Page 1 of For the Fans

AlexandertheBait: My dick died…mind if I bury it in dat ass??

Have you ever wondered…

There’s this recurring dream I’ve been having for the last few years. I don’t have it that often, but every time I do, it’s exactly the same.

I’m at the top of a very high building in the city. I’m not sure which one… But from how high it seems in my mind, I’d say maybe the Empire State Building.

My muscles are tight and bunched, my teeth chattering. It’s so realistic, I can practically feel the cold breeze rushing through my hair…

There are no guardrails. I’m at the very edge… My toes are hanging over.

And the thing is, IknowI should back up. I know I should do everything in my power to launch myself backward, away from sudden death.

But it doesn’t happen that way.

Every time, like some sort of suicidal Freudian slip… my foot slips.

And I fall.

I’m falling and falling, but not fast. It’s slow. Suspended in the air, I float past each of the building’s windows. Birds fly by as I spot people inside, going about their business. Sometimes I recognize them.

Mom is usually in there. She looks up and sees me levitating outside her window. And she smiles, which always twists my stomach into knots. She lookshappy, and I think it’s because she doesn’t know the truth.

She’s blissfully unaware that her son is about to die.

But the thing is, that while I’m in my weightless nosedive, I’m not afraid. The thrill of descent takes over, hypnotic reverie bringing me not todeath… but tolife.

I always wake up before I hit the etherealground, shooting upright in bed with that eerie sensation that you’ve literally been hovering in the air, and when your consciousness snaps back into place, you actually crash back down onto the mattress.

I used to think it was aliens abducting me in my sleep. Or the programming of my simulation.Could be true.

But maybe it’s more like a bridge, or a gateway. A door left open by the mind’s eye.

And no matter how scary it can be at first, I just can’t help but wonder…

How it truly feels to fall from up high.

None of this isliteral, of course. I’m not morose, and I don’tactuallywant to jump off a building. But my subconscious seems fascinated by the idea of floating willingly into something else. Being happy about the fall into the unknown… Laughing and waving to the people in the windows as I plummet.

I know what you’re thinking…This dude sounds high as fuck.

It’s a fair assessment, because usually that’s the case. But not right now. In fact, I’m currently itching to get home so I can smokey smoke and erase the memories of yet another stressful day in high school. It’s been three months and I’m still gettingused to this place. But to be fair, high school in Brooklyn wasn’t exactly my favorite either.

Three months ago, my lovely mother and I relocated from the city we called home, to a cozy part of the historical northeast you may have heard of—Boston. Leaving New York was difficult for me, because I truly loved it there, despite the one very bad memory that prompted us to pack up for a fresh start.

Brooklyn had been Mom’s and my home for my entire life, and more than half of hers. New York City raised me just as much as my parents did.

Three months isn’t enough to forget everything I loved about the city. I miss the loudness, the dirt and grime that everyone pretends isn’t there. The people who don’t give a good God damn what they look like or how others perceive them. New York is a cluttered hub for all of the realest people I’ve ever encountered.

Not that Boston isbad. It has its qualities, though we’re not even living in Boston, per se. We moved to a small city on the outskirts called Malden.

Starting at a new school, in a new city, is exactly like I imagined it would be; a constant pull on my nerves. Between getting used to Boston and all of its little quirks that make it vastly different from New York, settling into the groove of sophomore year while attempting to make friends and keep up on schoolwork that doesn’t interest me in the slightest… it’s been a hectic few months.

But I think I’m managing.Mainly because I met a kid named Kyle who sells me weed.

All in all, it’s been fine, but for someone like me, who’s already pretty antisocial as it is, I’m having a bit of trouble making friends andfitting in… A skill I’ve never really excelled at.

I’m kind of a weirdo, and I don’t want to have to change myself just to make friends. I’m a strong believer init’ll happenif and when it happens. If there are people out there who also love art and emo music from before their time, who fan over cryptids and true crime and Tarantino, then we’ll eventually find each other and become friends. Why force it?