He had those empty eyes, the kind you don’t want to look into, but do anyway. The kind that give you the chills and you just want to ask why, but at that moment something more important comes up. So you say hi, and bye, and never talk about the kid with the empty eyes again.
Tristen staggered around the house, never quiet distinguishing reality from his fantasizing self-consciousness until he managed his way back to the only place that made sense. His bedroom.
That was the place he went to when all was wrong with the world.
When something not as catastrophic happened he and his buddies just went down to the basement and sat on the plaid couch that smelt of booze and pot. Just sat their and got high.

But today was worse than that. So Tristen went to his room and stared at the floor. Heavy breaths consuming his head, that were filled with heavy thoughts. Staring at floor, having blank paged epiphanies, he tried to recall the past day, to no avail.