Unrealized (1st paragraph to a story never written)

In my infinite boredom rendered exponentially worse by the prospect of enduring a Saturday evening in isolation from all that is familiar and civilized, I present you this opening paragraph I found in my Writing Seminar notebook. I'm sure it was some sort of assignment that I had planned to expound upon, but that plan somehow got lost in the maelstrom that was that last year of incarceration at Bishop Hoban High School.
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The feeling that came over me that night as I lay sprawled across that bitter hardwood had visited me many a time in the nights previous to the storm. I thought too much about everything, sometimes, but I always seemed to know when that feeling was about to rip control of my life from my emaciated hands. I couldn't control knowing this and a few other things I didn't want to know. Even my parents were afraid of me. Everyone was afraid of the boy that knew too much, though it hardly seemed to me cause for alarm that someone could accurately predict the weather forecast and subconsciously alter his mood to a correlative state. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. I only knew that my desperation to fit in had led me to suppress my knowledge to the extent that only the weather had been revealed to me for quite some time. But as I approached my adolescent years, I began to lose control. I lost control in every sense of the word. The sensations were so immensely painful that I could feel the blood swirling around inside of me as if I were the carelessly tossed wine flask of a broken-down alcoholic ranting about whatever political nonsense he happened to overhear from the conversations of better--or at least sober--men. Perhaps I felt like the man too. I don't know. I do know, however, that the events after that storm were never quite as pure or innocent as they had been when I was a child, for I mark my entrance into manhood upon the day I witnessed that beautiful destruction.
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