Fog rolled over the park below Will’s balcony. Swirling forms meandered like ghosts between the pedestrians on their way to work. Will sipped his coffee slowly, enjoying the misty weather he so loved. He scratched the stubble beard which he intended to shave sometime.

Standing in old, worn-out sneakers, Will looked up at the blazing sun. He had run a long, long way from home. His knobby knees were shaking as briny beads of sweat rolled down off his brow and slipped between his parched lips. He hated the sun, its bright, life-giving wonder. If it wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have to deal with his horrid family. He sat down on the side of his rump that wasn’t bruised, and contemplated what to do next.

Will stood up from his bed. He sauntered across the room to his telephone, which glared at him, daring him to do it. He picked up the receiver and heard the dial tone ring. It was mockingly loud in his ear, irking him on. Doooooo it. Doooooo it. Doooooo it.

He watched the teacher mouth “your writing is fantastic” to the girl in line before him. She handed him a paper with a smile and a sticker. The red ink was harsh on white paper, but read an acceptable score. A smiley face was scrawled beside a circled “93/100.” He was satisfied, until he saw what the girl before him had earned. The “98/100” sneered at him from over the shoulder of the girl, ten feet away. He boiled inside. He wasn’t the best. He wasn’t good enough.

Will nervously strummed his fingers before dialing his number in the phone. The mechanical voice asked him to input a password, which he proceeded to do. The voice stated “You have ten new messages.” He quickly hit the “7” key ten times to delete. He wouldn’t need the messages, anyways.

He stared blankly at the canvas. The paint was inexpertly splattered on, and the form was imperfect, crude, and not very professional. It wasn’t hideous, but it wasn’t magnificent. He looked over to the work of the boy next to him. Delicate lines traced the forms of a beautiful basket of fruit. The apple almost looked edible, and the glass bowl gleamed and glittered as if it were alive. The beauty on the canvas almost made him cry.

Stammering, Will stated his new answering machine message. He replayed it and replayed it again. It wasn’t good enough. He was still too nervous. He tried to redo it for the umpteenth time.

He sat in the corner, brooding. Harvard had rejected him, as had Stanford and Yale. His other friends were accepted, and would be moving over the summer. All Will’s hard work didn’t pay off in the end. He wasn’t the best; he wasn’t good enough to be the best. He would be going to Dartmouth. Still it was an extremely prestigious college, but he wasn’t satisfied. No, it would never be good enough to him.

Finally, Will set down the receiver. He was happy with his new answering machine. He walked to the closet with a faint smile as he opened the door. A black case sat in the back, behind stacks of shoeboxes. It was marred with scratches and dents and clumps of dirt and dust clung to the corners. When he opened it, it still had that fantastic wilderness scent to it. He was instantly surrounded with fresh pine needles and babbling brooks, warm campfires and happier times. He hadn’t used this for a very long time. He was too busy, now.

He heard his uncle’s voice. “Hopeless, useless boy. You’ll never get anywhere in life. That’s why your father killed himself. He knew you weren’t good enough. Your mother knew, too, bless her soul, which is why she left you with me. And you’re still useless, even through all the work I’ve done for you.” The whiskey was strong on his breath, his eyes bulging red with bloodshot veins and swelling tear ducts. “Worthless child, you worthless, horrible child!” He felt a hard smack on his face. Tears rolled down out of Will’s beady eyes. Strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and shook him violently. “Why won’t you just up and die already, you fucking leech, you little pest! Get the fuck on out of here, no one loves you!” Will picked up a bottle and smashed it into his uncle’s skull. He could feel the bottle break into a billion pieces, but knew the bastard’s skull was cracked, for sure. Will’s hands shook violently for a moment, shards of glass imbedded into his sweaty palms. Everything moved in slow motion. He saw the blood trickle down his uncle’s shattered forehead like molasses, and saw the bartender dart in his direction. But Will was too fast for any of his persecutors. He darted out into the night, running into the blind oblivion, never to return.

Will smiled at the mirror. He took it out of its black case and used it for the first time in years. Glass flew everywhere, slicing his skin and sending clouds of silicate into the air and clouding his lungs with painful gas. He didn’t really care. He wasn’t going to pay to repair any of this. He would never be able to face the consequences, anyways.

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It was the tenth call today. The officer responded within minutes.

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Red was harsh on the white carpet. It coated the sun-shaped clock on the desk, and left a spray of droplets on the Darthmouth Daily newsletter. It was smeared down from the middle of a painting, down the wall, and into a thick pool on the tile floor of the bathroom. There was plenty of red on the glass shards that lay around everywhere.

The gun lay in his cold hand. It was a gun for hunting, a small shotgun designed for small game, not human skulls. It tore up his forehead, completely disfiguring his face.

His neighbors didn’t know why he did it; they thought he was the nicest boy.

The phone rang, but the investigator didn’t dare answer. The tone was eerie. Dooooot. Dooooot. Dooooot. A voice chimed brightly.

“Hey, this is Will. I’m sorry I’m not here right now, and even if you leave a message, I probably will never get back to you anyways, at least, if everything goes as planned.”

“Hey Will, this is Annie. I have no idea what your answering machine is talking about, but I’m  just calling to let you know that you won the All-Around award from the Honor Society for excellence in many fields. Congratulations! The awards ceremony is at 6:00 and…”

The girl’s voice trailed off in the investigator’s ears.
More useless information, he thought, shaking his head.