BRUNO OMG SWAG 420

Bruno Lombardi
Mr. Dossett
English Intr.
25 September 2014
Tomorrow’s Sorrow
First Day
Hello? I guess. Well hello there, my name is Evan Decker. I am currently 15 years old and I'm just an average teenager in the heart of a beautiful suburban city called Fairfax, Virginia. Well, almost. Want the truth? Fine. I'm a messed up 15 year old in one of the most boring places of all, I cause trouble and I supposedly have "anger issues". I live with my father. Do I have a mom? Yes, sitting on in a ragged old vase. She sits there in my room watching me cause havoc and anger my dad. She can't stop me. Well, not now. Not now, because unfortunately she died of a brain tumor at age 45. The bad things always happen to the most righteous, that's why I doubt god. Don't take it the wrong way, I believe "of" god. Not "in" god. Enough about god, it irritates me. More about my mother. She was a law-abiding, virtuous, and great lady. She was the only thing that mattered to me. It's like every time I open my lunch box I can almost still smell the peanut butter coated bread that would make my day. The smell of the peanut butter is one of the thousand joy-packed feelings that my mom influenced me with, one of the thousand fragments that are now her gray and morbid ashes that pile up and stick to the vase surface. One of the thousand reasons that make me not hang from my bunk bed. One of the thousand reasons why I'm not fully insane. What really bothers me is that life ate me up after my mother’s death. Engulfing me like a outraged, tsunami-like, fierce cancer. Almost like a swarm of deadly ants rushing and covering my body. This is what I mean by anger issues; I take a problem and make it worse. I take a fact or statement and ram it with the cancerous side of my brain, still going at a problem when no further ranting is needed. My brain doesn't know when to stop, not knowing the limits, it keeps going. Another this is that when I initiate anger mode, I forget where I am in space. At one moment you'll find me raging at a teacher, firing at her with cusses; like a fat and angry old woman at Best Buy on Black Friday. As funny as that sounds, It's definitely not funny. Since my mother’s death, I have opposed god. I am what people call, a "Satanist". I've been called a "Demon Child", a "Devil". But that's when I only started being such a pain, obviously after my mother’s death. But I'm a boy, I'm a kid. I still have feelings. I still have that longing for love; a family, kids. Well, too bad for me, I guess. Some people arent fit for that life. There is this one girl. Souix. Souix Ford. One of the most unique female specimens I have ever laid my eyes upon. Tall, fairly slim, dirty blonde hair. She's a rebel. A bit like me, but she doesn't cause havoc because of a disorder. She causes havoc for fun. I personally find that really attractive. I'm fairly attractive myself, well at least from experience. I've dated most of the popular girls at my school. I'm tall, black hair, and I have a good physique. Now my hair, my hair is one of my most prized possessions. It has its own personality. It's as black as a cold evening and it has the mean look that only a thug could give you. My hair resembles Elvis Presley's hair. It's my guardian angel, or shall I say, demon. Its thoughts are meaner than mine. Ok, listen here. I'm not good at personification, Okay? Gosh. Cut me some slack. Anyway, funny thing is that I'm with Souix right now. We've been friends before and after my mother’s death. So basically she was there to witness someone turning into their grave. And coming out as a different person. I was brainwashed by my mother’s death. Sometimes I wonder, I think that life could be way better if my dad was diagnosed with cancer instead of my mom. Hold  up, Souix wants me.
Second Day
Sorry, Souix wanted me for a second. We actually ended up sitting next to each other chain smoking a pack of Winston’s cigarettes, we fell asleep like that. I was just sitting against the wall, she put her head on my shoulder and witnessed me burn a pack of Winston’s. My last pack of Winston’s. We are in a cabin, located in the forest. Somewhere in Fairfax. We had abandoned my dad’s shabby old Ford. There is nothing more beautiful than smoking in the forest. The crickets mock you as you puff. Each puff relieving the sad, putrid, disgusting truth. I don’t care about anything when I’m next to Souix. Nothing. I almost forget my mother. Yesterday as we had our deep relaxation session, she shattered the vibe and asked “Do you think we’re going to burn in hell?”, “I hope we do.” I answered. A tear came from my eye. Trying to hold it back, I was about to explode in tears. But I put a cap on it.