America is a liar. A skinny little white kid won't be an NFL linebacker and a female will never be president in this generation. The cards are dealt to us and they're manipulated from then on, either by us or by the people we let control them. Nobody is dealt the same hand, which is the problem with American equality; it isn't. No matter how many people hope for it, it can never be. But equality particularly did not apply to him. The one everyone talked about so highly yet so honorless. He had potential, but then, everyone has potential, just in different amounts and places. If equality was to manifest itself as a tangible being, it would've beaten the hell out of this boy daily and stolen his lunch money; dropped him in trash cans, hung him from flag poles, anything else one could do to prove their masculinity and self security over someone else. But he didn't care anymore, he understood himself more than equality now. He was beyond petty social standards and life in the real world. He was always against the typical views of life. He tried to tell people not to follow the leader, not to become a robot. Nobody listened, just kept pushing the same old stereotypes. He had found his chance for the ultimate protest against life and the what the world wanted him to be. All of his thoughts and feelings were gathered into the one when he transformed into a single bottle of pharmaceutical madness. Rattling around one by one, he could hear death growling a shrill
warning as he popped open the lid. The single bottle of fresh, filtered water from the mountain springs of wherever was more than enough to aid in the consumption of the entire bottle The last thoughts passed his mind, and cleared before his final acceptance washed over his face and he lay back onto the bed. Acceptance was always his philosophy. The cornerstone of life and living; convenient at this point, as much as he pretended to accept and all that he wished to understand, it mattered as much as the remaining water spilling onto the floor as his grip loosened. A pain crossed his body slowly, starting at a low ache, growing to infect every organ, every muscle and every vein.. It coursed through him more painful than anything imagination could've comprehended, not that he comprehended anything more at that moment, but he didn't understand enough then to know whether he liked it or not either. Pain was always a release for him, but not the same. Sometimes he needed it to accept things, sometimes it just happened because he was
lonely. It wasn't until his lifeless pale blue body was found the next morning that the scars all over his body would be discovered. It wouldn't matter anymore, he knew his fate and pursued it to the bitter end. He was what people called a rebel, always finding something else to protest, to prove wrong. His final protest
would be on life itself. He'd written a small essay on why he was making this decision, and explaining his views and why it was best. He wrote another letter apologizing to his friends and family; apologizing for the extremities he would go through to make his last point, and requesting that his letter be read at his funeral by one of his close friends. At the funeral, some would cry, some would be angry, some wouldn't even show up. His coffin would lower into the grave. The school and would have a moment of silence for a lost student the next morning, and life would move on as planned. Within days some would forget him. A few years and his name is a small memory, rarely recalled by even his family. His story is his own, his
protest would be forgotten. He would not live on to be a famous name in history or philosophy books.