The scent of cigarette smoke and newly dropped rain filled my lungs. The music from the new club in the area made the streets busier than ever, and the bass from the music could be heard a mile away. The building cast shadows of pink and blue on the pavement, and it reflected in the pools of rainwater. Stubs of old cigarettes and blunts were littered along the cracked sidewalk. The sign of the nearby club blazed brightly against the night, and the light reflected on the rings on my fingers. You could hear the music in the club, along with the laughter of people walking nearby. It was all so annoying. The world was annoying. I plugged my earbuds into my ears and got lost in my music, the same music I listened to everyday. I walked absentmindedly up the damp stairs of an apartment building and turned my key into room 301, and shut the door behind me. I took off my shoes and sat on the couch, taking my phone out of my pocket as I did. I switched the song up and dazed out at the wall in front of me. Everything seemed so pointless. As a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up and be able to do what I wanted to do, and as I got older all I wanted to do was to be nonexistent. Not to die, but to just disappear. I knew I was capable of doing more with my life, but I also knew that the most likely outcome would be I would end up doing a job I couldn’t stand just to pay the bills, and I’d walk through life barely living. And you know what, as much as I wish it were different, that’s exactly what ended up happening. There was only a couple classes in school that interested me. I ended up trying to pursue a degree in it, and failed my first semester in the general course. I changed my major to Business, a degree useful for any job. The second interesting subject was the arts. I loved to sing, it was the only thing I never grew tired of doing. But there was always someone more talented then me, there would always be people who thought I couldn’t sing, and I didn’t want to be famous. Drawing and artistic expression also interested me. I used to love to read books, but I was never any good at writing one of my own. I wanted to pursue drawing but at my age I doubted I would be able to do it. I always flaked out of everything I started, and I lost passion quickly. I laughed to myself. “I really don’t have anything do I”. I only had one close friend, and our relationship was sometimes rocky. It made me think maybe it’d be better to not be close to anyone, it was too much work, too many problems, ultimately I’d end up disappointing them like everyone else, like I had disappointed myself. It’s quiet, maybe even some would say empty, but I like the quiet. It’s all just too much. I walked over to the tank on the counter, and gazed at the little beta swimming inside. Light blues and purple hues sparkled on its’ scales, the tips of its fins a slightly darker magenta color. The colors molded together as it swam, making the colors dance. How odd. “He’s stuck in this tank, with no where to go, and no fish to keep it company, and yet it seems to be more satisfied with life than I am”