The Boy

I was a young boy at the time. No more than nine or ten, I believe. I lived a few blocks from an abandoned school, McCulloch Middle School, if I remember correctly.
I spent copious amounts of time playing inside there after-hours, messing around and whatnot.
One of the door locks was busted, you see. It was like my own fortress.

Now, it never struck me at the time, but for having been abandoned for such a long time, there was still a lot of junk lying around. Junk without any dust on it. And there were a lot of other little signs that people were in fact still using the school, although I'd never actually seen anyone going in or out, except myself.

I used to doodle on the blackboards, stack textbooks into little piles to sit on, rearrange the school desks into circles and pretend two of them were were boxers in a ring. Normal things that children do when left unattended, I suppose.
But there was one night that was different- one snowy night which I haven't told a single soul about until telling you now.

I was playing army, I believe- marching through one of the hallways on the first floor and giving commands to troops inside my head, when I heard an angry voice around the corner.

“Where's the boy?!”

I froze up, knowing that I had finally gotten caught messing around in this building where I had no business being.

Instead of someone charging determinedly around the corner to arrest me, as my imagination was predicting, I heard a different angry voice pipe up.

“Get out here and give us the boy!”

Then a voice that was too muffled to hear replied. It took me a moment, but I realized I might not be in any trouble at all. However, I was smart enough to know that if I kept standing in the middle of the hallway like a bullfrog in a flashlight beam, I would indeed be in trouble very soon. So, I pulled up against the wall, and cautiously peeked around the corner.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw, let me tell you.

In a building where I'd never seen so much as my own reflection before, now almost a dozen men and women were angrily buzzing outside an office door, shoving on it occasionally and trying to bust it open. To make things even more surreal, most of the men held guns.

Now, even if I hadn't been playing army and imagining people being shot left and right, the sight of those real guns would have turned my blood just as quickly to ice.

I pulled my head back instinctively, imagining they were already shooting at me. It was immediately apparent to me that if this angry mob was out looking for little boys, I needed to find a safer place to listen from.

Having played in this building for countless months, I knew some of the classrooms had doors to both hallways, so I started checking for one that was open in the safe hallway on the opposite side of the building.

I found an unlocked door door on my third or fourth try, and as I shut it quietly behind me and made my way nearer to the commotion, it sounded like things were escalating quickly. I put my ear on the closed door connecting to the dangerous hallway and listened.

“If you don't come out here this instant, so help me, I'm gonna shoot this damn door right off its hinges!”

Now I could finally make out the voice from inside the teacher's office. The door I was listening at was right opposite the door where all the action was taking place, you understand.

“It won't do you any good. The door's been sealed.”

The voice in the classroom sounded afraid. It wasn't angry like the voices of the mob, which suddenly erupted in a chorus of hatred.

“How could you put a monster like that in the same classroom with my little girl?!”
“Yeah! He oughta be locked away where he can't do anyone any harm.”
“Or destroyed! For his own good! For the safety of everyone!”

This last line was met with several cheers.
The voice in the office wavered a bit in his reply.

“You don't understand. There's nothing I can do. I have to help the boy try to live a normal life. I have to.”

“You had your chance. I'm comin' in there.”

With these words, a shot rang out, followed immediately by screams and another eruption from the crowd.

“What happened?!”
“The bullet bounced right off the damn wood!”
“Is everyone ok?!”
“How could that happen?”

The voice from inside the office wavered a bit now.

“I told you, the door's been sealed. It won't open unless I break the seal first. There's nothing you can do.”

“Well, we'll see how good that seal is when the whole damn school is burning down around it!”
“Yeah, open up!”

“The boy is very sad. He says no one needs to get hurt.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my son. He got chunks of his arm torn out the last time that kid in there had himself a tantrum!”

There was a brief silence, and the man in the office said something that to this day, still wakes me up ringing in my ears.

“If you don't leave now, the boy's going to kill you.”

There was a tense silence, then he finished.

“All of you.”

This seemed to have quite an effect on the crowd for a moment, but one of the braver, or stupider, men finally spoke up and re-envigorated their efforts.

“What's he gonna do? Make us all explode? Shoot us with our own guns? Poison us?!”

At this sentence, the mob and I parted ways.
As they re-doubled their efforts to get into that office, I turned on my heels and took off.
I'd heard enough horror stories from my father about the poison gases in the war trenches, and even though I had no idea what was going to happen, I wasn't going to stick around to see firsthand.

I headed straight for the end of the hallway and almost flew up the three flights of stairs, imagining poison gas and bullets coming up behind me; imagining death itself chasing me.

I went all the way to the top of the stairs, and out onto the roof, where it was still snowing, softly. Then, I shut the heavy door behind me and kicked a nearby wedge underneath it to keep back whatever was coming. Not turning away, I backed up as far from the door as possible, and found myself at the edge of the roof, overlooking the street. I think it was right then that I realized I was crying.

I wiped my tears away and stared unblinkingly forward, but nothing came out of that door. Instead, down behind me, the front doors of the school opened up and everyone in the mob walked calmly out one after another in a single-file line.

Then one by one, they collapsed out into the fresh snow. Some sat down first and fell over, some lay down on their backs gently, and some completely slumped down mid-walk into a crumpled heap.

From the few that were looking up towards the snowing sky, towards me, I could tell they were dead.
And I knew in my stomach that that boy had killed them, somehow.

It was like he just... put sleep into them, and never took it back out.

Swish

She twirls in front of you.
You catch just enough of her face to see her huge smile.
You want to go up to her. Dance with her. Go on.
Her beautiful blue dress splashes out around her as she moves.
Hair is beautiful waves, rolling as she swishes her head to the rhythm.
You don't have to say anything to her. Just go dance with her. Go on.
She's having such a good time. You can be a part of that. She can remember you.
A man comes up to her. He is taller than you. His suit is better than yours. His hair is nice.
He whispers into her ear. Her smile fades slightly, but won't let go just yet.
He motions away. Outside. Somewhere that is not right here, dancing with friends.
She shakes her head. He leaves her.
She resumes dancing. Almost as enthusiastically as before.
He moves through the crowd of peers. To more sharply-dressed, beautiful men.
He says something to them.
The three of them look bored.
One checks his watch.
You look back at the girl. You're on her side. This is what's important. Right now. Tonight. Here.
The three handsome men leave.
The girl hasn't noticed. She is laughing because her friend is wiggling her butt like a music video.
The girl wiggles her butt too.
She turns red from laughing, expressing herself. Enjoying her life.
You can be a part of her life.
All you have to do is go up to her. Just smile with her. Laugh with her. Be yourself.
If you don't dance with her, you will remember this night, these details, for the rest of your life.
You will always regret this moment if you don't act. There's no reason not to.
Just go.

Club

Acid techno thumps.
Lasers race across the floor and over the dancing crowd. Colours in the black.
Sweat. The smell of humans.
Moving, shifting, grinding, undulating. Rhythm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Everyone's clothing is tight, like skin. Your long coat is out of place here.
You make your way through the crowd, parting the sea with your presence.
Scan the large room.

There.

Second floor. Dancing with a girl.
Lasers illuminate their faces in colourful flashes.
She smiles. He smiles.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bodies gyrating, swirling, heating.
She thinks he's human.

Remove your disruptor from its holster.

Move slowly up the stairs. Closer. Behind.
Dancing, smiling, seducing, touching, teasing, flirting, promising.
Sweat flings from other dancers onto your face.
She is enjoying him.
He is enjoying her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three rounds.

Collapse. Sparking.

Her face transitions through emotions.
Few other people notice.
Her eyes stand apart from the crowd.
Spinning limbs and bobbing heads frame her stationary face.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dancing, thrusting, grasping, shifting, sliding, clutching.
Lasers wash over bodies in shifting patterns.
Move down the stairs. Through the crowd.

Out into the night.

Broken

She won't switch on.
You've engaged her stimulus zones numerous times.
You've been sure to create an Atmosphere of Pleasure.
There is music playing that she likes to hear.
You’ve washed and cleaned your exterior surface and orifices.
She won't switch on.
She says she's switched on.
But her autopilot is engaged.
You can see she is not Actively Involved.
You tell her your desire for her to be Actively Involved.
She says that she is.
She lies that she is.
You tell her to stop lying.
She says she is not feeling it.
Feeling what?
You ask her what she is not feeling.
She says this.
What does she mean by this?
You ask her what she means by this.
She says she doesn't know.
You don't understand.
You tell her that you don't understand.
You tell her about the music and the orifice cleaning.
She says she's aware of your efforts.
You ask what else you can do to switch her on.
She looks at you.
You look at her.
You try to make your face look caring and genuine.
You look at her.
She looks at you.
She wants to take a break.
This is difficult for you to process.
You are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
You tell her you are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
She looks at you.
You inquire as to what is wrong.
You inquire as to what you did wrong.
You inquire as to what you can do better.
You inquire as to what you can do to fix whatever you did wrong.
She looks at you.
She does not love you any more.
She says she does not love you any more.
You don't understand.
You tell her you don't understand.
Your eye fluid level fills to maximum.
Your eyes will leak unless you order them to maintain current levels.
You order them to maintain current levels.
The fluid builds up, but remains in reserve.
The fluid in your eyes leaks internally and rusts your throat.
You speak with a rusty throat.
You tell her you're sorry.
She looks at you.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “persuasion.”
You tell her you'll do whatever you can to fix yourself.
She says there is nothing you can do.
You do not understand.
There is always something you can do.
You fix things all the time.
You can fix this.
You just need to know what is broken.
You tell her you can fix this.
She says she does not want to fix this.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “desperation.”
You use too much processing power.
You are unable to maintain your eye fluid levels.
Your eyes leak.
You tell her that you need her.
You tell her she is everything.
She gets up.
She switches off your Pleasure Music.
She turns the lights to maximum luminosity.
She acquires clothing.
You register a feeling of nudity.
You register a feeling of shame for your exterior.
You are processing too much at one time.
You are unable to determine the best course of action.
You need more time.
You tell her to give you more time.
She says she is finished talking.
You are not finished talking.
You tell her you are not finished talking.
She is 85% covered in external-venturing garments.
She will be ready to venture from interior to exterior in approximately 143 more seconds.
You activate your energy-enhancement reserves.
You accelerate all movements.
You get up.
You run to her.
You grab her and repeat your previous statement.
She looks at you.
There is a lack of emotions present.
You ask why there is a lack of emotional expression created through her face.
She says she feels nothing towards you.
You are angry.
Your anger is fueled by your energy-enhancements.
Your external vocalizations increase in volume.
You state that YOU FEEL NOTHING FOR HER.
You register an acceleration in blood flow.
Your face absorbs extra blood.
Your face shades to red.
You are processing too much.
You must simplify.
You determine it best to state facts.
You state that YOU HAVE TRIED TO MAKE HER HAPPY!
Your vocal projector is not able to handle the stress created by the increased volume level.
Your vocal projector crackles.
Your vocal projector breaks.
You state that YoU trIED To DO EVerYthiNG SHE EVer askED OF yOU!
You state that YOu FIXed yoURSelF WHEnevER she FOUND a FLAw IN yOU!
Her exterior preparedness level is at 100%.
You are out of time.
She tells you goodbye.
She exits from interior to exterior.
She is gone.
You were unable to switch her on.
She was unable to switch on.
She broke you.
You are broken.

The Worst Fortune Cookie Fortune OF ALL TIME.

I bet you thought that I’d say it right off the bat; the worst fortune cookie fortune of all time.
Well I’m not going to blow it that soon.
There’s no build-up.
I WILL tell you in this blog, so don’t think that I’m trying to trick you. This would be a stupid blog if I titled it ‘The Worst Fortune Cookie Fortune OF ALL TIME!” and didn’t actually tell you what the fortune was, wouldn’t it?
I can’t stand when people do that.
No, I’m definitely going to tell you.

First, a little build-up.
I’ve read fortunes from fortune cookies since I was old enough to read.
Even before that, they were read to me by my mother and father, if I remember correctly, which I don’t, because that was such a long time ago.
A fortune from a fortune cookie is supposed to be mysterious.
It is supposed to be helpful, if ambiguous.
A good fortune cookie, along with serendipitous timing in your life, can make you wonder about the reality of oracles and other people who have visions of the future (ed. gypsies?).
A good fortune from a fortune cookie, in theory, can make you question the very existence of god.

My fortune cookie fortune boldly proclaimed “A crab wonton a day keeps the doctor away.”

Let that sink in.
Re-read it.
I would be upset if it simply stated the adage (AMERICAN adage, mind you) “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”
I would already be upset if the fortune writer just came across as lazy.
Go ahead and re-read it again, I’ll wait:
“A crab wonton a day keeps the doctor away.”
They’ve twisted a very important message about eating raw fruit daily to help maintain a healthy lifestyle into this… this horrible marketing scam.
Here’s what the writer thought while he was writing it: “I think I’m a clever fortune cookie writer and I’ll probably get a raise.”
Here’s what his boss said to him when he turned it in: “Thomas, you’re our best fortune writer! Not only is this a clever play on a traditional American adage, it will increase the sales of crab wontons in our Asian partnership restaurants, and make us Bookoos of money! You’re promoted mister!!!”
I’m sure the boss slapped him on the ass, they both laughed a hearty laugh, and then they feasted together on their lunch of innocent baby souls.

As fun as that scene sounds, you’re forgetting something: they’re spreading lies.
Go ahead and read it yet again:
“A crab wonton a day keeps the doctor away.”
Have you ever enjoyed a crab wonton?
I love them.
I wish more people would eat them.
But they will NOT keep the doctor away, no matter how badly I wish they would.
They are a tiny pastry stuffed with a copious amount of cream cheese, onions, a bit of garlic or ginger, and finally crab meat, or the horrible-sounding, but cool-spelling “Krab” meat (imitation crab).
Then they are deep fried to a golden greasy brown, and served with one of several sassy sauces that have too much sugar in them.

So we’re to read this fortune and believe that eating a deep-fried cream cheese pastry a day will keep us healthy?
I have a few doctors who would disagree with that.
Children will read this and take it to heart!
Literally; because when children eat enough fried cream cheese puffs, they will surely develop a cardiac condition of some sort.

I dare you- yes, that’s right, it’s ON- I dare you to find a worse fortune cookie than mine.
You won’t be able to.
The nearest I’ve seen, I opened IMMEDIATELY after this one.
It was a bit more watered down, but ultimately still reprehensible.
It said “Reach for your dreams. Start with the spring rolls.”
…I HATE marketing.

2 Britni, From Cassi

I <3 U!

Omg! This class is so boring! I hate algabra! Y do we even have 2 know this, right?
Did u see Derek this morning? SO cute!!!!!
I wish I was a Juneyur so I could ask him out.
Do u think he’d date a softmore? Prolly not.
Btw, my boobs r totes getting biggur. I just tried on my favorite sweater, and it totes doesn’t fit!!!!!! Can u believe that? SRSLY!!!!
So we HAVE 2 go find me a new fav sweater so I can b all like “So Derek, will you help me study math or whatever?”
What r u doing this weekend????
Tiffani’s mom is out of town, so she’s throwing a party with all of her skank friends. She asked me and asked me 2 ask u if u wanted 2 cum.
It’s gonna b stupid, but I know Derek will b there, so like I HAVE 2 go.
Which means we HAVE 2 go shopping for sweaters tonite OR ELSE!!!
I forgot my Bioligy homework 2, did u do it? I need 2 copy.
Rite me back!!!!

Luv Cassi XOXOXOX

Brandy's Head

Brandy had a fat head.
Most people didn’t notice right away.
At first, she just looked closer.
All the time.
For no reason.
But everyone figured it out eventually.
She wasn’t closer all the time.
Her head was just fat.
It wasn’t an ugly head by any means.
On the contrary; Brandy was very pretty.
And with so much surface to cover, that just meant she had more pretty than the next girl. If say, someone was very plain-jane and had a fat head, that would be a lot of plain.
And I suppose if someone was ugly and had a fat head, most people would rudely refer to them as “that ugly person with the fat head.”
The fatness of her head didn’t magnify her beauty, but it did magnify her personality.
So I suppose it magnified her inner beauty if you want to get specific about subjective intangibles. If you do, that’s your business and I’m sure you have a good reason.
I honestly don’t know why it matters to you. Brandy’s beauty isn’t the point of the story, or else I would have started with “Brandy was a beautiful girl” and not “Brandy had a fat head.” If you look above, you can clearly see the story started with “Brandy had a fat head.”
Moving on.
Brandy didn’t pay much attention to her big fat head, and neither did most of her friends after a while, but she was noticed.
She was noticed by me in a coffee shop.
I didn’t make friends with her.
I never got to the point where, when I thought the name “Brandy” I thought “generous” or “hippie” or “we made out that one time, but things are still cool.”
I stayed stuck thinking “Brandy” = “fatheaded girl.”
She was pretty.
I think I mentioned that.
It’s my opinion anyway.
You are probably trying to picture how a girl with a fat head could possibly be pretty.
Mostly because I used the word “fat” to describe a part of the body notorious for having very little fat, compared to the gut, or thighs.
That would mean that if she had a fat head, it must be really really gross.
Her head isn’t really that fat, it’s just a bit larger than-who am I kidding? It’s fat. It’s a fat head. It was an accurate way to describe it, and I don’t apologize for your lack of imagination.
It wouldn’t be so very fat-looking if she didn’t also have thick curly hair.
I’ve studied facial/hair relations and I’ve noticed that usually beauty comes from them offsetting each other.
If you have a long narrow face, having your hair bounce out on the sides makes you look infinitely more beautiful than having long straight hair to match your long vampyre face.
So to summarize: Brandy had fat hair on all sides of her fat head.
You might think that such a thick mane with such a large head, must have made her look a bit like a female lion.
Well you’re forgetting that it’s the male lions who wear the dreadlocks.
Brandy was a lesbian.
Well not completely, I mean, she wasn’t committing one way or another, and she was still young enough to experiment, so it didn’t really matter anyway, but she hated Jeremy so much for cheating on her because he’s such a jerk, and all men are jerks, and she should just become a lesbian, right?
As you can probably guess, Brandy had a lot to learn.
And a lot to retain, mind you.
She was already good at that, because of her fat head.
She sat at the coffee shop drinking her Topico water, which is always good if there’s nothing more exciting to drink than bubbly tap water.
She chattered with her friends, probably talking about how dark and mysterious and cool I was, sitting on my laptop in the corner of the room.
I paid her no mind, save the occasional glance to be sure she wasn’t moving closer, which she seemed to be, but never was.
Then, as slowly as a dying relationship, she and her friends walked out of the coffee shop and out of my life.
As she left, I noticed that her ankles were the smallest I’d ever seen…