It hurt. It hurt so bad. Lance's eyes kept tearing up, blurring his vision, which was really, really bad because he was driving. He was driving out of New York in his mother's Prius at 1 a.m. A dumb decision? Yes, but what could he do after what happened.

He let his mind slip into the thoughts of leaving. He whispered to himself "This is the right thing to do." over and over again. He thought that saying it multiple times would somehow convince him that it actually was when even he knew it wasn't even close to.

Leaving was the only thing that would help his ease his pain. After all, his mother had just died of drug overdose. He never knew she was an addict, maybe she knew how to hide it well. Lance had always poked around in her purse but never found a single stash. Was she an addict? Was this really an OD? Lance snapped out of his thoughts as he heard a truck behind him honk. He immediately swerved and barely saved himself but, what would it matter, saving himself, he'd rather die.

He decided where he was going. He would go to Camp Altea, the place where he'd been going every summer. Surely, they'd let him stay for a couple days. He hoped he had money. He drove on, drowned in grief of losing his mother. His mother, so warm, sensitive, she never said one bad thing about anyone, ever. She had a heart of gold. Everyone loved her so much. He loved her so much. Why did the worst things always happen to the best people?

It was a four hour drive so, Lance decided to take a break and headed to a coffee shop. He wasn't sure he had money but, he was certain that if he ingested anything at all, he'd puke it all out in a second. So, he took a seat, letting exhaustion catch up to him. The place was nice, cozy and had a stage, which had a , Lance thought, maybe i could sing here one of these days. A joke He'd made a joke, oh God, how could he? He was about to leave and get started when he heard someone getting onto the stage. Fuck, Lance thought, Now its aboutta be super awkward, and sat down.

The man who came up on stage had worn all black, had black hair as well, wore gloves that didn't cover the fingers- Lance was confused by that, the guy had a mullet and- Wait a second, a mullet? In 2019? are you joking?!! Lance thought to himself. Oh this was going to be one of those hard metal songs where the guy would damage his own vocal cords. Lance regretted his decision of staying.

"Um, Hi, I'm Keith and I- uh, I'll be reciting a poem called, uh, 'Teenagers' by me. I hope you all like it!" He said nervously and smiled. He stepped back a little and started reciting

"we're just kids but supposed

to make choices greater than opposed

to the ones a year younger than us

cos we're teenagers. mom doesn't drop me

i take the bus

liking unicorns isn't cool now

its all about cursing and scowls

i won't lie, ive done these things

but thats cos im a teenager.

and teenagers, we

wreck things, peoples, hearts

and brag about it in group chats

and we couldn't have a better time living

cos its the only time when the choice you made won't matter

you dance in the shower and sing

and your hair won't fall off and scatter

out of stress ofcourse

because we're teenagers

children if we want to do something

adults if we don't

We're teenagers and

teenagers scare the living shit out of me."

Lance somehow felt that if this poem were to be written, it had to be all in lower case. He was dying internally, this was angst but, he felt it too, it was true and it would never stop being that. Wow, he liked something a guy with a mullet wrote, was he changing?

He snapped out of his daze. He still had a long way to go before he could let himself think about normal stuff. How could he think about mullets right now? God, he hated himself. What a fucking great son, it's been, what, five hours since his mother died and he's already thinking about guys? What the fuck? He felt a familiar sting in his eyes. Good. He should cry, cry in front of all these people. He checked his phone in case anyone had called him. He knew no one actually cared enough but, it wouldn't hurt to check. He had 3 missed calls.

From his mother's phone. It hurt too fucking much. Lance was pissed now. He clicked on his mother's contact and pressed call. Whichever motherfucker had thought this prank was a good idea, was about to die. And he wanted to know how thry got his mother's phone. It would be at the cafe which she worked at.

s e p e r a t e n a r r a t i o n

Lance was ready to yell his lungs out at this insensitive asshole.

Why? Because, dude, his mom just died. Cut him a little slack for wanting to yell and punch!