pre-story notes, yo.
Seven little drabbles based off of the seven themes of existentialism.
Was it time already?
Matt could feel the sunlight on his face. This feeling normally brings a sense of comfort to most people, but to Matt---
he just felt dread.
It was time to open his eyes. Opening his eyes meant admitting that he was awake. Being awake meant getting out of bed. Getting out of bed meant leaving his room, going to his classes... alone. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep, and maybe dream. Sometimes he would dream about Mello. They would be happy, smiling, laughing---
He was only happy when he was dreaming.
The dreams would always end, though, and he would wake up to that tight feeling of dread in his gut.
The games just weren't enough anymore. He would tap away mindlessly on the controllers, not even really thinking about what he was doing, not watching the characters on the screen in front of him. It wasn't enough.
And he just really hated always having to pick 'single player mode.'
He tried reading, but couldn't focus. He would watch TV in the rec. room, but everyone always argued over the channel. He would listen to the radio, but the music sucked. He would write--- sometimes he would write short stories, poem-things, and letters to Mello--- but he would just end up throwing them all away.
He was always bored.
Sometimes he thought of helping Near build a lego city that would only end up being destroyed five minutes after it's completion by a large dinosaur.
But he knew that he would just grow tired of that, too.
Why, why, why would Near never play with the other kids? How could someone stand to spend all those hours alone, with only blank puzzles and legos to keep them company?
"Near, do you want to come out to play?" someone would ask.
"No, thank you."
Matt would just hope and hope for Near to say yes for a change. (He knew in his heart, though, that Near would never, ever accept such an offer. He was alone, always alone, and that's how he wanted it.)
Matt had a sociology lecture that talked about social alienation. He actually took notes for once.
When that class was over, he folded the notes up and left them on Near's bed.
"Why are you so desperate to find a meaning in everything?" Near asked.
"Why are you so desperate to prove to me that there is no meaning in anything?" Matt shot back.
"Because you're hurting yourself."
"It gives me something to think about."
"You're jealous because Mello thought up a little purpose for himself and ran off to acheive it. You feel worthless now. I believe, though, that soon you'll come to realize that the idea of their being some divine purpose for everyone on this planet is quite absurd. Do you believe in God?"
"... Yeah. Yeah, I believe in God."
"Don't you think he's run out of ideas for everyone by now?"
But he was going nowhere; he wasn't like Mello. Mello knew where he was going to run off to. Matt didn't. Matt was lost.
He wandered around the streets for a few days, cried during the night, ate very little, and went into shock when a prostitute attempted to take him back to her place.
He was free, though. He could do what he wanted.
And what he wanted was to find Mello.
"Matt, you look horrible."
Matt did look horrible. Mello, on the other hand, didn't. He looked wonderfully arrogant and somewhat sadistic, and Matt just wanted to touch him, but he didn't...
"Why did you have to find me?"
Why did Mello have to ask such a stupid question?
"Because, Mello--- Hell, I don't know... I just... I guess I have this weird commitment to you or something."
"You're such a freakin' homo." Mello said, but there was a small smile playing on his lips.
"Whatever. I'm just happy to see you."
And then Matt was dead.
His death was kind of cool, pretty impressive--- no, no, no. He was going to take a chance and say that his death was fuckin' hardcore.
Yeah. That was it.
He was dead, and it had all been for Mello. That's why, when his body was slowly shutting down and he couldn't really see anything anymore, and his breathing was slowing down, (one, two, three... and then it stopped.) he was happy.
And when he opened his eyes again to indifferent, blank, empty--- nothingness, he still felt pretty fuckin' hardcore.