mr-highwayman

[mr-highwayman]

Closeted

I glimpsed at the bottom-right corner of my laptop as I hovered my mouse to close the stream tab. The streamer was going on a dinner break, and it was

18:32 already. Hours of watching femboy streams—yes, I’m not ashamed to say it, I like femboys vtubers—may not sound very energy consuming, but my grumbling stomach crying for food said otherwise.

A stride of brisk and cold Scandinavian air took over my breath right after I walked out of my apartment door. The moody sky and chilly temperature made the perfect weather for nerds like me. I don’t like bright and energetic weather--It reminds me of bright and energetic people. They annoy me.

Winter in Oslo isn’t as bad as people might think. It only gets to around 0 degrees Celsius in December, so people go outdoors quite often, even after sunset. Today is no exception, and among the people on the streets, I saw a familiar figure. Jesper.

I rushed over to greet him. “Hey,” I said. “What’chu doing out here?”

Despite being each other's foil, Jesper and I somehow managed to become close friends in middle school. While I locked my door and played video games 24/7, he was busy maneuvering himself through girls. But our friendship remained. Objectively speaking, he is indeed very cute. It's not like I'm saying this because I like him or something, no, it's just a fact. If you ask the people around him they'll say the same. I don't know. Not that I don't know if he's cute or not, just that... never mind.

“Oh, hey,” His face reddened a little bit. Must've been cause of the cold air. “I’m just trying to get some food. You?”

His voice, unlike the air, is warm, soft, and soothing. You have guys walking around trying to sound like Morgan Freeman’s “golden” voice all the time, but a voice like Jesper’s is very much underappreciated, just like femboys.

“Same. Wanna eat together?” I asked.

“Sure.” He answered.

We headed towards the local McDonald’s. Jesper looked a bit tired, and I happened to know the secret concoction that makes Jesper lively again--Pepsi. He loves it. He basically has Pepsi running through his veins.

“Can I get a 10 piece nuggets meal with a large Pepsi?” He asked.

“I’ll have the same,” I told the cashier. We sat down with our food and began munching. Outside of the restaurant windows were strings of aurora floating in the sky. Just Norway things.

“Man, it must be nice going camping with someone and watching aurora under the stars together.” He said.

“Too busy doing school stuff,” I said before my stupid ass realized he wasn’t referring to me. “...I’m sure a lot of people are.”

“That’s probably true. Hehe.”

We finished our meal and walked out. This time, the air didn't feel as cold as before when it ran through my lungs, even though it’s only reasonable to assume the temperature gets lower as time goes by at night. I said goodbye to Jesper and headed home. Time to watch femboy streams again.

“Hi, guys I’m back! *burps* Oh crap I think I drank too much Pepsi...anyways we are back at it again...”

It’s just me, my laptop, and my favorite femboy. Good times.

Author: Mr-Highwayman

Editor: redmanjc

[mr-highwayman]

Guilty Conscience

Joe’s screwed. I know it, and he knows it too.

...

“Try giving yourself some time and space, Joe.” Joe’s therapist said, “You shouldn’t let the negativity overwhelm you.”

God, he’s been telling me the same crap over and over again, Joe thought to himself. Is he really worth the time?

“So, did your psychiatrist give you the prescription?” asked his therapist.

Joe mm-hmm-ed in reluctance.

“Good. You know where the pharmacy is. I’ll see you next week.” his therapist said.

Therapists in this city couldn’t care less about their patients. When you have people coming into your office all the time with their disturbing life stories, you could only keep your mind intact through distancing your emotions from your patients, a.k.a not actually caring, and running through pre-written dialogues with them regardless of the circumstances.

Joe got up, walked out of the office door, and got his meds downstairs. His mind was messy as ever, and he could not stop thinking about how shitty his life was. A fourth-year college student at the brink of failing his studies, single, and broke. Fuck, Joe thought. What am I doing with my life?

He took a little detour and headed to a local cannabis shop. He opened his wallet to see a measly $20 bill, and the label on a pack of three joints said $18.99. Fuck it, he thought. I still got a few packs of top ramen in my drawers. I’m not gonna starve.

Joe took a deep breath as he entered his room. The air was heavy, and the carpet smelled like piss and skunk. The vodka juice blends and weed joints had taken their toll on the hygiene of this room. Joe had to restrain himself from gagging when the disgusting miasma crowded his nose. But Joe didn’t care. He grabbed a diet coke from the fridge, cracked it open, and washed down two pills of antidepressants with it. Startled by the sudden chill of an ice-cold drink, he then slouched on his bed and grabbed his lighter.

Click, psst, phew. That’s the sound of a joint working it's magic.

Fuck it, Joe thought.

Click, psst, phew.

Fuck it, Joe thought.

Click, psst, phew.

Now he had three joints in his mouth blasting THC into his lungs. The first two breaths were fine, but the third one split his head open. Then, Joe passed out on his bed. He overdosed.

...

Darkness festered. There was nothing in sight but the endless expansion of the void. Where the fuck am I? Joe thought.

“Where the fuck am I?”

Woah, where did that voice come from? Joe thought.

“Woah, where did that voice come from?”

His thoughts didn’t stay silent. It was being spoken by some unknown voice. He couldn’t even tell the gender of the speaker. It felt like a generic human voice. He’d never heard of it before, yet it sounded so familiar. Before Joe could understand what the hell was going on, a sudden feeling of comfort and safety struck him by surprise. He could sense it, this place was not hostile, neither was the voice. Everything seemed so right, no matter how wrong it felt.

There was no emotion in the voice, and there was no tone. But Joe heard it, loud and clear. He could not identify the source of it, either. The voice was ubiquitous.

A dark figure suddenly emerged from the darkness.

“Joe, you are an idiot,” it said. “You literally had it coming to you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Joe was confused. He was also a little irked by its condescending tone.

“Oh no, my life is a mess, I can’t get shit done, remember? You were telling yourself that,” it answered, “Dude, you did this to yourself.”

“No, I…”

“Shut up, I’m not finished,” the figure cut Joe off, “You’re on student loans, and you use your money, or should I say, allowances from your loving parents, to buy weed. You aren’t broke, you spent your money irresponsibly.”

“Do you realize how expensive it is to live in New York?” Joe yelled.

“Fuck off, you never cook your own food. You eat takeout instead of buying groceries. That’s where the money went. Plus, look at yourself. Those one-dollar pizza slices treated you real good. When was the last time you stepped on a scale?”

“I don’t know, maybe a few months ago?... Hey, I’m not overweight.”

“You aren’t attractive either,” the figure scoffed, “You don’t work out, and you complain about nobody liking you.”

“Gym memberships are expensive, okay? You were literally just talking about money.”

“It’s funny how you can just do cardio without going to a gym but you still refuse to do it. Absolutely costless, if I may add,” it said.

“Okay, it can’t possibly be all my fault,” Joe said, looking away from the figure, “Girls only like 6-pack abs and money.”

“You didn’t even try. You never had the guts to ask someone out. How can you expect results when you never try? Your last date took place during middle school for fuck’s sake.”

“I just know it never ends well.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

…

They kept on going for I couldn’t tell how long. Joe woke up the next morning with an unbearable headache. He was gonna be late. So he went to the 8 am class that he was gonna fail eventually. Don’t ask me why, I just know it. He’s fucked.

Author: Mr. Highwayman

Editor: redmanjc