Bruno English Story

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 an 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 thing 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. When we woke up, I put on my sweater and went out in front of the cabin. I stood there for five minutes, breathing in the breezy and cold November morning air. I felt so free. Souix came out wearing shorts and one of my jumpers.
“We need cigarettes,” she said,
“Yes, I know a place, just a fifteen minute walk.”  I gave Souix my black trench coat, it went down to her shins. She put on her Vans and I put my ragged Nike skate shoes on.  We could only hear the birds chirping. Our faces muddled by depression. She took a lighter and continually lit it.
“Stop, it’s going to run out soon,” I told her.
She stopped lighting it and set the red lighter back in her pocket. We walked for around ten minutes until we found a shabby small cabin. On the door it read Sheriff’s Cabin. I peered through the window and saw a packet of West cigarettes, as well as a rifle and a rusty metal lighter. The metal lighter so rusty that only by looking at it, a person would cringe and grit their teeth. I kicked the Cabin’s door down and looked around. I picked up a rifle. Souix grabbed a torch and got the packet of West’s, she didn’t dare look at the lighter. We walked out of the Cabin. Souix snapped the rifle.
“Two” she said.
“Two?” I responded.
“Two rounds.” she stated. I thought to myself that maybe those two rounds were for the both of us. We walked on for another ten minutes and we ended up coming to a dead end. A small stream. The stream rushed down the path, avoiding the rocks. I sat down for a sec and put my head between my knees.
“We should end it here, this life isn't fit for us, and it never will,” I stated, my head still between my knees. I grabbed my iPod and put on Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana.
“Yes, we should” said Souix. She hands me a razor, I carve an upside down cross on my arm and I let the blood run down my arm, sort of like the stream in front of us.
“You want to go first?” I say
“Let me go.” Said Souix. She stands up by the stream, I pick up the rifle. A tear runs down my face as I aim the rifle on Souix’s forehead.
“Meet you in hell.” I say
She smiles and closes her eyes. I bring my finger back on the trigger. Pop. She falls on the ground in front of me, lifeless. I burst into tears and lay next to her. I grab the packet of West’s from her jacket. Now I’m here, in the middle of the forest, with a beautiful dead girl and a packet of cigarettes in my hand. There’s one more round in that rifle, and it’s surely for me. Her face is turning purple. To anyone reading this, I take this round for my dad.