American Idiot - The Story of Jesus of Suburbia, chapter 1
My God, I was sick of my life. Parents yelling into the night, neglect, and boredom. What do you expect? You can't really blame me for running away. Sure, I'd read books about the dangers of living on the streets, but what did I care? I wanted to show them. Who? My so called friends, my parents, anyone. I just wanted to feel brave.
So one night I just left. What was the point of taking anything with me? When you're depressed you just don't care. I crept down the stairs, into the hall, and out the door, as silently as I could. I guess I could have shouted out, "Bye Mum, I'm running away now, see you!" and she wouldn't have cared. That was possibly my biggest problem of all. I tried to believe that I didn't need anyone, but deep down inside, I knew I wanted all the attention I could get.
I tried to think of it as just a holiday, a vacation. I worked for a while, until it started to seem as if even my own shadow had left my side. I finally sat down outside a house and slept in the dirt and grime.
I awoke with a start. A tough looking guy was looming over me. He had pure green eyes, and bright red hair jelled into spikes. He was wearing a black shirt, leather jacket and jeans, the sleeves rolled up so his vibrant tattoos could be seen. Looking back, I realised how cocky and full of himself he really was.
"Uh, hi..." it is kind of hard to talk to a scary guy whose name you don't know.
"Jimmy. SAINT Jimmy to you, dude."
"Oh. Hi, Saint Jimmy."
"Shut it. Or else. I shut it...so, why you here? Parents?"
I nodded.
St. Jimmy stretched out a hand to pull me up.
"Welcome to the club."
Jimmy stretched his hand into the inside of his leather jacket, and pulled out two cans. He handed one to me, and drank from the other himself. I opened it and took a swig. I was almost sick. I had never tasted beer before. I swallowed quickly before Jimmy realised that I was a wuss.
So one night I just left. What was the point of taking anything with me? When you're depressed you just don't care. I crept down the stairs, into the hall, and out the door, as silently as I could. I guess I could have shouted out, "Bye Mum, I'm running away now, see you!" and she wouldn't have cared. That was possibly my biggest problem of all. I tried to believe that I didn't need anyone, but deep down inside, I knew I wanted all the attention I could get.
I tried to think of it as just a holiday, a vacation. I worked for a while, until it started to seem as if even my own shadow had left my side. I finally sat down outside a house and slept in the dirt and grime.
I awoke with a start. A tough looking guy was looming over me. He had pure green eyes, and bright red hair jelled into spikes. He was wearing a black shirt, leather jacket and jeans, the sleeves rolled up so his vibrant tattoos could be seen. Looking back, I realised how cocky and full of himself he really was.
"Uh, hi..." it is kind of hard to talk to a scary guy whose name you don't know.
"Jimmy. SAINT Jimmy to you, dude."
"Oh. Hi, Saint Jimmy."
"Shut it. Or else. I shut it...so, why you here? Parents?"
I nodded.
St. Jimmy stretched out a hand to pull me up.
"Welcome to the club."
Jimmy stretched his hand into the inside of his leather jacket, and pulled out two cans. He handed one to me, and drank from the other himself. I opened it and took a swig. I was almost sick. I had never tasted beer before. I swallowed quickly before Jimmy realised that I was a wuss.
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