Imagine me

I make sure to step on each and every crack crisscrossing the grimy sidewalk. I have no mother to worry about, so why not? I do watch out though, for the ones with green stems flourishing out of them… why destroy something that’s trying to grow in such a dismal place? I have no chance, but at least, little plant, you do. You should.

My name is Marty.

No one seems to hear the loud splash as my ratty sneakers hit the puddle of murky water, but I feel the water splatter onto my calves and I feel it come down in little rivulets, entangling itself in my leg hair. Ever so slightly the rain begins to fall again, as if it hasn’t quite finished making me miserable yet.

I am sixteen years old.

The rain begins to fall harder and I feel my hair plaster against my neck. I jam my hands into the pockets of my baggy jeans and trudge along, not really paying much attention to where I’m going, letting my legs guide me. Not really paying much attention to the torrential downpour unfolding itself before me.

I like baseball. Basketball... not so much.

The bridge looms closer and I think, for the first time since my decision, about what I’m about to do. I can’t deny I’m a little scared. I can’t ignore all the questions flying around in my head. But I press on.

I really enjoy reading books about pirates.

No one seems to see me approach, but I see everyone. I see runners in hoodies bracing themselves against the wind and rain, wanting to meet their weekly goal. I see children watching t.v shows and playing video games in their cars while the parents bicker in the front seats. I see a hell of a lot.

My favorite color is yellow.

No one calls my name as I approach my destination. There are no footsteps behind me and there are no warm hands enveloping my arms, begging me not to do it. Not to go. It’s been a while since I’ve felt warm hands, since I’ve seen a smile directed at me. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to laugh. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to laugh, maybe I just have no one to laugh with.

I prefer cats over dogs.

I climb up on the concrete ledge. The bright orange of the police officer’s raincoat glimmers annoyingly out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t come near me. He doesn’t even acknowledge my presence.

I like action films.

I close my eyes and sigh. The rain continues its downpour as my hands curl up into fists. My hands. As I unfurl them in front of me, I can see bloody half-moons across my palms.

Am I human?

Let go.

When imaginary friends are forgotten, they die.