Nothing here for you to make right.

Chapter One: The End

I’ve been sitting at this computer for hours. Maybe it’s been, like, a day. Day and a half, sun-up to sun-down and back again. On the same forum site for ages. Switching between that, websites for colleges, even how long I’ll have to work in order to get tickets to the Americas to become a citizen and join their army. Something I can do with my life. Anything. I have the forum four-leaf clover logo burned into my retinas, and perhaps I’ll stare into it some more in hopes it’ll send a stroke of luck my way.

My eyes drift over to the time in the corner of my computer screen. 05:43. 01/11/10. Great.

I can almost hear August’s awful singing in my head, clearer than my glasses when I genuinely bother to clean them. “Zum Geburtstag vier Glück… Zum Geburtstag lieber Haaaans, Zum Geburtstag vier Glück!” Stupid fuck. Stupid disgusting language. I had no birthday plans this year, either. I didn’t know I was going to live this long. Every day I’m expecting to just… die. Unceremoniously, unknown; everyone in Frankfurt being unaware.

[Happy Birthday Song]

That’s not something that’s possible. No matter how many people globally or residing entirely within this shitbox I call a computer may wish for it to be a possibility, it won’t happen. “I need a drink,” I mutter to myself, running a hand over my own face and then pinching the bridge of my nose. I could go to the kitchen and steal a cold ale, but the listless pig sow that snores on the couch damn near doused in it can sense those things like a mutt when it leaves the fridge without it being in her hands.

“Hans!”

Speak of the devil and she shall awake.

“Hans, Geh an die Tür! Beeil dich!”

[Hans, Get the door! Hurry!]

Of course, mother. Let me do all the work, so you can sit your fat, disgusting, beer-stained, saggy-tit ass on your beloved couch all day. I’ll get the door. And hopefully it’s the coroner, asking to wheel you out because the stench from your fat rolls reek like three exposed cemeteries, and he’s mistaken you for a week-old cadaver.

Most of my time walking out of my room and towards the door is blurred, and I’m plunged into a state of dissociation that leaves everything gross-feeling and nasty, like my skin is trying to wriggle itself off my muscles and flesh. Walking into the living room, I can’t even bear to look at that woman. I can feel her gaze burning into my back, searing me straight to my nerves--

“Hans!”

August.

The one person that bothers to come around anymore. The light of my life, the most beautiful thing to grace this wasteland of a city. Just looking at him now, I feel as though I’m gazing upon nubility in itself. To say such about another man feels... revolting, frankly, but since he looks womanly, it should be okay. He’s got a soft face, slim frame, slightly wide hips – nobody would notice if he went around in drag.

“...Hans? You’re staring. Alles gut?” His voice snaps me out of my trance. My pants feel tighter than when they were before I opened this door.

[Everything okay?]

“Scheiϐe-- uh, ja. Mein fehler. ناكيني عالجنب... Mein Englisch ist nicht so gut, das weißt du.”

[Shit-- uh, yeah. My bad. Fuck me sideways... my English isn't that great, you know.]

“I know. You’ve been getting distracted during English class. I’ve a challenge for you, Hausler.” August glared up at me like I just crushed every ounce of his spirit. Then, his smirk split the tension in half, and I knew my world was about to come crumbling at my feet.

“August, bitte--”

[August, please--]

“The whole week speaking English.”

“Ich hass dich! So sehr, Ich hass dich so sehr!”

[I hate you! So much, I hate you so much!]

August scoffed and clapped a hand onto my shoulder. God, he was short. “Love you, too.”