The Boy’s name was . Curled up in a ball he laid there. His knees to his chest, holding a pillow over his face, sobbing, and crying silently, “why me, O Lord, why me?” There had been an awful feeling present where he least wanted it, and the doom he envisioned before him plagued and haunted his mind. He thought his life was over. He had just gotten out of jail months prior, and was kicked out of his home. He thought for sure it meant prison this time. He thought for sure he was going to prison, he’d be beat up, raped, have to come out and register as a sex offender, and it was all over. Then what would he have to do.
“At 20, I’m already going to have to end it all,” he knew it. “How could this have been? What happened to my life?” It wasn’t even a full year ago he was attending a university, making new college friends, and hooking up with girls on the dormitory rooftop. He let himself think about that for a moment. He remembered when he got himself and his roommate written up for smoking weed. That was his roommate’s first time ever smoking, and he remembered how they both couldn’t stop laughing when the RN was taking their names down and describing how they “were deeply inhaling marijuana smoke” when she came in. What a rag she was he thought before the panic rid in once more, and that feeling, that wretched and forsaken helpless feeling creeped in again. Out of necessity, he got up, rolled a joint, and took a bath. Afterward he took some prescription sleeping pills and knocked himself out.
Throughout high school, and for as long as he could remember, he always dreamed of being an actor. He thought nothing could be greater than being able to play different characters and captivate an audience, move them to feel something. Hopefully, something real. That was always the goal. He was good at it too. With minimal effort he joined the thespian club at school, and was the lead in pretty much all their plays from sophomore year to graduation. He was a natural, and he knew it. And he loved it.
Most of life up to this point actually came pretty easy to him. He was spoiled. Not so much so where he was useless, but he lacked discipline. He moved schools a lot as a kid, but always seemed to pick up friends the first couple days. He was smart enough where school was never really challenging for him. He was handsome enough where things just kind of happened for him. He was even good at sports, which people like. He never really gave any of that much thought though, or needed to. None of that set him apart, and he knew that. He understood that. What made life worth living for him was something more valuable and precious than all the other stuff combined. It was something exceptional. Something magical. Something extraordinary. That was his heart. Something that also got him in trouble from time to time. He was intense, he was passionate… he lived life with a real spark. And he wore all of that on his sleeve