John Nartis, the Artist

John Nartis was about to kill himself and walked down the street towards the Wilderbilt company without missing a single face on a passer-by. He didn't smile at anybody, though some smiled at him. He was amused when people frowned at him, simply because it made no sense. He then realized that maybe they were frowning at something that had happened to them earlier, or maybe at something that would happen sooner or later. Nartis decided that there was no way to tell.

Nartis decided pretty recently that he didn't understand truth, that the people who were considered crazy might be the only ones who were on to something. Their problem was that they never united, and even without being united they were never consistent with one another. One would look around and see bats in his house (bats with working eyes) and one would be a woman that could feel the electricity running through the house. In stories these people are privileged or even sympathized with, in real life they're on the news and little Andrew, the prick, spits out his spaghetti because it is "so funny." What they're seeing isn't truth, it's hallucinations or something else that is made out to be what they say. But what do we know?

And then Nartis feels bad for thinking such cliche thoughts, even though they truly bother him, he knows that he is not the first to think of these. If he brought it up, people would scoff at him. They would roll their eyes as if it was an old subject already taken care of, and Nartis didn't need that. Though he still felt cheap for continuing to let all of this bother him. Why bother thinking about something so silly? Not everyone wanted to bother to think about it. Garbage, give me a break. They had bills to pay and cars to drive. It's all been said, it's not intelligent, even though Nartis' aim wasn't to be intelligent. But still, it's not something to be brought up in conversation, the only safe way to talk about it would be to bring it up at an old bar at a very late hour, and hope that the guy who says that you can never see your own self just a reflection of yourself is there and eager to talk about something that excites him.

Nartis thought of his favorite drink but couldn't really come up with one. It's not that he liked them all, and he didn't drown all of his sorrows in the drink. He wasn't a depressed man. He just started thinking about too many things at once, and he didn't want to say things got heavy because it has nothing to do with how strong you are. The things that bothered Nartis the most were things he couldn't talk about, things your average person has no interest in and things psychiatrists are so used to hearing that they chew on the inside of their cheeks and assign you to get in line for medication.

Insurance was no problem, Nartis had it. Nartis walked to work everyday, it didn't help clear his mind and he didn't save too much money on gasoline, in fact Nartis didn't exactly know why he insisted on walking to work. He just did. This was the argument most people have when they don't want to deal with something, and it's probably the real reason why Nartis decided to walk to work, just to see what it was like. He didn't know a reason, but he applied the Apple Jacks Logic to it and seemed a bit more comfortable, but rather than being more accepted by people, people thought of him as a jerk and then decided not to think of him at all.

Which surprised him when he walked through this part of the city and had everyone looking at him. He wasn't wearing anything filthy, he was just himself and people were friendly. Not condescending, just friendly, and here Nartis decided that people definitely weren't frowning at him but he still played with that idea as a funny joke. Nartis reached the building and looked above. Two large buildings with a wire in between them. A man and woman, together, glide across the wire to the building Nartis couldn't hope to even reach from where he was in a dream.

That's another thing that started to eat at Nartis. Nartis had many dreams and wrote them down on occasion, when he wasn't feeling lazy. All of his dreams happened to be in black and white, which apparently was the majority, but he wasn't sure if people were kidding him or not. Nartis isn't stupid, he knows that dreams are dreams and not something else, you see. He thanks God everyday he dreams because he knows a dream isn't a dream and he's not one of those people that think that dreaming is something more, or that dreaming is that actual life, or that maybe we are currently dreaming or in someone else's dream. That is all so silly.

Nartis moved quickly in the line. It was a fast trip so the line didn't linger for too long. Occasionally someone was too scared or nervous to go across, and even the coolest people displayed fear by disguising it in the form of a joke. Nartis wasn't a very funny man and it's not like he used to be. He liked when people made him laugh (though he didn't laugh often) and he liked when other people laughed. But he didn't think there was a hidden agenda in all comedians and class clowns, they must be hiding something. Or maybe they were? Nothing's absolute, but he felt that some people would decide certain things and apply them to everything and everyone. They would argue their point while their mustache grew much too far away from their nose, and even the biggest loser in the end still retains his hatred for those people that make others laugh.

Nartis thought that those people would probably go to see those other people he thought of in the second paragraph. They would laugh in condescension, but they would be laughing. Whose to say that they were laughing at those people in the worst luck? Of course that's the worst luck, he thinks, because they may be the ones that are on to something and jesus christ, we're sitting around wasting them, or we're forcing them to sit around and waste themselves. Either way, they'd be laughing and in an attempt to relate, the lower party would probably laugh too. But there would be no connection and the person with the mustache that serves no purpose would talk to his spouse about how he has a very interesting story for her. And that's fine, but when Nartis brought up the fact that maybe the person who thinks there's nothing in their room when there actually is could be right and we could be wrong, things get quiet rather than talkative, and people speak more with their facial expressions.

Nartis didn't just think about that, though, clearly. He thought about global crise, the pointlessness of cooking (that everyone accepts but won't admit it), and the leg hair on the person in front of him. What a character Nartis would be if he shaved that man's leg hair right now. I bet you think that Nartis can't understand why women shave their legs (and so often, too) but men don't. But he knows.

The line began to start up on stairs. This was bothersome. Every time the party started moving, Nartis would bump into someone because it was harder to tell when the line stopped. Which was fine, because Nartis apologized every time. He also saw other people doing it as well, and at that point he realized it was impossible for the man in front of him, now hairless, to get annoyed with him. The man was probably just thinking of the rush that was going to happen soon, anyway.

Nartis decided to kill himself this way because he wouldn't have to deal with anyone talking him down from doing it. It was a very expensive way to kill yourself. They went through precautions so that you wouldn't fall, but those could all easily be undone, if one wanted them to be. Nartis barely thought of the consequences of him going this way- the ride being shut down, the inevitability of the place hiring someone to go with you on the short trip to completely make sure, and so on. However if Nartis thought of all of this right now, the overwhelming thoughts would probably cause him to either implode, explode, or some other form of 'plode (another thing that neither he nor anybody wants/ed to think about) and that's not the way he wanted to go.

The stairwell was well ventilated and well lit, and it seemed to make everyone happy. You could easily watch someone slide down, and you could easily see children being turned away for being too short. Nobody said anything about a really tall five year old, but a really short twelve year old would have trouble. But why even bother bringing something like that up, it's silly and stupid and everybody knows about stuff like that already so why even let it cross your mind once. Keep it on one side and let it stay there and hope it turns into smoke and leaves (not leaves as in the plural form of leaf, leaves as in let it leave, because smoke never wants to stay).

At this point, John Nartis began to feel guilty. Smoke made him think of cigarettes, cigarettes made him think of death, and death made him think of his own death, but then back to death, and to funerals, and to sad people at funerals, and then he realized how upset people would be when he did what he was going to do. They waited all of this time to go on this ride and maybe they'd do it eventually, but maybe some would be too scared to ever do it again. Though maybe it'd be the subject of some story, well not the subject, but it could be at the end of the story, they could talk about it in the beginning and the woman can get divorced and have family problems and then at the end she could find a place that still does this sort of thing and then finally do it. She faced her fears and got over something, whatever. But that would be one person and it's not even that good of an ending. So Nartis decided to let people ahead of him.

It was a tight squeeze, Nartis wasn't fat but neither was the stairwell. He let people go ahead of him and had to deal with the are you sure's and insistent nature of people. Which was fine. It's understandable, though it was quicker to be a bad person at the moment. Walking around Nartis made the line go slower, though, and before long the workers saw him through one of the windows and pointed at him. Nartis noticed this and tried to duck around the window, but there was another window which his shoulder was exposed through. Nartis looked up and saw another window and decided that the whole escapism thing (just in this situation at this moment) was a waste of energy. A worker yelled down the stairwell and said keep the line moving. Nartis was doing this, of course, but who wants to get into an argument over a crowd of people? Then people in the back who didn't know what was going on would start yelling come on or something, and it was just going to be too hectic.

Hectic.

He decided not to care if this ruined the ride for some people, he forced himself to be extremely selfish for his own benefit. I mean, he thought, it was now or never. Unfortunately, people had to be involved, and whether he liked it or not, he knew it from the beginning. Again, it was a very expensive way to die. He approached the top and thought of those things that brought him here again. How annoying.

He saw the four or five workers on the top of the building. He couldn't tell if one guy was a worker or if he just had a similar shirt on. The one man fitting the harness on someone in front was definitely the guy who yelled down. Nartis wondered if everybody knew or not, and then he realized that at a certain point, people in the line wouldn't even know that this guy yelled down at everyone. He would get off scott-free! Nartis wasn't one for justice, he was no vigilante, but he still thought that was unfair. Not that the yelling really affected him, but he thought too many people yelled and hollered without any punishment. He smiled at the man and the man smiled back, and Nartis realized he was just doing his job. The man also nodded when he smiled, which was good too.

The hairless man in front of Nartis was getting harnessed up. He professed some doubts he had about the ride. They assured him it would be okay, and then he went, and it would be something else if this guy fell to his death right now. Nartis would have to jump after him, there was no way he was going to stand and wait for it to be taken care of and then allowed to leave. Nartis looked around and noticed that the other man in the similar worker shirt had went. Looks like he was just a regular guy, he thought. They gave Nartis the harness and made it very tight. They even made a joke out of it, together.

Nartis was hoping that people at least got the story right. He wasn't a virtuoso (and didn't even like the word) but if he fell a certain way they make think he is, only because nobody had died on something like this before so he had no reference. He made small talk with the man just so the paper would get something right. He told the man that he worked as a manager at a grocery store, the biggest one in town that the man recognized, and said he also held stock and was a little upset when so-and-so went down. He said he walked to work and really enjoyed the walk, and said that business was better than ever. The man said he'd ask for him the next time he came in, and Nartis said he'd take care of him and to try the new delivery service he implemented and came up with himself. The man laughed and so did Nartis, and across went Nartis.

Though Nartis has a conscious. He flew through the air, the air hit his face, of course it felt good. Nartis felt the harness loosen a tad, but it was still very tight. He tried hard to unloosen it, and it worked really quickly. He felt the cold metal of the handle one last time with his left hand (he was a righty) and let go. He tried to block out the sounds of everyone but it was hard. All he could think about was how silly it was to call yourself a righty or lefty as if you were still a child. He thought this, but not for long, as he tried to think of other things, but all he could think about was how he lied to that man.

Dear Mother & Dad,

Please forgive me. I love you so much. I really appreciate it all.

Don't think into this- I liked our new home more, I promise.

You took me to see the Blue Angels when they did the flight over that old restaurant. I don't understand why but I'm really glad I got to see that.


Dear Nick,
I'll never forget our good times, but I'll never forget the bad times either - When you threw weights at me when I slept over or when you called me ugly everytime you were mad at me.

Don't feel responsible for this because you had nothing to do with it it was years ago so please don't feel like you did this but I won't forget.

You should be ashamed of yourself.


Angela,
I love you so much and I worship you. I'll never forget when we would talk on the phone all night after school and watch Passion Island. I never liked that show.

Please keep doing what you're doing and go to college. I'm glad that I could be your boyfriend. Don't worry about me because I'll be all right.

Be free and take anyone anywhere.


Bobby-
You're my best friend and you should do whatever you want to do so don't listen to your parents this time.


Jessie,
Don't come in.
Call Mommy. She'll know what to do.

Jessie don't go in the bedroom.

I love you all
Ben

It happened.

Chapter 1

"My name is Amy Brent. When I grow up I want to be an actor. I know this is a dream of most people. Most people want to be in Hollywood. I don't care if I am not in Hollywood or not. Money is the root of all evil problems and even though it makes people happy. My family is very nice, and, they care alot about me. I might run for student body president when I get older and in sixth grade. I like doing good in school and my best friends are in school. They are Jane and Steph. They are very very cool. Well, now you know who I am."

I smirked. This was me in second grade. I always had high ambitions... I had to write this thing for class, it was like, the first day.. We all knew each other, every kid in the class. The teacher said it was to get to know each other, but she - Mrs. Kirk - was obviously retarded cause we had all known each other prior to second grade, maybe because there was also KINDERGARDEN and FIRST GRADE beforehand. I mean, if she wanted to get to know us, she could have just said it.

I read it over again and smirked again.

"I like doing good in school... I like doing good in school."

Second graders, go figure. Hopefully I've gotten a little smarter than this..

"I like doing good in school."

I shook my head. Hopefully!

Chapter 2

I pulled up into the parking lot and got out of my car. I saw a group of people as I walked towards the school. A group of people I knew. They were all smoking cigarettes, this was the place they did it inbetween classes. I didn't like cigarettes, but I didn't mind if others did them. I wasn't going to tell anybody how to live their lives.

"Amy!!"

One guy said. His name was Collin. He was a cool guy. Michele, Brian, and John were there too.

"Hey guys! How was your summer?"

I liked being really nice, you could tell people really appreciated it.

"Oh, you know, same old same old."

Brian shrugged as he said this. We chuckled. It was just the way he said certain things.

"Same old same old..." I said. What a funny saying. They all shot me a look, I guess the joke wasn't funny anymore. Oh well, I never knew. Not everybody was a comedian, and I sure as hell wasn't.

"Hey, did any of you guys get the book we were supposed to read over the break? I think it was.. um.. The Canterbury Tales?" Michele asked. Yeah, of course I read it. I read it twice, it was kinda good.

"Yeah, I think I might have wiped my ass with it." Brian said. Sometimes he was really gross. We all laughed. Then it got quiet, and they enjoyed their cigarettes.

Then they shot me that same look. I was kind of day dreaming, maybe they caught me. Wow, that's embarassing. I clapped my hands.

"Well, I better get an early start! I'll see you guys in there!" We parted. They looked kind of weirded out, but there was nothing I could do. What was the big deal? I was just daydreaming. I stepped into the school and got some sort of weird rush from it all.

This year was going to be a great year. There's nothing better than senior year. I'm going to do great academically, and I'm going to get into a fantastic college, and I can't wait. The last three years of hard work are going to own up to something, and I'm so excited.

Chapter 3

People change, but Calculus sure doesn't. Still a mind bore. It wasn't that it was really easy - it wasn't ridiculously hard. But my brain can't handle it, it's so much learning everyday. Never a break. I like learning, but seriously, children need a break every once in awhile.

Everyone looked at me. Wow, did I say all that outloud?

I waited it out. I guess I didn't. Maybe a few people caught me daydreaming again and told everyone.

I looked at the board. The teacher had an equation up with some kind of symbol that I'd never seen before.

"What is that........ shit?"

Everyone laughed. The teacher looked annoyed, and then explained to me what it was. I didn't really pay attention though. Did I just say shit? It just slipped out. Everyone laughed though, and yeah, I guess it was pretty funny. How often do I even curse? Not often at all. I think the class needed a joke, it gave us a very small break. Some sanity. I didn't care that I cursed in front of a teacher - she didn't seem to care either. It was cool. I never get to be the comedian.

Chapter 4

The teacher started telling us about his summer. This was one of those "cool" teachers, the ones who could take a break from teaching or even have different teaching methods. It was the first day, so I guess we weren't gonna do anything. He didn't look too happy either.

He started talking about his divorce, which finalized over the summer. He then started talking about how his apartment was flooded, and he lost a lot of personal belongings, including his pet terrier Peter. What a heavy, heavy summer vacation. To top it all off, his Mother was in the hospital, and probably wasn't going to make it. He looked like he was gonna cry.

I started clapping slowly. I don't know why, but I did. People looked at me. Some people smirked, I guess I could see the humor in it. Before I even thought about stopping it, and teacher got really angry and told me to go down to the principal.

Chapter 5

"It wasn't on purpose. I'm not a comedian... I don't know why I did it."

I went to the guidance counselor instead. The walk down, I thought a lot. Why DID I clap my hands? I wasn't one of the people in class who didn't want to hear it. I was generally upset by this man's misfortunes.

"Listen, Amy, a good girl turning bad isn't something unusual. It happens. I just want to know why you decided to start being like this all of the sudden."

"I said it wasn't on purpose! I don't know why I did it, but I just did it, and then I realized I was doing it, and-"

"Look, just tell me about your entire day."

So I did. I told her everything. I didn't leave anything out. Maybe she thought I was having a bad day or something - I wanted to make sure she knew that I wasn't, and that this wouldn't happen again. She opened a book while I was talking. She's not a good listener. She's not really a good counselor either.

"So you clapped your hands for no reason?"

"Yes, like I said before."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine." This was getting annoying.

"What about the cursing?"

"I'm not sure where that came from..."

"So you've been daydreaming a lot. Is there anything in particular you're thinking about?"

"Nothing really.. I don't even realize I'm doing it. I just get lost in my thoughts.. it's nothing in particular, just thought after thought. It's quick. It's just me in my head."

"Do you think you've changed at all? Is anything different from last year?"

"I don't know, I think it's too early to tell. It's only the first day and all, y'know?"

The counselor nodded and looked like she was thinking. She looked kind of bothered.

"I'm sorry, did you say that in class, a bunch of people caught you daydreaming?"

I confirmed. What's the deal? So what? I still didn't understand why they noticed and laughed, and now I don't know what the big deal is for the counselor to know it.

"Honey, people don't just catch people daydreaming and then laugh at them."

I sighed.

"Look, I don't know why they looked at me. I wasn't paying attention - there. Maybe I was drooling or something, I don't know. It won't happen again, I promise."

The counselor looked at me for awhile, and then nodded. She closed the book, and looked kind of upset. She looked away.

"All right, you can leave. I'm sorry I persisted so much, I'm sure I might have gotten on your nerves, but I've known you for three years, I'd hate to see a good girl go downhill."

I nodded and left. I could see where I was coming from. Maybe she was a good counselor. I looked into her office. She wiped her eyes and then picked up the phone.

Chapter 6

I got home and and there was a note on the door.

It was from my Mother. She said the school called. Great.

She tattled on me. What a good counselor.

I walked into my house and my mom was home.. she said she left me a note because she didn't know if she'd be home when I got home. She sat me down and we talked about school, and I explained to her what happened... she nodded along, but didn't look like she was too happy. Probably had a bad day. She kept looking on me, not taking her eyes off of me. She left the room to go get a cup of coffee. She walked back in and handed me one.

"I'm kind of annoyed that my counselor called you.. it was really no big deal."

"Amy- I'm going to take you to the doctor tomorrow."

"What?! Why!? It's the second day of school! Besides, I'm not-"

"The counselor told me what happened to you today, and what you did. As you were talking to me, I watched you, and I watched you good. Amy, the counselor told me - and I agree - that you have some symptoms that can be linked to Tourettes syndrome."

She was right.

It all added up.

Clapping hands?

Repeating others' words?

Repeating my own?

Things I didn't notice that I did...

She was right.

And she was crying.

And so was I.

My life was over

and all the hard work

was for noting.

A waste

of a fucking

"good" life.

Chapter 7

I awoke with the covers off of me. I wasn't cold, but I couldn't sleep peacefully without the covers on. It was just a little pet peeve, I guess. I always felt exposed if I slept without them, and I always thought somebody was going to "get" me, and I've thought this ever since I was little. I guess some stuff you just don't grow out of.

I looked around for the covers. It didn't take me too long to find them. Over in the corner of the bed, there they were. I pulled them back up, and as I moved them, I saw three white bunnies on my bed. I gasped - God, I thought it was something worse.

I reached out for them but they jumped away. They jumped onto my drawer. My big drawer with the mirror, the same drawer that held all my clothes. It was right next to my window, which was open, and I don't know why. It wasn't that warm out. I got a little worried, so I got up to get the rabbits and shut the window, but then they jumped.

They jumped out of the open window.

They went down, they went all the way down, all three of them.

Chapter 8

The next day I went to school. It was the third week, so we were already well into work for the first marking period.

I'm on medication, and I suppose it's helping.

Sometimes during class I slip. It's awful, it's so bad, the class laughs. I'm not sure if they know, maybe they all do, maybe some, but most of them laugh. I'm surprised the joke hasn't gotten old yet.

It's so weird, I really don't want to clap. I really, really don't want to. But I guess this urge, this terrible urge. It's like I'm addicted. I always, always want to do it. If I keep myself busy, I don't do it, I won't want to do it, I won't even think about it. But in class, I can't help it. I mean, it's highschool, so obviously, I'm not going to be busy all of the time. Highschool is a joke.

And apparently, so am I.

Chapter 9

The people who used to admire me now laugh at me. I used to be the person that parents would mention when they were wishing their kids were someone better. You know, the kind of thing that kids hate hearing, but I was flattered and I loved it. I used to be friendly with everyone and I could talk to anybody. Now I feel like an outcast. I can still hold decent conversations, but sometimes - and yes, I've noticed this now - I'll clap. Or I'll repeat something I've said or someone else has said once or twice. Something that was once not noticeable and just ignorable is now not because everyone knows what's wrong with me.

Sometimes I wish they never found out, and all of the time I wish I never found out.

It could be worse. I could have every symptom possible and be a real fucking mess...

..But I hate writing something off like that. There's nothing worse in the world when somebody tells you that "it could be worse," as if that is supposed to make it better.

Especially when the person telling you that is yourself.

As for people other than myself, not everyone is an asshole about it though. Some people are very sympathetic. I'm not sure if that's better or worse. One time I was outside, talking with the smoking group, and I did one of those things that I do - one of those things - and out of nowhere, Michele looked really upset and she hugged me.

I can't stand that. I'm not sure what's worse...

A few jerk-off guys would make fun of me. The same guys who wanted me as a girlfriend, but listened to their dicks and went with any girl who would give it up, and give it up often.

One girl - a girl who had nothing going for her, which is probably why she's acting out on an easy target like me - tries to be really cool in front of other guys. She pushes me in the hallway and make noises at me. Heckling me. How can another human being heckle someone? I don't understand people anymore.

You would never think that people are this inhumane, but they are. And it's unbelievably sad. You would never believe it for a second. But people are like this. People are just like this. People always put down others to make themselves feel above them, and it's cliche but it's really true, and if you're not sure how true that is, spend a day in a highschool. Spend one goddamned day in highschool, and tell someone that something's wrong with you, or that you live with your mom because your dad is dead, or something. Wait another week and see what happens. It's disgusting, absolutely disgusting.

I'm not looking for pity though. I just wish some of these people - people that I thought I never had problems with before - would grow the fuck up.

....If I keep thinking about this, I'm going to cry. I'm going to cry in Calculus.

If I don't keep thinking about this, I'll probably fucking clap again or do some more STUPID SHIT BECAUSE I WON'T BE KEEPING MYSELF BUSY.

THE TORMENT.

The great choices I am fucking given-
Think about my problem so that it definitely keeps me busy so I won't pick up my left fucking arm and my right motherfucking arm and have my two hands fucking meet for NO APPARENT REASON AT ALL

-or-

Stop thinking about my problem so I won't break down in tears, and possibly leave myself open for the syndrome to kick in and something to happen.

I thought about my options for about a second.

Then I cried.

I'm so weak. I'm so. fucking. weak.

Chapter 10

I've discovered life is more than grades.

I'm getting worse.

The medication I was given works, but it has pretty bad long term side effects, so I stopped taking it.

The doctor left it up to me, because he said eventually the things that I do will become controllable.

This was in October, a week after the "incident" in Calculus.

It's now December.

Maybe for Christmas?

Chapter 11

I'm losing it all. I can't believe my entire education... my entire life is going to be ruined because of this.

I don't have anything left, anything at all. People barely take me seriously at all. What was all the work I have done for? What do I have now??

I walked down the hallway. It was mid December, and it was really, really cold. I was on the way back from lunch, going to my Macroeconomics class with that "cool" teacher.

Funny... it wasn't weird with him. A lot of the kids in the class were really down to earth, which was also nice. He also didn't hold anything against me. We knew of each other's problems.

My hands were in my pockets. I looked at my feet as I walked. If I looked around, I might catch eyes with someone, and they might talk about me. Not that this ever happened, but I dreaded it so much. There's not a lot worse in this world than seeing a person talking from far away, but knowing in your heart that that person is talking about you. Knowing in your heart.

I think I might be getting the hang of this though. Obviously, this is how I walk places. This seems to be working. Whenever I get that great urge to clap or something, I go to the bathroom during class and do it. It's great, it feels so amazing. I realize I can't hold something like that in forever.

If you can't understand, it reminds me of people like John and Michele and company - people who go inbetween classes to smoke cigarettes. Because they're addicted, and they have the urge, and they can't help it, but they love it.

That's how I equate it, and that's why I'm still sane right now. It's why I'm still alive.

These were great, workable procedures, though, when you don't really look straight ahead of you when you're walking, you're bound to bump into somebody who doesn't like to be bumped into.

Chapter 12

"Why don't you watch where the fuck you're going, retard?!"

"..Take it easy. I apologized to him already."

I tried to remain calm. I knew something was going to happen. This girl has had it out for me for awhile.

"What kind of person doesn't even look to see where they're walking?!"

She laughed. She was really, really ugly.

"You've never done that before?"

I tried to play it cool. I didn't want to antagonize her, but something told me that this encounter was going to go somewhere. It couldn't be like this forever.

"No, sorry, I'm not a retard like you, I can actually function on a daily basis!"

Then I put my problem to use.

I clapped. Slowly.

Very, VERY sarcastically.



It was well received, to say the least.

It was really obvious what I was doing, all sides of it. Before I could be really proud of myself, I noticed how enraged she was, and before I knew it, she had me on the ground.

She pulled at my hair and scratched my face.

I tried to get her off of me, and I pulled at her big hoop earrings. Who was she trying to impress looking like this?


No wonder she had to make fun of me.



I started to hurt. My face started to bleed. I started to curse at her.

She started punching, she was so angry that I humiliated her. She told me that nobody can do that to her, especially someone like me.

I was really, really tired of this, tired of it all.

I was tired of everyone. She embodied everything I hated about people right now. All the scumbag low-life's who think it's funny to poke fun of someone who is already hurting and who already knows that everything she had done prior to this year is down the fucking drain, and was a big waste of time. I hated her just like I hated everyone else who treated me even a little bit like she did, or even a little bit like I described.

She also embodied my hatred toward the disease. It's so disgusting that of all people, the disease chose me and not one of these assholes, and especially not her. It wasn't fair. I'm not blaming God. I'm not blaming life. No, I'm going to blame her. And here I go.

I used all my strength to push her off, and then I got a really good shot, right in her fucking face.

It didn't stop her, but it felt good, and I definitely got what I wanted.

I thought about it more as I got that clean, beautiful shot on her. It looked like it hurt, and as she tried to recover from it, I thought. What was the purpose of me doing so good in school if this was going to happen to me? What was the purpose at all? Was it really a waste?

It didn't take me too long to think, and it didn' take her too long to recover.

And then she got what she wanted - and I ended up on the ground again.

My face?

A bloody mess.

Chapter 13

I awoke in the middle of the night again. It was really late, and I couldn't see the time. The blankets were off.

I pulled them up, and there were the little bunnies again. All three of them. I kind of hoped they were going to be there..

They jumped on my drawer. I got up. Maybe I could save them this time. I was so scared. My heart pounded. What was this for?

I rushed toward them, but, again, they jumped out of my window. I was on the second floor. They jumped out and went directly down.

I closed the window and sat on my bed. There was nothing I could do, and I hated that. I gave up.

What a waste. What was the point of it all?

I looked and saw the place on the bed where they were, and I saw that they had left small little green leaves behind.

I picked up the rabbit food and was about to throw it in the garbage, but then something caught my eye.

Another white bunny stood on top of my television, looking right at me.

I walked up to it and gave it a leaf to eat, and picked it up.

I layed down on my bed with it, holding it tight and not letting it go. It stayed with me, almost promising that it wouldn't leave if I just held onto it and cared for it.

And so I did, and it all worked out.

All I want is a feeling.

"Hand it the FUCK over!"

I tugged the little asshole's backpack harder. He wouldn't give in. What was the big fucking deal?

"Stop it, leave me alone! This isn't funny anymore!" He screams.

I grew angrier, and I stopped pulling the backpack, and then I pushed him. I grabbed his neck and pressed hard. He tried to push me away, but I grabbed the wrist of his left arm and twisted it behind him. I got really close to him.

"I'm.. tired of you.. doing this.."

"Thats enough of that shit! Who do you think you are? What do you think this is, a sitcom? A feel-good? I'm sick of little dickheads like you sticking up for themselves, thinking it will matter! It's not going to FUCKING WORK!!"

I felt the little pussy trembling. What a dick.

"...What are you doing...?" He said, uncomfortably.

I grew closer to him and whispered into his ear.

"If you tell anybody about this.." I smirked. "Nobody will believe you."

And it was true. It was the truest fucking thing I've ever said. I continued to hold him with both arms, one by his neck and one by-

"Stop it!"

He struggled and broke free, pushing me away. Damn, I got too caught up in it. My heart raced and I paniced, but the kid is pretty fucking slow, y'know? I was able to turn around and grab him. I punched him in the stomach, and them pushed him into a stall. In normal times, I would have gave him a swirlie, laughed, and then let him be for the rest of the day.

I sat him down on the toilet seat and kissed him. He didn't kiss back. He was obviously very, very, very scared.

This was so cool.

"All I want is a feeling." I told him. I dropped my attitude, I stopped cursing for a second, I started being sincere. I looked him in the eyes, and he looked at me back. His eyes were tearing.

"Will you leave me alone, then?" He asked. I was disgusted. He was only doing this so I would stop bothering him all the time. But what the fuck did I expect?

"Depends how good it is." I smirked. I made him put his feet up and against the walls so that if anybody came in, it'd look like I was in the stall taking a piss. I dropped my pants, and I made him do it.

I can make anybody do anything.

-------------

I left the bathroom. I was so scared. So fucking scared.

Am I gay? Am I gay? Am I gay? Am I gay? Am I gay?

No, it doesn't count. It doesn't fucking count. Did you enjoy it? I don't know, did I?

I was so, so fucking scared. I quickly walked out of the bathroom and walked down the halls. He was going to stay in the bathroom a little while so it didn't look like we both left at the same time.

I tried not to cry. I tried my hardest. The last thing I need is another asshole picking on me. I had to keep my composure. Whatever just happened.... is what happened. I can't break. If I break, he's won. And as far as I know, he's never going to bother me again.

He's never going to bother me again.

He's never going to bother me again.

He's never going to bother me.. again.

He's going to make me do it... again.

I walked into an empty classroom and sat down. I trembled. I held back from crying. I'm not a fucking girl. I'm a man. How do I deal with this? I can't cry. I can't fucking cry. I never thought this... or he...

The shock was difficult. As if getting pushed around and laughed at wasn't enough.. I never thought that he'd be a homosexual. I never thought that I'd ever touch a different penis.

All of this was so overwhelming.. I didn't know how to handle it. I tried not to think about it, but the thoughts kept racing in my mind. I thought of what I could do.. I thought of consequences.. I thought of everything. I thought of my first instinct, I thought of overreacting, I thought of letting it slide. I thought of freaking out. I thought of going along with it. I thought of talking about it with someone, but how can I? And who can I?

Anybody else would freak out and call the authorities or something. They'll get Brett in trouble. Then, news would spread. Everyone will know what I did. Everyone will think... everyone.. will know. They'll all make fun of me. It'll be awful. It'll be 2 more years of school with people whispering to each other in the hall when I walk past them, it'll be 2 more years of harassment, it'll be 2 more years of being called a fag, it'll be 2 more years of the drama kids coming on to me, it'll be 2 years where I'll be no longer ignored.

Can I keep this bottled up inside? Sure. I'm a guy. I can do it. Why can't I?

-----

I waited in the bathroom a few minutes after Charlie left, and then I walked out. Of school, even. Fuck that shit.

I can't believe I got him to do it. I laughed to myself. As I left the school, I saw some people on lunch break and I gave them five. I made a joke to them, and they laughed. As I walked away, I heard them talking shit about me.

You know, you never think the other person hears you, but they do, they always do. I could feel the disgusted face they made at they turned around. It's okay, I didn't care. Why the fuck would I? They're not that great themselves, fucking Tracy over there is chubby and has a big nose, Billy looks so dumb in his glasses and he thinks he's so jacked and big, Tom makes up shit and pretends that he does all this cool stuff but you know he fucking doesn't. I don't care, why the fuck should I? They're all losers.

I walked home and got into my house. I dropped my books down in the living room, and walked into the kitchen. I picked up an orange at starting peeling it. I sat down and started watching television. My mind started to wander a little bit... I can never focus on TV anymore. I finished my orange and went upstairs and layed down on my bed.

I thought about Charlie.. hahaha... Sorry Charlie. I thought about his hand, I thought about his skin, I thought about the way he drinks soda, and I thought about the way he handles himself after the job... I thought about-

The phone rings. I get scared, and I answer it.

"Hello?"
"Brett!"

I shifted.

"Hi, Megan."
"How are you?"
"I'm good, how's it going back home?"
"It's all right, but it's nothing without you here... I really miss you, when can I see you?"
"I dunno, maybe I'll come back this weekend."
"I can't wait! Man, I've wanted to-"
"Listen, Megan, can I call you back later? I just got back from school and I'm getting ready to go out with some friends."
"Hoef and Brian? That's great, I'm so glad you're fitting in there! I was so worried that-"
"Well, here they are! I gotta go."
"Aw, all right. I love you."
"I love you too, baby. Bye."

I hung up the phone. I sighed and looked up at my ceiling. I took my hand out of my pants, and there was blood on it.

----

I layed down on my lawn and looked up at the sky. I started to think about something else, so I thought about the old days..

In grammar school, things were different. We... we were all children. Everyone got along. Why wouldn't someone get along? Everyone had fun, everyone was.. innocent. We had such good times.

In junior high, cliques start.. people become.. different. One of the people from your old school will start dressing in all black. One won't play rec basketball, but actually, he'll be on the school team. One will start wearing baggy clothes. One will start playing electric guitar.

From there, they branch out, and they find other people who dress in black, or other people who are on the team, or other people with XXL shirts, or other people who can play drums.

Junior high was the time when I realized that I didn't really fit in. I still talked to people, though.. but then highschool.. Highschool is like the transition from grammar school to junior high, but to a much greater degree. The friends I had, the friends that turned into aquaintances, turned into something less than that. If there is a word.

When I said people ignored me, I wasn't lying. People talk to me, yeah, but the one thing friends do is care for one another, no matter how ga-

...

No matter how that sounds. They do. Guy or Girls. Nobody cared about me. I spoke to people, I joked with them about the teacher's voice, I even said a few funny things in class, but nobody gave a shit about me.

When Brett came to this school, I thought I could be his friend. I thought that maybe I could start a bond with him, and we'd have things in common, and then maybe, maybe we'd care about each other. And then I could talk to him in the halls. And hang out afterschool.

Now I'm thinking about it again..

-----

A few days passed, and I had that motherfucker in the bathroom every goddamned day. I laughed to myself. That's so funny. I can't believe that's how things work! The first few days, he would resist, and I beat the shit out of him.. a little bit. The past few days though, he's been doing it without a fuss, and he's even getting better.

Of course, I tell him everytime that he won't have to do it again and that I'll leave him alone.. wouldn't you?

Thinking about the whole thing gets me so excited, and then thinking about what I made him do yesterday gets me so excited for today.

As I walked down the hall, lost in thought, I saw Kate out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and said hi, and then I kept going. As I kept walking, I heard her laughing to her friends, saying "He's so weird!"

Why the fuck would I care? I can't be bothered. I opened the door to the bathroom, and then walked in. 40 minutes later, I walked home.

----

I sat in my couch and relaxed that night, watching television. I loved this show about two families and the mothers swapping. Well, all right, it was kind of lame, actually, but it felt really good to sit down and relax after such a long day of school. I heard my Mom walking in, and she smiled at me as she sat down on the couch, a cushion away from me.

"No movie tonight?" She asked. Usually I liked to watch movies down here after school.

"Nah, I felt like watching something that requires no thought and was just fun."

Mom looked concerned. She always thought I was serious and that there was always something wrong.

"What's the matter, honey?"

"Nothing! I wish you wouldn't do that, either, there's not always something wrong."

She sighed. "Well, you looked stressed, that's all.. let me give you a back massage."

"No, that's all right, I'm fine."

"Just let me do it!" She said. She started rubbing my back, and my bruises, and I winced in pain. She lifted up my shirt a bit and went under the shirt, she said you can get the muscles better that way. She started to notice the bruises.

"Where are all of these from?!" She freaked out again. Calm down, Mom.

"What? What bruises?" I played dumb.

"Charlie...who did this to you?" She looked very concerned.

"Nobody, Mom, just stop, let it go." She shook her head and stood up, walking towards the kitchen.

"It was someone at school, wasn't it? I'm calling the police." She picked up the phone and dialed 911. I shot up.

"What're you doing!? I'm not 12 years old here! Don't call the fucking police!"

Later on, the police came and questioned me. I tried to lie, I tried my best, but they saw all of the bruises.

All of them.

-----

The police went to Brett's house and questioned him. They then questioned a few of the students in the school, and they all told the police that they did see Brett bullying around Charlie from time to time.

People see everything.

Brett was arrested for what he did, and Charlie was ultimately left behind, confused.

After it subsided, immediately after it did, Charlie went to school. His Mother told him that he didn't have to go, but Charlie wanted to be strong.

As he walked into the building and walked down the halls, everyone stared at him. Everyone looked. Everyone's eyes, everyone's eyes on him.

Charlie walked to his locker, got his books, and walked to his first class. The next day, Charlie did the same, but nobody looked at him. The next year, it was the same, but as he passed, Charlie could hear people talking about him as he walked passed them.

He told the police he didn't care, but that didn't make sense.

What hurts more? The ignorance? Or the intolerance?

"That's enough of your mischief."

I sat back down in my chair. It wasn't a joke, I was serious. Half so, at least.. I mean, this was show and tell, not a fucking... well, I don't know. Why was this to be taken so seriously? I gave my teacher a dirty look.

"Keep it up."

And then what? I made a gesture.

"If you don't knock it off, you won't get snack."

"Who gives a shit?" I yelled. The other kids were shocked. I don't know why. I'm sure I wasn't alone with this feeling. What kind of punishment is that? No snack? Can I not hold out until lunch? Am I a fucking retard? Will I go throughout the day malnourished if I don't eat a fucking Oreo? Is it really-

"Come with me." She said as she grabbed my arm and lifted me out of my chair. "Stay in your seats, I'll be right back."

Nobody listened, why would they? They had to know what was going on, everyone always has to know what's going on. She walked me through the door and dragged me down the hall.

"I can walk myself."

"How do I know you're going to go to the principal?"

"Where else would I go? Home? I'd never walk home alone."

The Teacher, I didn't even know her name.. well, I knew it, but I refuse to give her that honor.. the Teacher stopped dragging me and then stood in front of me, then bent over and said, in a very condescending voice..

"You better go to the Principal's office. You can come back when she says it's okay."

Oh, yeah, thanks for letting me know.

"I have to go back to class. Everything can't just stop because you decide to be a brat."

Ouch, brat. Way to go. I nodded and started walking, turning the corner to the principals office, turning the corner so that even if she wasn't in the class room yet, she couldn't see me. I continued to walk, past lockers, past other classrooms, past the principals office, past the fire alarm, and right out the door.

I walked home everyday.

----

Some people would call me a scum bag, some a pervert, but I think my real name is Matthew.

I leaned on the hard, brick wall of some stupid, huge building that I didn't have anything to do with. I smoked my cigarette, and I don't care what it was doing to me, I didn't want to hear it. I wish people would be more concerned with themselves than others.

I stood there everyday for a little while. It wasn't really special, I just usually got tired of walking around the same time everyday. I leaned, smoked, and watched the human race walk past me. Some gave me dirty looks, some ignored me, and if I actually cared, which I don't, I'd wonder which hurt more.

I hadn't shaved in awhile.. I really looked the part today. When I got bored with my cigarette, I would smile at people. My teeth were crooked. I couldn't afford braces... well, no one actually can, but I just didn't have the patience for them. And who cares anywa-

"What the FUCK are you smiling at?"

Said some asshole. I continued to smile, and he kept walking. This is the common misconception that people have - they think if you do something to someone, and they don't like it, they'll kill you. They'll say 'Just wait, one day someone's going to shoot you for that!' or 'What if he had a gun and shot you?'

One time I was in school and I was on a bus going on a field trip. There was some homeless guy with tons of clothes on, and he wore boxers as a hat. I laughed at him and me and my friends cursed him off and gave him the finger. One girl shook her head and said 'Now what if he has a gun and shoots you?'

Which I'm sure would happen, given his current situation, he probably did have a gun and probably would take aim and shoot at a kid in a school bus for taunting him, and he wouldn't shoot anybody else, including the people who pass by him every day that don't help him or give him the time of day.

So what hurts more? The ignorance? Or the intolerance?

I hope that makes sense to you. I'm not the smartest, but I try to be. Anyway, point is, you can really do whatever you want to anybody, but there are limits. There's this woman walking by, she's not very attractive, kind of chubby, but she has a cute nose. I lick my lips, she looks at me and then tries to ignore me.

If she thinks I care, I don't, I'm just having fun, just making points.

Hey, wouldn't it be funny if I was a business man on vacation, and I made myself look really ugly and dirty on purpose? Like, just for fun?

How do you know I'm not?

Right. Cause who would do that?

Maybe I should get really rich and do that. Yeah, I'll get rich and serious for the sole purpose of going back to live my old life for fun. This isn't really fun though, it's work. I guess. I mean, it's fun, but it's work. Speaking of...

A child walks by, and I grab him.

"Find your boy."

Work is calling me, but I turn my head away, ignoring its call. It pleads, it screams at the top of its lungs, but rather than giving it attention, I shun it as if it were the cold, dark room I retire to in the night time. Crawling up my spine, whispering in my ear, I ignore it, for it means nothing to me at the moment. The stench of blood, the blood that is painted to the floor, it is a good distraction. It is easy to ignore someone when there is something else. I am the tree, it is my monkey, it cannot exist with me, but me, I can do just fine without it. Just fine.

"Just fine?" asked Susan as she stepped into the room. I grinned. "Listen, Johnson, last night no one was here, but I still heard noises."

I kept quiet.

"Just fine it is not. I can not even take a shower, I am so afraid, I am always alone.."

I treated her how she wanted to be. She wanted to be alone. I never spoke to her, not once. Nothing ever needed to be said.

"Who was here last night, if you were not?"

I took out a pack of cigarettes. I didn't smoke, but I did.

"Find your boy." I said. Sometimes, things change.

Somewhere else, the Lonely Fox ran by himself, for he was the one they called the "Lonely Fox." He entered a clinic, The Clinic, but they turned him away. Blood tracked everywhere, all on the leaves, but the Forest didn't care. Why would they? This was none of their business.

The Lonely Fox was lonely, but he was not pathetic. He laughed away the pain, but he was smart, he wanted it to get treated. He wanted to live. He had some sort of notion that one day he wouldn't be lonely, and maybe it was because his father was a Doctor, or maybe it was because his Mother was a saint, or maybe it was because his brother raped him.

I'm actually willing to bet on the latter.

The Fox continued to run by himself. It's not that anyone disliked him, he was a good soul, but it was more than that. The Fox kept running, running away from his home. He could picture his father drinking coffee, his mother watching the neighbors. His brother jerking off.

The Fox slowed down and realized he couldn't play it cool anymore; his foot hurt. He licked at it, and he couldn't stop thinking about how it happened..

His brother entered his room, jumping on him. The Lonely Fox struggled and eventually escaped from under him. His brother grabbed his leg, but through will power, he got away. He vowed never to return to live with that fucking bastard, and he decided that anything that went wrong in his life, anything that would go wrong in his life, any mistake he made or any terrible trait he had was because of that mother fucker.

"He had no brains." The Fox said to no one in particular. The more the fox thought, the more infuriated he became, and the only thing stopping him from revenge was having to see his stupid fucking face one more time, even if he was impaling him (through the mouth, breaking teeth) with some sort of stick. "I don't feel bad for him, he wasn't blessed, its a shame, but I will not suffer any longer."

The Forest Folk pitied him, they pitied the lonely fox. They all shut their mouths, though- no one knows how to handle people like him. This is why he was lonely. Nobody tried. It was too awkward for them. And with that, he received his nick name, and then beating after beating, and harassment after harassment.

The Fox rose, continuing with his-

"I think we need to talk."

I actually looked at Susan this time. Would I actually humor her? Was she serious, or ever serious? Was she important? Not really. Any of her problems, any of her attempts at humanity... overshadowed by more important things, more important people.

"I don't understand your vague attempts at poetry. Is this your way of communicating with me?"

"It's story-telling. I've been up for several hours, sitting here by myself, so you might want to take an active part in the kitchen for me."

"Do you know what's going to happen next, Johnson? Stop beating around the bush. Talk to me so I can understand."

"You can't understand, Susan. You never will. I will say this to you - there are reasons I don't give you attention, and there are no reasons I don't give you attention. Speaking to you is a chore, and it's one that I'm done with for now."

With that last word, I got up and left. Actually, I suppose a last word means that there were no words said afterwards... she might have said something. It was ignored. I stepped outside, the sun burned on my face. I began walking away from the building I had left; I won't call it home because it never felt like home. Maybe it did, but at this point, I'll never remember.

I'm really no better than the Lonely Fox, and at my worst, I'm no better than his son of a bitch brother.

I sent a man in that building.

I beat him, and told him to enter the building.

He bled on the floor, she hasn't noticed.

I was alone last night, she was not.

You'd be suprised what you can make people do when you offer them money.

You'd probably be a bit more suprised when you find out what you can make people do when you're holding a piece of wood that was broken off of a bench and then beating them with it.

He didn't even ask why.

What would I have even told him?

I'm no better than either sibling.