberating off the walls. The entire room fell into an eerie silence, and all eyes turned to me, their gazes fixed with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Her social media is gone. I feel like I’m going insane, and none of you even acknowledge me!”
My voice cracked with desperation as I pleaded for answers.
Mikey and Elijah rose from their seats, their expressions filled with compassion, ready to console me. But I couldn’t bear their pity, their feeble attempts to calm my tormented mind. Their words would be meaningless. With a surge of frantic energy, I pushed my chair back and fled the suffocating atmosphere of the cafeteria.
As I stumbled out of the school, my surroundings blurred in a whirlwind of confusion and distress. The world itself seemed to warp and twist, mocking my feeble attempts to comprehend the inexplicable. Thoughts tumbled through my mind, colliding and fragmenting like shattered glass. Where had Emila gone? How could she vanish so completely, leaving no trace behind? Was I losing my grip on reality?
A light drizzle began peppering the surroundings, setting a somber atmosphere. Hours slipped away as I aimlessly wandered, searching for answers. Maybe someone had slipped me acid-laced food, or perhaps I was crazy like my mother. The thought of my brother’s affinity for drugs crossed my mind, but I had never dabbled. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to find a sense of respite in my vape once again.
Entering the 7-Eleven, a chilling sensation overcame me as I discovered the same elderly man behind the counter. Without uttering a word, I hopped over the counter, desperate to find any clue.
“Kid, you can’t be back there!”
The man exclaimed, attempting to restrain me. Swiftly, I pushed him away, unearthing the work schedule from the wall.
“Where’s Antonio?” I stammered.
The old man, seemed to recognize me.
“I asked about that. Antonio doesn’t work here”
He said, struggling to regain his footing. Overwhelmed with a sense of paranoia, I bolted out of the gas station, gasping for breath only when I reached the safety of my home.
In the dim light of the early evening, I found myself sprawled on the unkempt grass of the front yard. The recent rain had left the ground sodden, but I barely noticed the wetness seeping into my clothes. As the rain mingled with my silent tears, I heard the familiar rumble of my older brother Mikey’s truck pulling into the driveway.
“Hey pussy”
He exclaimed, pushing his rain-soaked hair back from his forehead. His voice carried a light-hearted jest that felt foreign amidst the somber atmosphere. He was always like this, quick to crack a joke even in the gloomiest of moments. It was his way of diffusing tension, I suppose. He reached out, pulling me up and leading me towards the house. Once inside and in his room, an aroma filled my nose – a peculiar mix of stale pizza and mildewy old books – that somehow comforted me in a strange, indescribable way. It was an olfactory reminder of a time before things got so complicated.
Catching my eye, Mikey reached into his drawer and withdrew an intricately designed glass bong. I had seen it before, on one of those rare occasions when Mikey would let me into his private world. Now, he was extending the invitation again. He passed me the bong, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I hesitated for a moment, my mind flashing back to times when mom would sit us down in front of the TV after school, her kind and comforting presence a strong reassurance of love and security. That was before the alcohol took over, before the comforting light in her eyes had been replaced by a glassy, distant look. The thought of her brought an odd sense of calmness, as if her spirit was there with me, in Mikey, guiding me through this haze.
Taking the bong from Mikey, I let out a nervous chuckle, matching his playful demeanor. As I took a hit, we fell into a comfortable laughter, punctuated only by the deafening theme song of Family Guy playing on the large TV in the corner of his room. The memory of our shared laughter resonated deeply within me, a balm to the churning unrest I had been feeling.
“It seems today that all you see is violence in movies and -“
Suddenly, the television vanished, replaced by a weathered dresser that had been stored in the attic.
Mikey’s phone suddenly blared a familiar jingle.
“Ah, man. One sec, bro,”
“-sex on TV.” My brother’s phone blared at maximum volume.
“Sorry, bro, my friend texted me”
He explained, placing the phone between us.
“Where’s the TV?”
I muttered, the words hardly audible. As the high intensified, the room started to spin, the comfort of Mickey’s presence fading away. I reached out in a futile attempt to steady myself but fell onto the cold, hardwood floor. The room seemed to swirl around me, familiar objects distorting into unrecognizable shapes and colors.
Pulling myself up, I lurched out of the room, navigating the labyrinthine house as fragments of memories flooded my mind. It felt like I was walking through a dream – a vivid, disorienting journey through time and space. Stepping outside, I saw the lawn had morphed into a neatly trimmed landscape, A new ‘For Sale’ sign swaying gently in the evening breeze, dissolved away as quickly as I noticed it.
The sounds of laughter drew my attention to the house. The windows were aglow with warm, inviting light, revealing an unfamiliar family engrossed in their game night. Their joy was a stark contrast to my growing desolation.
As days rolled on, my world reshaped, transforming from the familiar to an enigmatic panorama. Faces blurred, places mutated, my identity itself seemed to wane, fading into oblivion.
Caught in this mutating reality, I felt a quiet observer, my existence phasing out into the ether. Friends, family, Emila - all were doomed to be memories of a boy who will soon be gone.
Then, amidst the dissolving haze, clarity dawned, presenting a profound revelation. Our Earth was yearning for equilibrium, burdened with the weight of 8 billion souls, a possibly infinite and cruel humanity, now quickly seeking balance before it was too late.
We had pushed our home to her brink. Now, a beautiful transformation is underway. Smiling strangers began to color my world, their joy reflecting the Earth’s newfound harmony. Merchandise, once an extravagant luxury, now seemed accessible to all. The battlefield in Ukraine had given way to peace, a testament to the world healing its wounds.
As I type this out in a clean and rather nicely lit alleyway. I find myself blending into the cosmic expanse, my hands and arms fading away before returning as if the universe wants me to finish. As I turn from a solid entity into an echo of existence. The world moves on, its stride unperturbed by my fading presence. Yet, in my diminishing, I realize my contribution to Earth’s balance.
Earth is in the midst of achieving perfection. Many of you won’t make it and will be gutted like myself, some of you will stay. The rest of you, I catch glimpses of as I fade, timeliness unaffected and left to die without God.
My final thoughts are not of sorrow, but of serene acceptance and profound understanding. As I phase into the ether, I became a cosmic whisper, a gentle reminder of the necessity for balance and respect for our fragile planet.