He felt dead again. How could he have repeated the same mistake time after time? All he wanted to do was make his dad proud, not to let him down anymore. And here he was again, no matter how hard he tried it always came back to the same thing. He thought of the pathetic grade he had gotten on his papers, and his entire heart sank like an anchor. He didn't feel like telling his dad-- god, he didn't feel like telling anyone at all. He just wanted to sit in a dark corner somewhere and just curl up and die. Life suddenly lost its technicolour sheen. After only four days into his freedom, his joy, he had to put up with the heaviness in his heart that forebode the time when he would have to tell his dad, face the disappointment. He would never admit it to anyone, but it hurt everytime he let him down. But he couldn't help it. Sometimes, he felt his father demanded so much more from him than he had to give.

His passion, his dreams and hopes lay within the wood of a Squier Stratocaster, sitting in a corner and dying to be plugged into its amp. He wrote songs ever so easily, words and emotions flowing like a river form the tips of his fingers. That wa sall he wanted to do in his life-- to make music and change the world. And then he had to be sent off to some prep school in the suburban county, where everyone was so incredibly smart and proper that he stuck out like a black rose among the red. The teachers hated him and told him he would never amount to anything, the other students were afraid of him or were too snobbish to even bother. He felt like he was stuck in prison, bolted down by manacles and chains.

He couldn't survive in this hell-hole any longer. Life was about studying and grades, and he just couldn't live with that. He was a rebel born to an exceptionally rich family, and he wished sometimes he wasn't. Everyone had such enormous expectations of him-- be a doctor, a lawyer, a lecturer. All he ever wanted to be was the guitarist in his band, to shake the world with what he was born to do. Instead, he was confined in th cage, the box which told him that he must become something he was sure he was not, and it was killing him inside. The stress, the stupid failure of working his brain to mush and yet not getting anything out of it-- it stung him and hurt him. He felt like just giving up entirely and dorppign out of this stupid school and living a normal life, where fun wasn't alien.

But then there would be his dad, the pain of letting him down, of not growing up according to his plan. It felt suddenly so empty, and he felt so alone. The heaviness in his heart was accompanied by a withering hope and pur loneliness, and he wished he could just shut his eyes and disappear soemwhere else, or wake up in someone else's body. He wished and wished and hoped and dreamed and screamed, the sound of his voice drowned out by the sound of the radio. For all his fake, stupid smiles and outer-calm, it hid how he bled like a wounded animal deep inside. He felt like he was ready to just break down and die right then and there. There had been people who told him to jst relax, just not think about it and have hope for everything else. When they said it, when his life got chucked up with other things, the hurt seemed muted, the burden seemed just that bit lighter. But then he stopped and just threw himself violently back into the reality of it all, and he felt sore and dead all over again.

No matter what happened, what had been said, how he tried to tell himself he had done his best and nothing can change. No matter how mcuh consolation he gave himself, he still felt as good as the trash in the road-- torn, broken, forgotten forever.

After all, everything's still messed up.