This Is Where

The desert, the water, and a fifty dollar bill... Sometimes, one will never know the value of water until one is stuck in the desert, hopelessly lost and with nothing but the sands to guide them home. Sometimes one will never know the value of a fifty dollar bill until one is hopelessly lost and hungry in a city where there is no charity or sympathy.

All he ever wanted was to explore the world, with his eyes wide open, and with sincerity from all around him. But instead, what he got was a fist full of blows and punches for all that he was. He tried to reason, he tried to understand, he seeked help, but no one could answer him. Not even his parents. Instead, they would crush his dreams by belittling this young child's ambitions. They never allowed him to express himself. They never allowed him to grow. Constantly keeping him under a microscope and ridiculing his every move. Day by day as the torments increased, he started to become a recluse. He stared withdrawing himself from society, becoming a social recluse. His friends would laugh and poke fun at him. He never really did make any friends. He saw everyone else as being characters of an artist who only wished to please everyone else but himself. They were just too superficial, too fake. And even those who were friends with him, were never really his friends. How could they be? His parents never really cared. Instead they would brush it off as teenage angst. They couldn't see that deep beneath his dark blue eyes, lay a teenager laden with anger and confusion over his treatment. Lay a teenager seeking the answers, seeking for a soul who could tell him why. To find solace, he would bury himself in his loud, guitar driven music. He would immerse himself in every note, every beat, and every word. He always seemed to find the meaning to every verse he ever listened to. He began to believe that the music he listened to was written for him. He found his comfort. The only place he belonged to. For him, the rock stars that he idolized were gods. He started to mimic their every behaviour. From the way they dressed, the way they talked, sung and the way they behaved. He would go to school with his hair long, with piercings all over his face, and tattoos all over his arms. He had make up on, with tight leather pants and denim jackets and with a guitar on his back. This was him. He felt powerful. But instead, this made him the subject of further ridicule. Other teenagers would stare at point at him, whisper behind his back and when the prank was pulled, laughed at him. To them, he was a freak. A social outcast to be ridiculed like the displays in a freak show. His teachers ostracized him and often punished him for things he never did just because of the way he looked. His parents, like before, never really cared. They never bothered to listen to him. All they did was punish him, day after day. Nagging at him, lecturing him and belittling his just like they always have. He never liked coming home. To him, home was like hell. The only heaven he ever has was when he had his headphones on, with Skid Row playing in the background. He would rebel. He would argue with his parents, teachers, and sometimes beat up the kids who would make fun of him. He nearly killed someone.

Inspiration lost... so this is where it ends