Keeping the Pace Going {Darox}

Clutching the edge of the blankets on his bed, he didn't know what he wanted. Although the blanket his bony-fingers were touching was very warm, the outside world was ever warmer. He was stuck with a very hard choice; Stay inside or go outside? To some people, it would be a very easy poll. To the depressed seventeen year old, it was difficult. See, Darox stayed inside too much - explaining his ghostly skin - but his parents hissed at him if he stayed outside for too long. Although the bed was very welcoming at that moment, Darox released his steel grip on the edge of the covers and got out of bed.
His feet touched the hard-wood floor, and his pale hands tried to touch the ceiling, his legs stretching to help. Somehow, it seemed like a routine - well, just one thing - that Darox did everyday was stretch when he got out of bed, no matter what. And he did other things everyday-- eat, drink, and sleep. But, somehow, stretching was something different, to him, it seemed like something that belonged to him in the morning, though he was sure other people did it, too. Though, Darox doubted people did things the same way he did things. He doubted they bounced like a bunny while trying to touch his toes, or try to stretch his arms out like clay so they would touch parallel sides of the room. Stretching was one thing he did that he would never let someone defy. He would never let someone not let him stretch, or make it stretch in a different way.

After finishing stretching - and feeling wide-awake - Darox looked through his drawers for some appropriate for this weather. After searching through his room for a few moments, he was wearing a white (with odd tints of gray), button-up shirt on his flat chest, slim, tight-fitting, gray jeans on his thing legs, and brown, up-to-his-ankles, boots. Although it was rather hot outside - no, humid outside - Darox was used to a tight clothing or boots. Darox was used to a lot of things, but he was also uncomfortable with other things. Everybody was different, everybody was really different. As Darox walked down his stairs into his kitchen, he realized he was almost nothing like his parents. Not personality-wise, anyways. The food that was cooking just 'wasn't him' so he ignored it and stepped out the door.

As he turned to doorknob, coldness had spread from his huge hand to his tall body. The metal object was freezing, though it wasn't rusty. Simply, Darox's house air-conditioned, and he could tell the difference when he stepped outside his house and slammed the door.
The outside was crowded. It couldn't be any later than noon, yet so many citizens were awake... just like Darox was. Darox wasn't any different from anyone else in some ways. Darox thought as district three as a stupid district, and anyone could tell that. They were computer geeks, and they were skipped, skipped how? They didn't have the option of career training. It went like, district one, district two, and then district four. Either the capitol couldn't count, or they hated district three. Darox always thought in negative ways, it isn't like he started acting all depressed last week. His sister's death was just so hard on him, and his only escape was to slit his wrists. Darox wished he would meet someone who understood him, and he was certain there was someone. Just like stretching after getting out of bed and getting up early, there was someone who slit their wrists.

The world was made up of egomaniacs and people who didn't know what the word ego meant. The world was made up of cliches and people who couldn't be more unique. The world was made up of champions and people who didn't know what winning was like. The world was made of rich people and people who don't know what it's like to know that you can make it through another day. The world is made up of people who do things and people who just watch and get jealous. The world is made up of musicians and people who couldn't hit a single note. The world was made up of humans and people who want a normal life for a day.
Out of those groups, Darox didn't know where he fell. He wished he did, but he didn't know. Was he an egomaniac? Was he cliche? Was he a champion? Was he rich? Was he someone who actually did something to change the world? Was he a musician? Was he a normal human?

He did know something, he had too many unanswered questions in his life. At least he could say something like "knowing the right questions is better than having all the right answers." which was true. But Darox didn't understand how questions matter if you're not getting anywhere. "Maybe because then, you at least no when to start," his dad had suggested, and Darox saw that as a possible answer, and took that into thought. There was also another saying that was common, something like "expect the unexpected." which was total jank to Darox. Because (and bare with him here), if you're expecting the unexpected, then the unexpected is the expected, so you're really expecting the expected. But if you're expecting the expected, then isn't the unexpected the expected? And if that's true, then the expected is the unexpected, and so on. It was really strange and weird - a paradox.
Another paradox is the one about the one that goes "everything I say is a lie.", but that was the simplest. If it was lying, that it was telling the truth, but if it were telling the truth, it was lying.

With too much going on his head, he accidentally bumped into a girl wearing torn, baby-blue jeans and a yellow shirt. Fashion these days. Darox thought though he didn't have the normalest wardrobe, and those clothes weren't even odd.

Darox couldn't help staring at her wrists, though. They were slit, just like him. He wanted to say something stupid, but he didn't, he looked away in a shifty way and said "Sorry, about bumping into you," he spoke, My name is Darox. Pleasure to meet you. Then, he extended his equally slit wrist out, a gesture for her to shake it. Darox was right, there is someone like him out there.