Originally Posted by Thewritingkid
Alright Joe, now how are the people around you? Besides what you've stated, what are your mother and father like? How do they look?
And Jeff, what was he like?
The people around me being those at school? Well there a lot of bullies at my school. I hate that word though I wish they'd come up with something that doesn't sound so cute. It's a serious issue and no one will take it seriously with a name like that. The teachers for one. The school officials don't really do anything about it. They don't seem to notice. They're all too worried about budget cuts I guess. And the kids who talk to the teachers about it just get bullied worse for it.
The rest of the kids are alright, but they don't really talk to me.
My mother is very sweet. Too sweet sometimes. She's one of those "look on the bright side" people. Or at least that's what she lets people see. I don't think she's as happy as she pretends to be. That may be why she's so quiet most of the time. She very pretty. She has short brown hair and hazel eyes. Her hair is very soft. She says when I was a baby and she'd hold me, I always reached up to her hair and played with it. She said it was similar to how other babies are with a blanket. The softness was soothing.
My dad, he acts tough and looks tough. He works hard and his job as a general contractor leaves its mark on him. His hands are rough and calloused. He often has cuts and bruises from missing the nail with the hammer or pulling out thorny bushes, things like that. He comes home dirty and reeking of sweat. I wish he'd shower before he sits down at the dinner table. My mom hates it too, but she doesn't say anything. He and I have been in some quarrels over me telling him he smells and it's bothering me when I'm trying to enjoy my food.
He hates his job too. He takes that out on my I think. The pay can be good when he's got the right job, but many of his jobs are petty have a low pay for such hard work. Sometimes he goes months without a job. He's self employed, so there's no guarantee of regular work. It makes things stressful at home sometimes because we don't always have enough money for all the bills. Sometimes the refrigerator is empty. I used to go to Jeff's house for dinner during those times.
I think he'd have been better as a prison warden. That's how he acts at home, like I'm just some criminal that he has to watch and I have to do everything he says with no question. That's the job he really wanted, but he's been turned down every time he applies because he has no experience. He grew up doing contractor work with his dad. His father made him work to help pay the bills. He had to drop out of high school to do it, but he did get his GED later. Even though it's the equivalent of a high school degree, no one wants to hire someone with a GED.
Now to Jeff. He was a great friend. He was always there for me when I needed him. I used to go hang out at his house when my dad and I fought. We did our homework together. He was dyslexic, so I'd help him with figuring out whether he was looking at a 6 or a 9, and he'd help me with my science homework. He was so smart.
He was also sad a lot. He seemed to be obsessed with everything dark. He read books about serial killers. He knew more than most people do about torture and execution methods. He talked all the time about death- wondering if it would hurt to die. I was worried about him. Maybe I should have done more to help him. But he was seeing a psychiatrist already. Damn doctor kept putting him on one medication, then another and not a single damn one of them did anything to help. And each time he had to change, he'd go through withdrawls, or he'd start another one and have some bad reaction. Eventually he gave up on finding a cure for his depression. It was shortly after when he killed himself.
After he died, his mother said I could go through his things and take something I wanted to keep. We'd grown up together, so she saw me as family to him- a brother. So did I. Going through his things, I found his father's gun and a journal Jeff had kept. He had thought about taking the gun to school to teach those bastards a lesson. He thought about killing them, but killed himself instead. I think he chose the wrong one to kill.
I took the gun and the journal so his mom wouldn't find it. It would upset her more. I hope I can be a friend to her, help her through this. Her and I have something in common- Jeff was the only friend we had.