His room isn't too big, but it's definitely as organized as any room can get. Posters of his favorite games, like Detroit: Become Human, Cyberpunk 2077, and his favorite manga series, like Tokyo Ghoul and MONSTER, adorn his walls. To his left, a simple office chair in front of small computer desk. No computer in sight, though. It's reserved mostly for reading, evident by the wooden bookshelf next to it, filled with the actual copies of his favorite manga and novels. To his right, however, is a nightstand. He looks at the medication bottle on the far end of it, the one that's next to his charging phone. "Chlorpromazine," it reads. An orange, cylindrical bottle. Generic. All he could get. Not because of the money, but because of his dismissive psychiatrist. Life's usual somber emptiness... it's actually being washed away somewhat by these tablets. It's a little disturbing, when he thinks about it, how humans have gotten this far medically. These past few days have been stressful, they've been difficult, but because of these tiny little edible pebbles, he's able to continue. Maybe things will get better, he thinks. Yeah, things will be alright. Maybe this is the cure. His cure. His answer. Will it satiate him? Will he finally be sedated—alleviated? Altered enough to be happy with things? Yes, that may very well be the case.
"Chlorpromazine."
So why hasn't he opened the bottle? He holds it in his hands, gripping the cap with the other, ready to unscrew. Within this bottle lies feeling alright—feeling okay. Stability—away from fragility. After a couple of seconds of debating, he impulsively opens the bottle and swallows his daily dose of normality. But as soon as it hits his stomach, the moment that he feared most comes. Extreme, gut-wrenching pain overtakes his entire abdomen. Pain like no other. A strange pain, one that no outside observer would notice. Only he can, as he stares into his swirling eyes in the mirror.
'Should've known better than to think this time would be any different,' he thinks, walking to the bathroom and looking at himself in the mirror. 'Damn... Even something as small as the medication triggers this insatiable...'
Hunger.
It's practically all he knows at this point.
"Vince," his mom, a surprisingly tall ginger woman, taps him on the shoulders, startling him. "You've gotta eat something. Just a tiny bit."
"Wish I could, mom," he says, getting up, abandoning his bowl of strawberry cereal. "But I'd rather keep my sanity."
"Have you tried meditation?" she asks innocently.
"Yes, mom. It does nothing. It's hunger."
"But it can't be, honey," she says, picking up his cereal. "Doctor said so."
"I don't think this hunger is purely psychological, mom. He basically called me crazy," he says, tucking his arms into his boxy, black backpack's straps. "Partly why he gave me the new meds."
"But they're working, right?" his mom asks, eating the cereal herself.
"On my mind only," he says, walking to the door. "Still something though, I guess..."
"Hey," she says, placing a fairly large plant pot on the counter. "Can you do your thing?"
"This again?" he asks, sighing. "You know it's just confirmation bias, right?" he peers into the empty pot's soil. "What are you trying to grow this time, anyway?"
"Potatoes. Just touch it, hun. It's gonna work. Remember that time when you were tiny?"
"No," he says, patting the soil.
"At Marthy's house, we were trading crops as usual. She couldn't give us any of her corn because it all withered over night. You were with me. You really don't remember?"
"Sorry," he traces a spiral on the soil, concentrating from the edges to the center.
"Well, you'd always come along with me. She'd usually have some corn ready for us a week or so before Thanksgiving, and we'd give some of our own crops to her in exchange. Suddenly, you disappeared. Never knew when it happened. We were just talking, then poof. Looked everywhere for you. Turns out, you were frolicking in the dead cornfield. Except the corn around you looked brand new—as if it'd never died."
"Oooh," he says, sliding the pot back to her. "So that's where it all started."
"From then on, the corn never died once! Once! Actually, it grew out of hand—"
"Wait, did she use that corn to make the fake Saké at her bar?"
"Yeah! Well, aren't you just a detective? Wait, how'd you know it's fake?"
"Finlay," he says. "Wait, you're not hoping to start your own bar with these potatoes, are you? Like I said, it's just confirmation bias... There's no way they're gonna grow. It's winter, after all."
"It's not confirmation bias! And I'm not. I'm just using your talents to give us some free food Just accept it, you're a little miracle boy and that's that!"
Vince blushes, scratching his head. "Eh...I'm gonna go to school now."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" his mom asks teasingly.
"I forget a lot of things, mom. It's basically my thing."
"Especially kissing your mom goodbye," she says, frustrated, her mouth full.
Vince kisses two fingers and throws them at her as he walks out of the door with a smile. She aggressively swallows, slamming her fist on the counter. He can hear her cussing him out as he walks out of the door, admitting a chuckle.
The ice-cold wind instantly hits him in the face. He feels as if the wind waited for him to exit. He instinctively pulls up his red coat's hood, tightening it. Though he barely minds the cold, frostbite still hurts. And though he's fully kitted out in winter clothing, he can still feel the cold slowly seeping into his legs. Without a moment's hesitation, he quickly makes his way to the bus stop, unafraid of slipping on any ice. December has just rolled around the corner today, but there's no snow or frost in sight. At the bus stop, with some minutes to spare, he pulls out his phone and wireless earbuds, launching his music player and quietly jamming out to the beautiful melodies and angelic vocals of Spandau Ballet's "Gold".
His foot taps to the beat, his hands sway as if he's directing an orchestra, and his body flows with the music. Another escape. His mind creates visuals—pleasant ones. Ones he prefers over the dreary images of the real world. This world suits him more. That and the world of dreams. These worlds satisfy him, as apposed to the emptiness that reality brings him. But these are deserts, and he's not a kid anymore; there is no nutrition in simply eating sweets. And just like a dream, it comes to an end.
The bus has arrived. Vince sighs, hearing the pressure leaving the vehicle. If it weren't for that, he'd have still been jamming out in pure ignorance. That would've been embarrassing, he thinks as he walks up the bus's stairs. Instantly, the horrid smell of body odor and the stressful cacophony of screams and laughs fill the atmosphere.
'They're like animals. Caged animals...' he thinks, picking the front bus seat.
Unfortunately for him, it's already taken. Taken by a particularly annoying caged animal. Kurt McCready. Vince's eyelids drop in disappointment as he looks upon the short, Scottish kid with the bowl cut and brown hair gaze up at him with a spitefully satisfied smile. If they were all be dogs, Kurt would be a Chihuahua, only ruling because his dad is a Saint Bernard only in money. He imagines his chubby dog, Trigger. 'No,' he thinks. 'Not a Saint Bernard. Trigger is a Saint Bernard. They're cute and noble. His dad's more like a coyote. Opportunistic and cunning.'
"You gonna do something?" Kurt asks in a provocative yet mellow voice.
Vince rolls his eyes before making his way to the back of the bus. The deeper he walks in, the more animalistic the people become. He wonders why they're like this. Monkey-like one moment—cruel even, and uncaring...civilized and confirming the next when they're adults.
'They're all like that,' he thinks as he sits down on the cold, empty seat at the far end of the bus. 'We all are, I guess. If not for our parents and society...I wonder how we'd be without that...' He lays his head on the ice-cold window of the bus, the rocking of which occasionally causes his head to hit the glass. 'If I never had mom to guide me...or dad—though, he never got to...If every kid was free to do what they wanted and grow up without any external influence...what would the world become? Pure anarchy...?'
His eyes start closing, the poor sleep from last night catching up to him. 'Yeah...that wouldn't be good. But it'd sure be fascinating...Maybe the world and its mechanisms domesticate us...trap us. Though, it probably doesn't have a choice...if that system didn't exist, I'm sure the world would be...'
"Over," a stern male voice says. "Class was over a while ago."
Blink.
He does so.
First seeing his hands, his gaze slowly moves up until it meets his teacher, an average-sized, half Asian man with a thick, sharp black moustache that points every so slightly upwards. Black hair adorns his head, contrasting with his cyan polo. He's holding a textbook, and in front of him, at the corner of the desk, is a black nameplate that reads "Mr. Yu".
"Fell asleep again?" he asks Vince, an eyebrow raising.
"Yeah, sorry..." he admits, looking down at his papers.
"Vince, this is the third or fourth time since the start of the year," he says, closing his book abruptly. "What's been going on?"
"Not much, just not able to sleep well is all..." Vince says, beginning to write his name down on the paper.
"Insomnia? Is that it?"
"Yes," he says before his pencil snaps in two.
"Because it seems to be more than that. You can talk to me, you know?"
"Really, I'm fine."
"Well, your pencil clearly isn't. Come get a spare one."
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He gets up, embarrassed. Thankfully, his hair partially masks his face; two sharp, long bangs that conveniently mask his eye sockets. Though he tries to comb these away every morning, they always manage to find their way back to their eye-covering position. Mr. Yu hands him another No. 2 pencil, which he takes sheepishly.
"Not so fast," Mr. Yu says, stopping Vince before he goes back to his desk. "Let me see your eyes, Vince."
"Um... Uh... Why?" he asks, facing away.
"If you don't, I'll fail you," he says frankly.
"...Fine," he says, turning around, raising his bangs up, a guilty expression underneath. His eyes were twitching in an uncanny way.
"You're not telling me the full truth," Mr. Yu says, crossing his arms, plopping his feet on the table. "Did somethin' happen with your mom?"
"No."
"Has she...laid off the caffeine at all?" he asks, his tone shifting to a more considerate one.
"Not even a little."
"Is that what's bothering you?"
"...Got me. Gonna go back to finishin' that—"
"Vince, you don't have to tell me anything. I'm your teacher, not your dad," he says, Vince forming a slight saddened, culpable frown. "But I can't deny the fact that you've been performing very poorly because of something external. I know you. This whole year...I've noticed you making more and more mistakes—not to mention cutting corners. You don't have to deal with things on your own, you know?"
He's right, Vince admits to himself. He knows that he could and can always tell Mr. Yu whatever's on his mind. Any of his issues, any of his worries, William Yu will always be there to listen, advice at the ready. Yu, himself, as he stares at the sleep deprived, red-haired boy in front of him, remembers when the same boy was a more bright, brown-haired version of himself. Kids his age go through these phases, sure, but Vince either hit it late or something else entirely is going on, because Vince out-right defied what it meant to be a teenager. Never loud, never impulsive or bratty... He still remembers when he'd get straight A's or B-pluses in his chemistry class. Ever since the beginning of the school year, he's been nothing but hardworking—even calling to tell him his latest record time for finishing homework.
"It's just...edgy, teenage things. Nothing serious."
"It's serious when it's affecting your academic performance, O'Bright," Mr. Yu eases up with a sigh. "But, fine...just get back to work. But I'm gonna help you finish it."
"Oh, alright. Thanks." Vince says with an awkward smile, scratching the back of his head.
"Aaaand...that's time," Mr. Yu says, silencing his smartwatch's alarm. "Two whole minutes earlier than before. Good job."
"And...how'd I do?" Vince asks, resting his head on his fist.
"...A little better." Mr. Yu says, organizing the papers.
Vince shakes his head slightly in disappointment, looking out the window next to him. Mr. Yu, who's on an opposing desk-chair in front of him, notices, looking at the spot that he's looking at. He's looking at some withered roses that are outside, on the edges of the school.
"Poor roses. Winter's destroying them..." Vince says, the cold of the window pressing against his knuckles.
"They're actually just black," Mr. Yu says, walking to his desk, storing Vince's papers in the drawer.
"What?!" Vince asks, amused. "There's such a thing as black roses?!"
"Thought you'd know that," Mr. Yu says with a smirk. "You good with plants, after all."
"You really buyin' into my mom's delusions?" he asks in disbelief.
"She's definitely got an imagination. It's endearing."
"Wait...what...?" Vince blushes.
"CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT THE PRINCIPAL WANTS TO REMOVE THOSE ROSES?!" Mr. Yu exclaims, surprising Vince. He rushes over to Vince, pointing to the roses. "I planted those myself! Cost me a pretty penny! Got them imported directly from Ulaanbaatar!"
"What...where's—"
"Mongolia. Damned Principal Hard-Ass thinks they're parasitic."
"Didn't know there are black roses in Mongolia."
"Me neither."
Looking out the window once more, Vince witnesses a wasp, a particularly big one, fly on down to the bulb of the rose. How a wasp is both out and flying about in these temperatures is beyond him, but what fascinates him more is what the insect is currently doing. As it wedges its body inside of the petals and wiggles its butt in what might be joy, its happy movements begin to slow down. The cold, maybe? Did it finally get to it? Eventually, the wasp goes completely limp. Paralyzed—lifeless. Suddenly, the rose begins to absorb the insect, the bug's tint spreading to the petals, dying them a bright yellow. Eventually, the wasp completely disappears, and the rose goes back to being black—all while Vince looks on in wonder and slight disgust. He snaps his gaze to Mr. Yu, who's reaching into his teacher's bag, pulling out two red plastic cups and a green matcha bag.
"Did you see that?!" Vince asks curiously. "A random wasp outside. It just...died when it touched that flower."
"Impossible. You been taking your meds, Vince?" Mr. Yu asks, unscrewing his water canteen's cap, the hot water's steam slapping him in the face.
"'Course I have! I swear there's...Oh, forget it. Probably just a residual."
Mr. Yu pours the instant matcha into the two cups, along with some honey from a small, bear-shaped bottle he gets from his bag's outer pocket. He's always ready for a matcha break—it's his favorite tea, after all. Mr. Yu stirs the teas with a stirring stick that came with the instant matcha bag while adding the hot water. It's impressive that the water is still this hot, he thinks.
'Thanks, Mitch. Your crazy Kemu recommendations actually have some use for once. Just worried it's radioactive...'
He gently slides one of the cups of tea to Vince, whose focus is locked solely on the rose.
"Want some tea?" he asks.
Vince looks at the hot, green liquid in front of him. "I...can't really say no now, can I?"
"Nope," Mr. Yu says, sipping the boiling hot matcha, his throat uncaring.
"How can you drink that?! Let it cool down?!"
"You kids..." he says with a smirk. "This is child's play."
Vince looks down at the sloshing tea, his reflection waving about on the water. For a second, he's reminded of his mother. The freckles that adorn her face and his are identical. But unlike him, she's actually strong—resilient. Somehow, despite all she's been through, she carries on every day. Maybe it's because of the caffeine...or maybe it's because she has a son. He wonders what would become of her if he suddenly disappeared—didn't exist. Or, god forbid, di—
Snap.
"Hey, Vince," Mr. Yu says, snapping his fingers. "You falling asleep again?"
"No, of course not," he says, flinching.
There's a brief pause, his reflection now all but gone as the water's ripples worsen.
"Hey, Mr. Yu," he asks softly. "Are you happy here?"
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"Working as a teacher."
"Well," he strokes his moustache, a bit perplexed by the question. "I'm not sure; never thought about it. I don't really think happiness is a concern of mine. I just...do my job."
"You think parents are the same?" he asks. "Are they also just doing their job?"
Mr. Yu gulps, sweat forming on his neck as he adjusts his collar. Suddenly, Vince is asking him heavy questions. Ones he wasn't expecting, nor is he prepared for. What should he say? How should he proceed? He continues in the only way that he knows.
"Say," he says, leaning in. "Did I ever tell you how I got hired here?"
"Not really, no," Vince says, his face hovering over the steam.
"Wanna hear it?"
"Does it involve suspicious behavior?" Vince asks, leaning in.
"How'd you guess?!" Mr. Yu asks, half sarcastically, loading up a photo album on his phone.
"Wait...!" Vince says, unbelieving.
"Check this out," he says, showing Vince a photo.
The photo is of an enraged, half Asian young man being carried out of some kind of building with lots of glass windows by two large security guards. A broken glass door lies on the floor behind them. Vince is beyond taken aback. That's his teacher disturbing the peace! He would've never thought that someone like him would end up in a situation like that.
"That's you! What's the context?!"
"I got rejected from my dream job," he says, sipping his tea. "NASA. I never really wanted to be a chemistry teacher, you know? Most of my family is something akin to that, however. My mom's a doctor, and both my dad and brother are chemists. Naturally, they wanted me to follow in their footsteps. It was my niece who put the love of space in me. She wanted to be an astronaut when she grows up. Of course, now she is. It's unfortunate that I couldn't join her like I promised her."
"Why? Why'd they reject you?"
Mr. Yu pauses for a second, gripping his cup of tea slightly. He looks around the room for a second before leaning in and speaking quieter.
"Because they couldn't get past a minor traffic accident that landed me in jail for a couple of months. One mistake and your wole life is ruined."
"In jail?! No wonder they rejected you!" he says. "Wait, how old were you in the photo?"
"Twenty-one years old. This was back in the two-thousands. It's a photo of a photo. Surprised my friend could even take it at all from how heated the situation was. Funny that, right before, these were the photos," he says, grabbing the phone and swiping to previous photos of him happily in front of NASA headquarters.
"Yeah, I was betting everything on NASA. As soon as I graduated, I went straight for it. I wasn't going to get any other job. Months passed by and those little—" he catches himself, "suckers were still ghosting me. Guess they got tired of calling to reject me."
"So you just went up to the HQ and gave them a piece of your mind?"
"Exactly."
"Why'd your friend come along?"
"He was trying to stop me from lashing out."
'Clearly that didn't go so well...' Vince thinks.
"Anyway, in the end, I tried looking for work as a teacher anywhere. I wasn't going to be a chemist for any other organization, and any other job was out of the question for a stubborn guy like me. After most schools and institutions rejected me, right before giving up, this school..." he gestures around himself, "accepted me. They might've even known about my criminal history. Probably didn't care. They were really eager to get a chemist onboard; the old one left had quit abruptly."
"Wow...I never knew. That other chemistry teacher must've gotten tired of teaching uninterested kids."
Mr. Yu nods with a smirk, his arms crossed. "You think I don't? You're lucky to have me every year."
"So, what exactly was the accident, anyway?" Vince asks curiously.
"Let's just say you don't want to get in the way of an uncle who's late for his niece's play."
Vince gulps. He had no idea Mr. Yu was capable of such anger and determination. In way, it kind of makes him cooler, he thinks.
"You feeling better?" Mr. Yu asks considerately.
"That was all to cheer me up?!"
"Well, yeah. I don't reveal stuff like that easily," he says, scratching his moustache. "Don't wanna get fired now, you know? Not after I found stability."
Vince's ears perk up.
"It's nice, you know? I never wanted to be a chemist, really. Only exception was NASA, but that was because of my niece and my love for space. Chemistry...plus teaching it, sounded like nothing but a chore for me, at first. But it was all that I had. I didn't spend all those years studying for nothing."
"So...you are happy here then?"
"Sure, why not? At first, no. But now...I wouldn't know any other life. I just had to get used to it, I suppose—my new life. Adapt to liking it."
"Don't know if that sounds pleasant..."
"True, but isn't modern life like that, anyway?" Mr. Yu asks, leaning back in his chair. "Hard to find someone who's happy with what they do. Especially those who study hard to be something and actually achieve it. It tends to be underwhelming. When you expect, you'll often just be disappointed. Because there's no better version of something than the one in your mind. But when you drop expectations—accept what you have, you'll find happiness and appreciation in whatever you get. Even if I couldn't make it to NASA, I'm fine gazing at the stars and pointing at my niece on the ISS in the sky before going to sleep. I was made to be a chemistry teacher, it looks like. I just had to accept that," he leans in, facing Vince, "You just have to find what you were made for. Whatever it is, you've got to accept it. Once you do, you'll be happier than if you had achieved whatever it is you thought you were made for.
"But what do I know, right? I'm just a grumpy old dude, hahah."
Vince's eyes are wide in bewilderment. 'Grumpy old dude'? Not even close.
"No, I...get what you mean. Jeez...I never thought you were so wise," he says, still processing what his teacher said.
"Not sure if that cheered you up or cleared up anything that was on your mind...since I can't read it. Did I even come close?" he asks with a slight smile and weak chuckle.
"I think so."
"You're not just saying that to be nice, are you?"
"Maybe a little, but not entirely. I was kinda worried about what I'd become in the future."
"So, did you make up your mind?"
"Nope. You actually just encouraged me to give up on my dreams."
Mr. Yu nearly falls back in his chair. "What?! That wasn't..."
Vince gives a silent chuckle. "Relax, I meant that you made me realize that all I have to be is something that I'm good at. I'm good at cooking, boxing, and gardening. But I'm not sure that I can do any of those for a living for long... I'm graduating this year, and I was so worried about what I'd pick as a future. Worried that, no matter what I picked, I'd never feel satisfied. I'd always look for something...more. Eventually, I'd run out of things to look for."
"Really? You don't think you'd be satisfied with being a professional chef or boxer?"
"I guess that's just my problem."
"I knew you worked hard, but I never knew you were this overly ambitious. Is that what's getting you down?"
Vince blushes slightly, realizing what he accidentally revealed. "Oh, I...Yeah. Jeez..."
Mr. Yu leans in. "Hey, so you know you have this issue, but you can't exactly change a fundamental part of yourself like that so easily. That's fine. Acknowledging the issue is the first step to fixing it."
Vince smiles, looking down slightly. "Right...that's right. My psychologist calls it depression... But it's not something that superficial."
"Vince, you never told me you had depression. I'm...sorry, son."
Vince flares a grin. "And constant, gut-wrenching hunger, too!" he gives a forced laugh to lighten the mood.
It doesn't work at all. Mr. Yu's composed demeanor changes to one of sympathy and worry. He lowers his head slightly, shaking it.
"Hey, I got something to help you on your path to greatness. It's not much, but it means a lot to me," he says, reaching into his teachers bad, pulling out a mechanical pencil.
The pencil itself is very sleek and metallic. It looks more like a pen, and it has a heft weight when Vince holds it with his two palms. His face is reflected on the dark chrome surface of the tool. It feels premium. It is premium. Who knows how much it costs? Fifty dollars? Sixty? Maybe even more.
"Mr. Yu...something so expensive?"
"Damned right. You earned it."
"Just because I'm depressed? You don't have to—"
"Oh, shut up. Don't spout that crap. I'm giving it to you because your the best student in this class. Bunch of uncaring amateurs, the lot of them. You, though? A couple of fumbles and stumbles just shows how hard you you've been working."
"Thank you," Vince smiles warmly, storing the pencil in his backpack's inner pocket. "I'll take care of it."
"You better. It cost me a hundred dollars," Mr. Yu motions to the tea. "Want this to go?"
Vince grabs the cup of tea now that it's cooled down. He downs it all in one big gulp, letting out an exhale.
"I should've savored that. It was delicious!"
"Try not to fall asleep. It's got a lot of L-theanine in it," he says, getting up, wrapping the teacher's bag around him. "Now, you should get going. It's Friday, and I have to go to my friend's birthday party. He insists that I do," he turns to Vince, "Am I a bad person for picking work and studies over my friend?"
Vince shrugs at the question. "I'm not your guy if you're asking about moral dilemmas like that. Don't know what I'd pick, honestly. Probably both."
Mr. Yu chuckles, waving a back-handed goodbye to Vince as the boy walks to the exit door. As Vince grabs the door's doorknob, a question pops into his head. A good one. Flipping around, he asks it.
"Say, Mr. Yu," he asks half seriously. "I'm definitely not made to be a chemist. Does that mean I can skip class next Monday?"
Mr. Yu, who was erasing something on the white board, drops the eraser, dumbfounded by the question. "Absolutely not! I better see you in my class next Monday! And even earlier than usual!"
Vince chuckles, waving a back-handed goodbye as he swings open the door.
But he never opened it. It was swung open for him.
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