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Story listed as: True Life For Teens | Theme: Drama | Subject: Current Events | Published here : 12/16/2017
Disguised as Heaven 
By Katlin
Born 2003, F, from London, United Kingdom
Disguised as Heaven
It was as if it was a painting, life was a painting. I lost count of the days, the days of which i smudged the artwork every time iíd mix the wrong colours, or my hand would smear along the beautiful scenery and ruin the future of this. The once blank canvas is now smeared with shoots of vibrant colours, but this only lasts for the short time, before a big black cloud encompasses all the beautiful colours thrown against the page and now all thatís left is a dark storm waiting to erupt. The fact that something so tiny can interpret the future of such a wonderful creation.

There were so many ways to get into that locked away place, so beautiful pure and what everybody so longs to get through to. Itís the place which holds happiness, forever living and protection, well thatís in my dreams, this is reality now, reality is such a horrifying thing, itís hell. Thatís why I like painting, it helps me create the pictures of beautiful colourful things of which i will never experience in this cruel world. I donít exactly paint, well I do, but in my head. You could say I have a wild imagination, a motivated mind, or maybe iím just stupid trying to even wish that the dreams that float around cascading through my head will ever come true.

Amazingly, one of my dreams came true, although itís not exactly how I expected it to be. My life through the years is like a reality TV show, thatís all I can do now, iím made to stare into a screen of my horror story. This is no indulgent beautiful place, this is a torture house, and iím forced to watch myself. Iím supposed to judge myself, but whatís the point anymore? Iím up here, I canít change whatís happenedÖ

Have you ever felt so lonely, isolated, yet you have all the people in the world around you? Well that was me. No I donít live in a grubby, unfastidious flat with countless bottles of rustic ale dripping off the counters, or the constant smell of thick ashy smoke suffocating every wall, or carpet, which lingers on you when you leave the house or constant ricocheted of loud screams. Iím quite the opposite, my parents were once wealthy lawyers who were top of the country although they defended people who were guilty; which was much to my disgust, they were able to provide me with anything I needed. I was always well presented, with that edgy aftershave, the one who listened to classical music whilst practicing ballroom dancing. You wouldnít have guessed that one tiny thing could ruin your life like that.

Surprisingly, all this wealth isnít that good, in school they always focus on the poor less well off people, they think ďoh he has lots of money, heíll be fine.Ē life sucked, I was being drowned every second, drowned by horrid words or sarcastic humiliation. Oh and what about the time when I got that measly spotty hand straight to the face, just because I can pronounce properly, if all this ghost stuff was real I would definitely haunt him for that! The fact is reality is a demon that picks on certain people, drowns them, burns them, and then lets them crash down and land in a deserted island where you die slowly and painfully. The others get the high life, popularity, love and self confidence. Now i look back at everything it makes sense why everything happened, well at least iím free from all of this torture.

Although, life was pretty bad, i had my own way of enjoying myself, however, this got ruined too. Yes, i had no friends, but that didnít stop me having my own fun. Down our old cobbled street there were endless rows of beautiful tall detached houses decorated with pristinely cut hedges, each tiny detail perfectly trimmed and luminous lights which hung upon their homes, some around the windows, but, if you were anything like Ms T, who celebrates christmas madly, your whole house would be swamped in sweet little fairy lights, and tall santa structures sat upon your roof. Everyday i'd walk past her house and iíd stand and admire her house. sheís 57 and she can still have the strength the clamber up that enormous house and still be able to arrange her decorations perfectly. Many of the days she would spot me admiring her decorations and sheíd offer me a cup of tea. Ms T had the best tea, herbal it was, with a little hint of fresh lemon and mint. baking was another of her specialities, deep, rich chocolate cupcakes smeared in sweet hot fudge icing, it would always trickle down the sides and iíd lick it off with my tongue. Ms T was like a mum to me. you see, my mum, like i said, is a lawyer and she would always be too busy to see me, let alone pay any attention to the things i do in my life. Ms T was always a shoulder to cry on and always a great person to talk to. So what if i hung round with a old lady, she is amazing, my only friend.

Apart from Ms T i have a special place, a place where only myself knows about. My house is based in a village and no one ever goes to city apart from the city people. i love walking through there and looking through the shiny glass windows full of new displays. the best time to go there is at night when are the lights illuminate up the dark night time sky. the whole city is nocturnal, so quiet in the day but then awoken in the night time by the boisterous atmosphere, the sonorous sound of loud thrilling music soaked into every crevasse of the city. Itís truly magical, so overwhelming and i feel so alive, as if i fit into everything, like i know everyone!

Memories are a vivid thing, theyíre filed away in your head like a filing cabinet. see if you canít remember something, you just delve into the library and pick through everything till you find what youíre looking for, unless itís something so memorable that it constantly sits on your mind and you could never, ever forget it. Well one night i was in town, i have one memory that replays like one of nan's old cassettes that she used to play in her cassette player on repeat. Although itís over and iím here above everything, i still remember everything.

One night i was in the city centre, and i was doing my usual thing, admiring the lights and music, and I pop into the shop to grab a quick unhealthy snack and sugary drink. i decided iíd explore some of the darker sections where the lights never shone, where no one ever goes. I was only exploring, because who doesn't get interested when you see a ďdo not enterĒ sign or ďdon't press this buttonĒ, well i know i get curious, very often! I was pondering, i remember, pondering down the dark alleyway. it had a very weird smell, a distinctive one but you couldnít quite put your finger on what it exactly was, all i knew was it wasnít a good smell. It seemed never ending, like i would never reach anywhere. Scurry of rats scampering along the cobbles, i could hear their tiny feet splashing in the murky water which stays there from yesterday's bin juice. I stood on something. A crunch echoed through the alleyway, i assumed it was glass, probably a bottle from one of the drunk men from the pub. A faint flicker emerged in the centre of the alleyway, followed by a spark of electricity sounds. I was anxious yet excited to see where my curiosity had brought me. Alast i was close to this light, there was a door right below it with old chipped paint peeling off the sides, a handle looking so fragile to touch. Faintly, i could see two chairs arranged as if there had been some meeting, but this wasn't exactly an office, weirdly, there was a strange object which looked like a chest of drawers, now why would there be a set of drawers for clothes here? Surely, no one lives here. I guess curiosity got the best of me. i began to rummage through the drawers papers, documents, bills, envelopes, nothing exciting. Until i noticed a little flap in the bottom of the drawer. i pulled it and it began to open. i saw bags, bags of white things, what are these. My naiveness got the better of me for i thought at first they were sweets. I picked them up. Suddenly, i hear a deep tone of voice shouting something, i couldnít make out what he was saying, footsteps started emerging closer and closer to the door, i scrambled up the bags; without thinking and made run for it.

I finally figured what they were, the sweets as i called them. I enjoyed them, i felt reckless, i felt like i wasnít the nerdy son of the rich parents, i was a changed person. little did i know the demon was slowly devouring me, killing me slowly. Again, i went out to town, enjoyed myself, it was in my routine to just chill out, listen to the music, eat some of my sweets and enjoy the beautiful painting i was making. all the lights were merging together, almost blurry, i couldnít see anything clearly, it was beautiful, the noises vibrated in my head, music buzzing around like the speakers were in my ears.

Gasping. What is happening? Gasping. Too many? Gasping. I canít breathe?

This wasn't good anymore, this was it, the big black cloud encompassing the beautiful artwork that iíd made. I could see colour shapes all being shoved away by blackness, nothingness. By this point my head was laid against, what i thought was the beautiful cobbles. The last thing i remember seeing was the black night sky, with blurred pinks, purples, pastel blues. Until, my eyes drooped like blinds and every breath took almighty strength. I should have never been alone, i am now, and thereís no hope.

My wretched bones which were aligned like scaffolding, they were slowly creeping out of place, every bolt and crank was slowly unfolding, unravelling my bones one by one, my body was quietly sinking into a soul with nothing left but the small hiss of a breath. My heart slowly thudding, beating, flowing the last of the blood round my body. My toes, cold as ice, it was running up my leg, my body freezing, hardening like a frozen sculpture.

This memory is engraved inside me, even now iím gone, itís still here and so i wish to see them lightís once more, but i shanít because i am condemned to the prison, held captive in the hell that was described as heaven.

This story was about a boy who was silently suffering and escaped into a world of his own in the city, alone. one day he discovered something he shouldnít have. After that was found he realised he wanted to escape away from his feelings using what he thought would help him. This is a short story to help people realise that drugs is never a resort, you donít need to suffer in silence, and thereís always a way out and someone to talk to.
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