i wrote this ages ago its about brad/brandon/bradley/fuckboy
Seagulls.
He could hear seagulls, flying overhead.
Moments later he saw them, white bodies barely visible against the misty morning beach sky. Back home he might’ve stressed about them pooping on him, but today he wasn’t home. He was alone. Blissfully, earth shatteringly, heartbreakingly alone.
He lay on the sand, arms splayed out, helpless like a fish out of water, which he guessed he was in a metaphorical sense. Nobody liked him at Bullworth. Not even the girls.
The damp sand was cool against his skin. The entire beach was brisk, given that it was closer to winter than summer. It felt as if the Earth were returning his hug, and he relished in it.
Waves crashing. Bullworth lake wasn’t large enough for waves to form, but on occasion a boat would zip past and create them momentarily, a quick view into beaches reminiscent of his home. He yearned for it.
Back home they liked him. Back home he was welcomed, loved. But as he scrunched his eyebrows, rethinking thoughts he previously believed to be facts, he wondered. Did they? Or was it part of the payroll?
His own father hadn’t returned until the paychecks started rolling in, and even then the visits were sparse. Enough to drink, party. Then… gone. Gone like the seashells when the tide rolls in.
But he remained. Unmoving. Unwanted.
Stagnant.