They say you're merely a speck of dust in this vast universe. An ant to the eye of a giraffe. A drop of water in the oceans. My mother had told me I would grow up to be a great doctor--after all, previous males of the Suunap family were powerful figures in the heart of economics...but I couldn't help feeling worthless like a dirty rag. I was the weakest of the four sons in the family, and not to mention the "girliest". My brothers made fun of me for not even having the guts to catch a frisbee, or for shutting myself inside all day painting drawings or reading novels. My mom would always tell me the same thing: "Andrew why can't you be more like your brothers?"

The other kids teased me as well, but the girls were nice to me at least. Unfortunately, this just led to the rumor that I, Andrew Suunap, was a loser that only hung out with girls, and was even beaten up due to boyfriends' suspicions of me "stealing" their girls. By the time I hit high school, I gave up on chasing the pointless expectations of my family and society, and became an exclusive freak that rarely left the house. I began to write and draw pieces depicting sadness, suicide, and the meaningless dreams that I will never pursue, until one day when I woke up in the household I despised so much, I sensed something was different, but I couldn't tell what. However, life moved on, and time waits for no one. Eventually my family began to ignore my existence, and my friends all gave up on me, moving on to college without even turning back or saying goodbye. It was a sad and lonely life, as I began to lose sight of reality and fall into the greedy clutches of fiction.

I decided one fateful day that I would muster the courage to leave the house for a new stack of novels to read from the book store. Bundling myself up with layers on top of layers, despite the fact it was summer, I fished some money out of a jar I kept and stuffed the bills in my pocket. Before I turned the knob that led the the foreign world outside, I counted the number of months that had passed since the last time I left the house. Eleven months.
Trudging nervously with head sweating under my beanie hat, I could feel hate of the faceless people pointing at me from behind the lids of my eyes, whispering and laughing cruel insults that wounded my heart. But when I looked up, people continued to converse in their meaningless conversations, discussing answers to math problems that I couldn't compute. I stepped into book store, muscles now less tense, when I noticed a mass of bobbing brunette hair in the corner if my eye. It was Keitlyn, a girl back in middle school where we told each other all our secrets and worries. The girl I loved. I hadn't heard from her in years. Hesitantly, I reached out my spindly fingers to tap her shoulders when the girl suddenly spun around, her dark chocolate pupils meeting mine. I opened my mouth to greet her, but Keitlyn’s eyes had begun to widen--her complexion turning pale until she let out a screech of a banshee and began to back away feverishly. The lady behind the counter raised her eyebrows in disapproval, nodding her head to the side that mentioned a hint to leave immediately. The words that escaped from Keitlyn's mouth confused me. "You're supposed to be dead!" Tears began to streak down her face, leaving parallel moist lines on her blushed cheeks giving her an ethereal sense of beauty.
Suddenly my vision lost its focus, and it focused back where I found myself on the roof of a building, standing behind a lanky male dressed badly in the cold weather. Snow laced the edges of the building, and even more fell gracefully down in a waltz-like manner. The boy began to climb on top of the railing, and suddenly it struck me what he was going to do. I scrambled to my feet, arms stretched out as my fingers reached forward to grab the boy, spinning him around only to find my face on the boy. Shocked, I fell backward to see the young boy--me--tremble with grief as tears spilled down his cheeks. Suddenly the temperature dropped, and I was afraid that his tears would freeze. Without thinking, words I had bottled up inside of me began to pour out. "Don't listen to what they say! Everyone has something they're good at--don't give up! It seems pointless, but He has something in plan for you...so please...just--just live on!"
My words seemed to echo forever in the empty winter sky, snowflakes now frozen midair. The boy looked at me with wide eyes, but slowly his chapped lips curved gently into a smile that was so contagious that I found my very own lips grinning.
He looked at me one last time and whispered, "Thank you."

A shrill ringing shook me up. Rummaging around on my dresser, I slammed the snooze button. So...it was a dream. I was still twelve, and still in seventh grade. My phone vibrated in frenzy, and I groped at it lazily to check the notification.

Keitlyn [7:23 AM.]: Morning Andie! Sorry if it's a bit early but is the homework from Mrs. Charles due today? I hope you're doing ok at home; see ya later at school!

And with this I slumped back into warmth of my bed sheets, mind set upon the dream--everything. As the big hand of my clock struck seven, and ribbons of morning light began to weave its way through my black-and-blue checkered curtains, from there I knew that though I'm merely just a drop of water, drops make ripples....
...and so can I.