perfection is the disease of a nation

@sykes_matty; ready to get syke'd up?

[echomontgomery]

You’re only leaving for a bit, you’ll get to come back soon.

[sykesmatt]

Not soon enough.

[echomontgomery]

Matty, c’monnnn! You’ll be okay. A new adventure is on the way!

[sykesmatt]

I just don't wanna leave home.

[sykesmatt]

I'm fine.

[echomontgomery]

That’s why I was protesting. 

[sykesmatt]

I'm glad you protested it, then.

[echomontgomery]

There was a martial arts club that wouldn’t accept women into the class.

[sykesmatt]

Oh. That's mean...

[echomontgomery]

I had a busy day protesting shit. 

[echomontgomery]

[sykesmatt]

What were you protesting?

[cuterpt-deactivated20150707]

Well…you’re more sensitive than Natalie and Natalie and I weren’t as close as we are now when it happened. 

[sykesmatt]

Yeah, but she tried to wake you up... I just called the police. She cried. Natalie never cries. I always cry.

[cuterpt-deactivated20150707]

*sighs and hugs him* I’m sorry, Pooh Bear.

[sykesmatt]

It's okay... Funny thing is, I think it upsets me more than it does Natalie.

[sykesmatt]

You never appreciate how nice your own bed is until you sleep in a hospital for half a month.

[cuterpt-deactivated20150707]

Like, okay, I get it’s super tragic or whatever…but let me move on.

[sykesmatt]

Let all of us move on. Natalie gets asked about it too.

[cuterpt-deactivated20150707]

People still ask me about my suicide attempt last year. It’s been almost a year and a half, I’m tired of being asked about it.

[sykesmatt]

I'm tired of being asked about it too.

[cuterpt-deactivated20150707]

I mean, on the bright side, my sexuality? Definitely secure. 

[sykesmatt]

That's good.

[cuterpt-deactivated20150707]

So, here’s a story. I was at a gas station, right, just filling up my car and thinking about getting some cheetos or a brownie or something. So, I’m standing there, and this girl runs up and takes my phone and fucking texts herself. And then she leaked my number onto the internet. And now I am getting lots of texts and calls and a lot of nudes. Which would be fine, but not all the nudes are from girls.

[sykesmatt]

Ick.

[sykesmatt]

The pale colored walls and drably spotted tile floors had begun to bleed into each other, his hospital room becoming one gray-ish colored bubble of confinement. The crack in his head radiated a gnawing pain every time Matty so much as tried to get an eyeful of something new, something other than white walls and white tiles, and a single TV playing bad shows morning, noon, and night. Faces came and gone, usually the same four or five over and over, but it was anything dull in the inbetweens. The Sykes boy was tired. And although he usually never broke the rules, he couldn't help but think that if he just got one person on board to help him escape his bubble of bad tv and blank walls, he would do it. Just this once.

[jaguarpenguins]

Visit Original Link

[sykesmatt]

"Amber" by 311

[sykesmatt]

@sykesmatt: Hello! We're glad to report that Matty is improving with every day. I know he would love all your kind words and prayers. xx Mrs. Sykes

[sykesmatt]

1 in 4,147 → MATTY

Matty had only been going to Target for Brendon’s cold medication when it had all started. It was dark and raining and he couldn’t drive so he had to bike, but his best friend was sick and dammit if he didn’t take that seriously. He didn’t care that what he was doing was dangerous-- what we his chances of getting hurt anyway?

The chances of his getting hurt were one in four thousand one hundred forty-seven.

The number repeated over and over in his mind, consuming his thoughts to the point that he didn’t even remember why he was on his bike in the first place; consumed his thoughts to the point that he stopped paying attention to the road ahead of him. Four thousand one hundred forty-seven. It was a statistic he’d heard over and over from his mother. She never liked it when he went out biking. Four thousand one hundred forty-seven. One person in every four thousand one hundred forty-seven people died in a bicycle accident. But he couldn’t possibly be that one tonight? It was 8 at night and it was raining. Parties had started and joy rides and road rage were at a minimum. Everyone was more careful when it rained.

He hadn’t even made it to Target when it had all started. It was dark and raining and he couldn’t drive so he had to bike, but his best friend was sick and dammit if he didn’t take that seriously. He didn’t care that what he was doing was dangerous-- didn’t even notice when his front wheel veered on a patch of wet oil and sent him flying into a car.

With no time to react, no time to try and save himself, no time to even scream, he flew off his bike and rolled, head making a hideous cracking noise on the concrete, blood beginning to pool around him and mat his hair up against the back of his head.

Everything went black.

He didn’t wake up as he was lying on the concrete. He didn’t wake up when someone pulled over and lifted his head, trying so desperately to get him to open his eyes. He didn’t wake up to the pressure of his shirt on his open wounds on his head. He didn’t wake when he was put onto a stretcher and wheeled into an ambulance. He didn’t wake to their attempts to get him to breathe again. He didn’t wake to anything at all.

One in four thousand one hundred forty-seven die in bicycle accidents.