Pacing the room, as so many nights he does, he thinks about his childhood. The way he wanted to grow up quickly seems almost insane now. Why didn't he just enjoy having almost everything handed to him? Why didn't he just enjoy having five minutes of homework when the most stressful thing on his mind was that he wasn't playing his Gameboy Color? Now he had five hours of homework left, it was two in the morning, and all he could think was "one foot in front of the other and the pounds will wriggle off". Why did it come so quick? Why couldn't the pains disappear? Why couldn't he just be a child again?
Watching the snow fall in class all he thought about was the way he cared about everyone else when he was younger. Now, all he had to worry about was
his grades and covering
his cuts. Now, he only thought about how
he wanted to hold the world in
his hands. Pure white flakes land on the window sill. Soon, when the bell rang, the snow would be tainted also.
Note:
I'm avoiding homework. Also, I'm starting to realize how much I miss my childhood. Dunno why it's written in the "he" form. Maybe cause it's shorter than "she" so I can spend more time on the rest of the story?
