Sixteen

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Only Sixteen.”

Long ago, there was this stupid boy wandering around high school wasting sometime fooling around without being concerned with his academic score. Everyday was restful day and he slept almost everyday in every class. His scores had improved just a little and he was okay with it. I don’t have to be as smart as that guy or that girl over there, now do I? He asked himself while comparing himself with the top three. Life was empty and he thought everyday was just the same day.

His house was located around sixteen kilometers from school and traffic jam forced him to hit te road just right before sunrise. If he got lucky, he only needed around forty-five minutes but if he didn’t, an hour or more might be what he required. The school was chosen upon him and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He tried, believe me.

Ambiguity, anxiety, and wrath were mixed up so randomly until he couldn’t understand his own emotion. His predecessor told him to stand and cheer up. He didn’t. To work harder and smarter like his peers. He didn’t. To stay awake until late. He couldn’t. His eyes demanded sleep so much so he couldn’t stand sunshine on weekend which was practically on Sunday only.

He had his struggle over emotional, rational control over that year and the result was balanced. There was seed of rage I found in his small black book. His struggle changed his social and talkative behavior into small, quiet, independent, and hard one. I’ve heard his surroundings implied he was only sixteen and he might better himself later. No, he didn’t and won’t. For example, I saw the tip of his rage one day and that moment I realized that you do not mess with people since they don’t even know what they are capable of when in anger.

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