Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-7064562-20170628193644

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As my teacher stands in front of the class like a king, holding his stomach and spamming math problems through clenched teeth, my fellow classmates pay no mind to the sweat retaining from under the pits of his button-upped, obviously Wal-mart brand, dress shirt. Clearly, he’s in distress, but you’ll only call out if he brings it up, won’t you? Amazing. I’m sure that’s when you will pretend to care! Just like every other human, all you care about is yourselves, yet somehow, you all have the nerve to put on that bootlegged mask every day.

Converse, fake your empathy, pretend to be sincere, it won’t change the fact you’re nothing more than lambs. You don’t care about your friends dying grandmother on social media, but you'll show sympathy in the comments anyway. Attending your friend’s party this Friday? No need to hide it, just like everyone else there, you’re just looking to escalate your own social standing. All of you have no problem showcasing your soft bleached wool in the daytime, but when the opportunity arises, you can’t help but show off your pearly jagged fangs. You’re no saint for caring about a sick child, you’re no god for giving a homeless man a dollar, but your narcissistic minds can’t help but put you above the average college student working at a fast-food joint. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not wolves. No, that spot on the food chain belongs to me. As I squint my eyes and exam my produce cluster to the door before the lunch bell even rings, I can't help but think of your sad linear futures.

Screaming over the bustling cattle that’s ready to head off to the grazing field, my teacher is interrupted by the sound of a million swarming bees buzzing through the loudspeaker, declaring sixth period. It’s time for my favorite class, lunch. Sitting at a lunch table, enjoying my perfectly crafted sandwich as I observe my fellow classmates act idiotic, is my favorite school activity! People watching, a considerable way to understand the behavior of others. The nervous loners, the social rejects playing trading card games, and the jocks flexing for the cheerleaders, all golden entertainment as I sit in the back of the lunch room sipping on a generic carton of chocolate milk.

As I toss my brown lunch bag on my desk and sling my backpack over my shoulder, an abrupt shove sends me to the ground and breaks me from my arrogant inner thoughts.

“Louie! Where do you think you’re off to?” Booms the voice of a plump, greasy delinquent. With his shirt not fully covering his belly, and his puffed out cheeks, he might appear to just be an average overweight American child, but Trevor, like me, is a senior in high school, and somehow the leading star of our football team. The boy might not be able to run, but at over six feet and coming in a grand total of three hundred and some pounds, this all-star wouldn’t have a problem taking a truck head on. Now if only I had a driver's license to test that theory...

“Off to lunch Trevor, you should be too, but honestly I think you'd be better off skipping a meal or two.” The words of a cliched smart ass, with the execution of a stuttering second-grade girl being pushed into the boy's locker room. I wasn’t able to even crack a laugh for the onlooking students as they witness this week's hallway gossip topic.

<span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Oh, really? Actually, I’m starving! I think I might need more than one lunch today.” He said in a squeaky, yet corresponding voice as he grabbed my brown lunch bag off the table. Not even bothering to open the bag, he rips the fragile paper sending carrot sticks and grapes rolling onto the classroom floor. With a plop, my goddess on wheat also falls to the floor, and before I can hold her in my arms, she’s snatched away from me and locked into the chamber of Trevor’s mouth.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Stealing food from the hungry is a pitiful crime, and with every crime, there’s a price to be paid. As my fake tears stop flowing and my pleads halt, I can’t help but smirk as Trevor's eyes began to pop out of their sockets and water like a faucet. Spitting out chunks of ham and cheese, he begins to gasp for air and beg for a glass of liquid refreshment.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“W..hat..was in that?” He spits through dried lips. One of his lackeys, a short guy with dirty brown hair and an overly long T-shirt starts patting him on the back trying to help his acute breathing problems.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Ghost peppers! I do love spicy food, don’t you?” With an over the top haughty laugh, I sit cross-legged on the floor and begin picking up escape carrots from under my desk. “That’s not all, you know? You do this every Friday and it’s gotten relatively predictable. I’ve been messing with the sandwiches for months now! I’ve been adding my own special mayonnaise and everything, but this week I felt like switching things up!” With that his false hurls became real, spreading a stream of orange acid onto a poor student's textbook as the room erupts into laughter. That’s right, this is what you want, isn’t it? As you look upon us, a bully and his victim, you get a boost to your egotistical minds, don’t you? As long as the stage is set and the production goes along smoothly, you’ll be content with whatever outcome commences. All you care about is that feeling of superiority, and that’s fine by me. On the outside, you’re free to support my attempts to fight back, show me compassion and understanding, but on the inside I know you’re just glad it’s not you. Make yourself feel like a better person by talking trash behind his back, but we both know as soon as he invites you to his party this weekend you’re his best friend again. You’re all just out for yourselves, and, I can’t say I resent any of you for that. If I was in your shoes I’d be enjoying the show as well, whether it ended in the victim being punched in the face, or overcoming this aggressor through sheer wit and luck. Unfortunately for me, this situation ends in the victim getting an uppercut and the loss of three recaptured orange sticks. Falling onto my back, I quickly prepared my hands in front of my face as some sort of feeble protection.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">It’s more useless than a made at home plastic wrap condom, providing zero actual protection from the onslaught of my hormone-induced, angsty actions. As each strike bashes my skull into the ground, my eyes began to blur from the pain, making it difficult to see my surroundings. Through one blurry eye, I’m able to witness the flash of cameras and the soft red glow of recording lights. Instead of helping me, you’re recording it? For future use and evidence, right? Ha, who am I kidding, it’s for your own personal entertainment! We both know that recording will end up straight on social media instead of the principal’s lap, flooded with pity comments and “If I was there” arguments. You’re all so pathetic.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As Trevor’s blows began to grind up damage, I can feel a warm flow of liquid began to run down the side of my face. I flail like a dying fish and finally manage to land a few hits on the tub of lard, allowing me to escape from underneath. Standing face to face with the future ex-husband of some cheap prostitute, I prepare my hands in a karate stance I saw on T.V once. I just hope it looks more intimidating than nerdy.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Enough Trevor.” demands the voice of an agitated female. Through my clearing vision, I can make out her hitting Trevor on the side of the head with a glittery purple bag. I think it’s made of cheap plastic, similar to her earrings.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Fuck off Amy, he talked shit, so he gets hit! It’s the law of the playground!” Traver claims, rubbing the side of his head from the annoyance.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I understand you like to spend your free time at children's playgrounds, but don’t adapt to their culture please. We’re seniors, we have ten days of school left, this is the time to be getting on top of your college applications and essays, not guys.” With snickers and childish jeers from the thinning bystanders, the baby elephant's eyes began to dart left and right, noticing his emplaced fear has begun to evaporate. Amazing how a few immature insults can have such an impact on high schoolers.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Wow, having a girl save you? Manly as hell man.” His voice, while still having the intimidating effect of a pro wrestling heel, begins to crack with nervous ripples. With one last curse and a cliche one liner taken out of a “How To Bully” textbook from the 60’s, he pushes his way past a few scrawny kids and exits the room. It takes his lackey a couple of seconds to realize this engagement is over and speed out of the room to catch up to the behemoth, that’s most likely stopped and breathing heavily on the staircase.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As my mouth opens to make an attempt at a witty retort, Amy places a finger up to my lip to huss my poorly formed sarcastic remark.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You never learn, do you?” she giggles, taking out a handkerchief and handing it to me. Like a popular hostess, she has a gentle, yet oblivious way of speaking that makes every word sound flirtatious.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Where’s Mr.Surewood?” I ask, trying to hold back a delighted grin as I take the handkerchief from her hand and began to clean the dirt and drying blood from my brow. He’s a New York state educator so I can’t say I really expect him to put much effort in controlling his students, but some help would have been nice when I was getting my ass kicked.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“He left the room after yelling about some assignment due Monday. He was holding his stomach and ran towards the bathroom. He seemed in pain during his whole lecture today, guess he was sick or something.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Ah, that was my fault. I didn’t do the homework last week and he chewed me out, so I gave him something to chew in his lunch today, that may or may not have been related to something in the laxative family.” Mr. Surewood always ate his lunch before our class, so thanks to some fast acting laxatives I bought online, I got a nice show to enjoy. It might seem a little harsh, but on the bright side, I’m sure the brownie I made him were by far more delectable than anything his wife could bake. I’m a great cook!

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Well, I guess karma caught up with you then?” she says with a straight, almost irritated face as she takes back the handkerchief and shoves it in her pants pocket. Lucky handkerchief. “See you later Louie, I’m starving.” I save the obvious sexual joke and just wave her out of the room as she joins a group of fruit colored girls.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Unlike Amy who has the natural soft skin of a newborn baby and brown locks smoother than peanut butter, her friends have a more, cosmetic touch. With long fake nails, skittle colored lips, and overly dyed hair, Amy’s simplistic, yet beautiful appearance really makes her stick out. Out of everyone here, she's one of the few I can tolerate. My pessimistic way of thinking just doesn’t apply to her. She’s not naive, self-absorbed, or selfish. She’s been that way ever since first grade. I can’t say we’re close, but whenever she's near me, and I smell that lavender perfume she always sprays, I can’t help but think of her as the only women in the world I’d ever give my heart to. Watching her all these years from a distance, learning her quirks and vices, and enjoying the small chit chats with her every now and again, have truly been some of the highlights of my childhood years. These simplistic things that lack depth for most, truly have infected my heart with an inflamed amount of passion. Throughout these years, I’ve seen her grow from the girl I had a crush on in elementary school, to the women I love today. I truly do thank her father for his genetics in all of this, as there’s no way she inherited that bust size from her mother. Not that it matters of course, but as an eighteen-year-old male, it’s a nice plus! I swear, one day, I’ll make her my queen.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I swear it, Gordon, she will be my queen!” I exclaim in a voice louder than my normal tone, but still hushed enough so the porked faced girl sitting a table away can’t hear it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Unfortunately, I can still hear her disgusting smacks as she devours her overly sized unhealthy mush. With her ginger hair wrapped in a side ponytail and her belt hidden under rolls of fat, I bet she’s the prized pig for guys with no date for prom.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Doubt it,” Gordon states in a monotone voice as he takes small bites from his bland sandwich. With each bite his glasses begin to slip from his face, forcing him to stop every few bites to nudge them back into a comfortable position. “Look, LuLu, you have the shining blond strands of a golden retriever, the emerald eyes of royalty, and the mind of a philosopher on crack, but even if I was gay I wouldn’t date you, do you know why?” Scratching the back of his home cut military hairdo, he gives me the downcasted blank stare a boss gives to his underpaid workers who use the company mop inappropriately.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Because I’m too good for you?” I say, trying to keep a serious face. Placing my tray on the table and finally taking a seat, I throw one of the four highly nutritious chicken nuggets into my mouth. Four chicken nuggets, a spoon full of rice, an apple, and a small carton of milk sure does fill the stomachs of any hungry eighteen year old. Though to be fair, seeing how Gordon only has one sandwich, I shouldn’t be complaining about being able to afford a four dollar school lunchable.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“That’s true, but I was thinking more because you’re personality is the egotistical equivalent of a movie star that hasn’t had a hit in twenty years. On top of that, I heard about what you did to Mr.Surewood and Trevor. While I find it hilarious, most girls, let alone Amy, don’t.” Taking the final bite of his sandwich he claps his hands like a construction worker and pulls out a blue binder from the rugged pack to his left. Throwing another nugget into my mouth, I stare down at my tray in understandment.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I always win in the end Gordon, you should know that by now.” My voice is now far less enthusiastic than when I first got to the table.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Yes, and rich girls like her don’t find that attractive. They like grown men who can buy them things and hold their bags without worry of who else you are sugar daddying. I bet she’s already purchased several leashes from the pet store to hold whatever thirty-seven-year-old man she can get ahold of after high school.” Even with the joke, his voice still kept his normal monotone pace. Gordon’s one of the only people who can tolerate me. I’m aware my sarcasm and communism can repel not just female fun time, but regular friends as well, but with him, I never have to worry. Everything’s on the table with us and even though he’s overly serious, he cracks and unwilling smile every now and again. Lately,  he’s started to seem a little distance, but I’m chalking it up to regents being around the corner and family issues.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“If I went by what you consider rich, I wouldn’t be able to hit on any girl whose family income is over twenty thousand a year.” Like I said, everything is on the table. Even the fact that Gordon is so poor the main source of heating in his house is from his mom's chronic smoking habit.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">With a wink, I push my half empty tray to Gordon and lift myself from the table. Sighing, he closes his binder and pulls the tray closer to him. Shoveling rice into his mouth, he gives me a half-hearted thumbs up. Clearly, he’s still not on board with the idea, but that’s good enough for me. Friends are always there to give half-assed support for one another.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Gordon and I sit in the back of the cafeteria. In most schools, the back area is normally reserved for the geeks, nerds, druggies, and other juvenile delinquents who will either end up in their mother's basement or prison after school, but we only have a few of them, so we get to sit back here. Amy, on the other hand, follows the cliche trope of the popular girl sitting at the front table. So to get to my beloved princess, I must journey through this barbecue sauce and hormone filled war zone.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After a very anti-climactic stroll through the white checkered cafeteria, I stop a few feet before her table and hide behind a bricked pillar. Not to observe her, not to chicken out, but to simply get my bearings. With my mask of confidence, I failed to notice my impartial breathing and my forehead precipitating more sweat than a four hundred pound man running a 10k. I’m starting to panic. I try to keep a cool head, I try to bite my lip and think radically, but it’s not happening. She's going to reject me. I’ve had a crush on her for years, am I actually going to gamble my feelings for a chance to expand them? Sure, the worst thing she can say is no, and on the off chance she agrees to go out with me, I’ll be the happiest son of a bitch on the planet, but if she says no, what happens then? Am I allowed to still like her? I’m sure if I approach her and put her in such an awkward position, after the rejection she’ll never talk to me again. However, If I don’t say anything, school will end, and we’ll both be on different life paths and never talk again anyway. So, doesn’t that mean I have nothing to lose but my dignity? Do I even have any to begin with? Still, maybe we could still chat on the phone and after awhile…

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I stop thinking and take a few large strides to her table. There conversation halts as soon as some pink haired girl, who most likely works at a coffee shop and is going to major in art history, notices me and sends off a hateful repellent alerting all the other girls of my presence. I swear, every vein in her forehead popped as soon as I was undoubtedly making my way towards their table. After examining her sour facial expression, all six of them turned in confusion to the unfamiliar male approaching their table, similar to dogs perking their ears to the sound of knocking at the front door. Amy was the last one to notice, whether it’s because she's used to their overly judgmental actions, or simply because she doesn’t care what they're getting so worked up over, I do not know.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After a few seconds of observing the situation, and undoubtedly noticing my pit stains beginning to form, she jumps as if some unknown force tabbed her on the shoulder.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Oh, Louie! Sorry, that took me a second to process, what’s up?” Did I interrupt on some highly confidential girl meeting or something? What’s with her delayed reaction?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Can I talk to you for a second, alone?” Somehow I’m able to grind out my sentence through clenched teeth. Just stay calm Louis, you can do this. Isolate the target and go in for the kill. Worst casinerio she says no and skips back to her table to tell her gal-pals how she just lost her one chance with the best thing that could ever happen to her. If such a scenario takes place, I can just deny the situation and wait out the last few days of school spearing rumors about her sleeping around at prom. I can do this.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">She looks like a deer which just met the shine of a drunk motorist’s headlights. She begins stuttering a sure but is swiftly cut off by a pink haired companion, sporting thick-framed glasses and a ripped T-shirt that sports the name of some rock band I, and likely anyone who's not a beatnik, have never heard of.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“She’s not going anywhere with you! If you have something to say, you can say it to all of us.” the hipster spouts with an annoyed tone as if I’ve somehow offended her. Clearly, she's jealous no hot stud is asking for a moment of her time.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Talking to her alone would make this a million times easier, but my composure is starting to falter. With a long sigh, I accept my fate and prepare to blurt out my question of a lifetime.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">But I can’t. The gates opened, but the rushing flow of words can’t seem to burst out. I just stand here, mouth opened, pupils dilated, trailing off the first syllable of a sentence I can’t bring myself to hike through. As I blindly stare down at her, I can’t help but crack a nerve-wracking ear to ear grin. Whenever I get overly nervous, this always happens. I swear it makes me come off way more, serial killer like than I'd like.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Umm...Lou…” she starts, rather put off by my awkward transaction.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Will you go out with me?” I finish, cutting her off right before she can ask what kind of mental issues I suffer from. Did I seriously interrupt her? Great, I heard rudeness is the perfect way to a woman's heart. With the tips of my fingers, I grimly hold out a small piece of ripped notebook paper scribed with my phone number.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sure, I’ll call you at around 5…” This time it’s the seventh-period bell that beats her to the finish line. Is it seventh-period already? When I left Gordon to his studying, and my lunch, I had a good fifteen minutes left! Did this small interaction take that long? I can’t believe it...

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I can’t believe it, she said yes! Holding back a fist pump of victory, my pores suddenly stop perspiring and my eyes dwindled back to their normal size. I did it! I can’t believe she actually said yes, this is the greatest day of my life! Way better than the time the vending machine broke and I got seven free bags of chips!

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As my heartbeat begins to return to its normal pace after it’s jog, Amy takes the paper and gives me a weak smile that sends it back into a run. I can’t believe this is actually happening. I’ve known her for years, she's been the only person on this earth I’ve felt like I’ve connected with, and now...She actually wants to go out with me!

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">The rest of the day flew by faster than a drunken one night stand with a dollar store harlot. I wasn’t able to tell Gordon how things went, as not only do we not share any of the same classes after lunch, but he had to relinquish his cellphone last year because of financial issues. I’m sure he’s had enough of my ego today anyway, so like the great friend I am, I’ll save the jeers of “I told you so” for tomorrow.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After a brisk 5 minute run from school, I returned home from my long day of being a player. Opening the stain glass door to reach and open the inner wooden framed passage, I jiggle the handle only to find it locked.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Seriously?” I moan, lifting up the dirt stained, plain welcome mat we keep the spare key under. I’m sure the birth givers are home, so I have no idea why the door is locked. Sure their cars are always in the garage, but moms normally home at this hour.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I was right. As I open the doors to enter my lovely, heart warming home, I see my mother from across the room, back facing me, and staring out the window from the kitchen island. Maybe If I’m quiet I can sneak past her? Hmm...It’s worth a shot, as I like to avoid as much confrontation with them as possible.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Trying my sneakiest, tipping toeing and all, I slowly make my way to the staircase that’s connected to the kitchen. placing my foot on the bottom stair and gripping onto the stair rod, I finally made it home free.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Louis,” says the voice of a battered middle-aged female. Damn it, so close. Slumping over and taking my foot off the step, I turn around and stare at the freshly polished wooden floor.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Yes, mother?” I respond attentively, holding in any portrayal of unease.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Schools almost over, have you finished applying to the college affiliated with your father’s hospital? There’s only a week until the deadline and he can’t do anything for you if you don’t even put in the effort to fill out the application,” she states, more monotone than Gordon. Typical...

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Actually, there’s this school that approved me for study in their architecture program. It’s a state away, but the dorms are free if you work for the school…” A slam from the newspaper in her hand causes simultaneous creeks from the recliner in the living room. Great, he’s home early today.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As his boots stomp on the hardwood floor, my composure of obedience begins to falter. I shouldn’t have said anything and just played it out for a few more weeks and left under the cover of night. Sure I would starve to death with no financial support, but that seems like a problem best saved for after I escape prison. You can go two weeks without food after all. Or is that without internet? I’ll look it up later.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As the trucker built man comes up the single step into the kitchen, he smooths his stressed gray hair with his beaten right hand. With a glare under his lenses, he speeds towards me and grabs the collar of my purple polo.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Go upstairs now and apply. Afterward, I will work with the school and get you accepted into a nursing program for credits and work experience. I’ve had to pull several strings to make this happened because of your slacking, and it will not go to waste.” I can smell the afternoon alcohol on his breath, but the demanding nature of his tone isn’t contributed to intoxication. If anything, I can say he’s being more giddy than normal. I’m probably going to regret this, but I will regret it even more if I don’t even try.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Dad…” I start but quickly change to a more professional, more pitiful tone. “Sir, I don’t think a career in the medical choice is the best fit for me. I only got a B in Biology and…” He lets go of my shirt with a shove, causing me to slightly loose my balance.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Go upstairs and apply now!” he demands, as he turns and begins walking towards my mother. “I pay for your food, your clothing, and the roof over your head. You’re my son and I’ll pick the path most beneficial to the both of us. Keep in mind, you’re existence is nothing more than an insurance policy and it’s up to you to pay the interest.” Hugging her from behind, he stares into her eyes as he stinks her breath with cheap liquor. Most parents would have the courtesy to do such things in private, but as I head up the stairs, I hear soft moans and a few growls. There’s no point in disagreeing is there? A selfish man sees nothing outside his own self-absorbed line of sight. Believing nothing can harm him, believing he’s always in the right, it’s a shame that it’ll be his undoing.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Shutting my door, I can’t help but take advantage of the isolation and giggle a bit. I guess I don’t have a choice in the matter, but that’s fine. This is a golden opportunity to kick the old wolf from the pack. After all, not only is it extremely easy to lose your job in a hospital, but one simple mistake in a complex life or death surgery can cause a flow of lawsuits that will lead even the most accredited medical professional to nothing. Sure, it will be a grueling few years until the situation presents itself where I can one up him, maybe save someone's life before him, make something go wrong during surgery, or one of the other endless possibilities, but it will all work out. After all, I’ll be right by your side the whole time, observing every one of your habits as you pamper me and mentor me in your own undoing. I can’t say you’ve been a bad father. You’ve never raised your hand to me, and you keep the fridge stocked with name brand soda, but a child isn’t something you have to make up for your own shortcomings. It’s not something you own, and it doesn’t owe you anything for life.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Agh, there’s really no reason to think too hard about it. Right now my top priority is getting my charm on, as in less than an hour I’ll be planning a date with the most gorgeous girl in the world. Are movies to cliche? Honestly, I hate sitting through them, but sitting next to her the whole time, waiting for that romantic climax when the serial kill beheads a half naked college girl to wrap my arms around her insecurity seems like a darling idea.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Or maybe fine dining is the way to go? A nice wine and dine, followed by a romantic stroll through the light district as I clench my pocket knife to protect her from the creepy homeless men hiding in the alleyways of our city. Sure they might have a numbers advantage, but as a green belt, I’m more than confident in my self-defense skills.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I sit and go over dramatic and cliche date ideas for what seems like hours until I notice it has been hours.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">It’s 7 PM. You can’t be serious? I turn on my phone, showcasing the bland flower pattern most default store phones have and see zero missed calls. Did I give her the wrong number? Did something happen? Did the homeless men get to her when I wasn’t by her side? It’s Friday, maybe I should check on her this weekend? Or would that be too awkward and make me seem desperate?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As I ponder a million different theories, the escalating song on my phone notifies me I’m getting a call. I don’t recognize the number, but it's got the same area code! It must be Amy! Stabbing the dreaded butterflies of nervousness in my chest, I pick up the phone and try to sound less eager than I actually am.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hello?” I say, pressing down the speaker button to hear better.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hey, Is this Louis?” A male's voice? That’s weird, doesn’t even sound like anyone I know.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Yes, who is this?” I take a seat on my bed, stretching my stiff arms in the air as I wait for a reply. Better not be a telephone marketer again.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“This is Greg from science class. Gordon told me you were into video games. I was wondering if you wanted to hit up the midnight gaming session at the arcade with me?” Greg, Greg, I say over and over in my head trying to remember who this alleged student is until it hits me. I believe he’s that one really nerdy kid who sits in the back with a bowl cut and uncomplimentary dress shirts. I’ve never even talked to him, how’d he get my number?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Look, man, even if I swung that way I’d still have standards. I appreciate the offer but this is a restricted line and you have to keep it clear as I’m waiting on a phone call. I don’t know how you got my number, but have a nice night.” It’s a shame I have to let him down so hard, but I already have swarms of women fighting over me, I can’t add in guys as well. As I reach to over to check the red end call button, his voice stutters through the cheap speaker.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Actually you don’t,” he quivers. This sparks my interest so I let him continue. “I got this number from the trash can. I saw the exchange with Amy, and after you both went in opposite directions, she threw your number away and began laughing at you with her friends. Sorry, I just thought that you should know. Like me you’re not really the most popular out there, so, I’m sorry. You want to go play some games, it might cheer you up?” His weak and pathetic voice can’t even compare to how I feel right now. Is he telling the truth, or is he just trying to date rape me? Would Amy really do something like that? No, she wouldn’t, we’ve been friends for so long, but then, this was the first time I’ve given her my number. I’ve never been to her house since we were kids either, and we don’t even walk to school despite only living a block away from each other. Does she really dislike me? I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. Maybe, if I see and ask him in person, I’ll be able to tell if he’s lying or not. I hope he is, but then why hasn’t she called me yet? Am I just jumping to conclusions? Damn it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sure, I’ll jump climb out my window and meet you there in around ten minutes, ok?” He hangs up without consent to our plans. To be honest, that's rather off-putting and raises some flags. Is he just trying to pull a joke on me or something? I’ve never even see Gordon talk to this kid, but I guess at the end of the day, he could just be a really nice nerdy kid who needs some friends. Worst case scenario, he stands me up and I get to play old fashioned arcade games till midnight.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">At around 7:30, as I stand under neon lights that have yet to be turned on, I get a call from his number. While waiting, I saved it under his name so I wouldn’t jump to any Amy conclusions when and if he decided to call me again. Maybe ten minutes wasn’t enough time for him? I should have asked him how far away he lives.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hey, are you running late or something?” I say into the phone after accepting the call. I hear nothing, just heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. You gotta be kidding me. Before I can say anything, his voice sparks into a crazed, panicked tone.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“This is your fault!” he screams into the receiver before hanging up. What’s my fault? Did I do something to him? I don’t recall ever getting revenge on him before for anything. I guess sending me to some random location and standing me up can count as a prank? A rather lackluster attempt at a joke, especially by my standards, but he’s always come off as an introvert so I shouldn't’ expect something more crafty. Maybe he had a crush on Amy or something? At least now I don’t have to limit myself to two play machines and dealing with the awkward silence of hanging out with someone I don’t really know while I shoot zombies.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s when the flash of a heavy object falls before my eyes, followed by a stream of warm liquid splashing onto my face. Falling onto my back in shock, my breath becomes heavy as the few night walkers around me begin to scream in panic. With wide eyes, I look at the crimson stained mess in front of me. His nerdy bowl cut was now a mix of gooey pale mater and showcased bits of bone protruding from his crooked neck. His arms and legs are twisted in odd angles, just like some insomniac trying to sleep.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">What just happened? What is this?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Gre..?” I try and manage, as I began to hyperventilate. You can’t be serious, is that really him? I can’t remember what color shirt he wore to school today, but he’s wearing a poor quality, now blood stained dress shirt. I try and get up by supporting myself with one arm, but it’s no use and I just fall back onto my rear. What’s going on? This can’t be...The hyperventilating stops long enough just for me to vomit onto the sidewalk, as the shock of examining a mangled corpse hits me. Is that really him? It can’t be, why would he?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As reality begins to distort and silence itself, I notice a crowd of people began to form around me and the corpse. I can’t hear anything they’re saying. I see their animated lip widened and shut in quick quarks as they speak on their phones, but nothing’s coming out.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Whipping the access saliva from my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt, I can make out just one sound in the distance. My phone! Someone's calling me! As I slowly rotate my head and see the flashing now cracked screen, I notice, it’s Greg's number.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:underline;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Chapter 2 <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As the never ending tune from my phone refuses to silence itself, I slowly grip it with a quivering hand and put it next to my ear. Before I can shake out a “Hello”, the voice on the other end begins a swarm of laughter.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Greg, is that you?” I spit out before my racing heart and breathing began to overpower and silence me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Honestly, I’m not even sure if his name was actually Greg, but If you’re referring to the dead kid, that’s obviously not me, idiot.” his voice is young and chipper like a fifteen-year-old celebrating his birthday. “Tell me, did his skull crack open? Last time I checked out that broken down arcade it was only around 5 stories with some apartments housing crack addicts on top. I’m not sure that’s enough to kill someone, are you?” His obnoxiously calm voice changes my panic and confusion into a mess of rage.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What the hell are you talking about?!” I demand, looking at the newly furnished arcade building covered in posters, now flashing lights, and a new orange paint job. Who the hell is this? Expecting a response, I keep the phone to my ear trying to hold onto the bit of adrenaline the rage brought me. All I can hear on the other end is the slow heavy breathing on an insane raspy child.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Minutes go by and the crowd just keeps on developing until the police finally arrive and begin to drive away the onlooking bystanders. You can’t be serious, can you? Here I am covered in blood, cowering on the ground, and all you people do is watch like it's the climax of a movie. No one came up to ask if I was ok. No one came up to ask what happen. Sure someone called the police, but I’m no fool, I bet most of you just brought out your phones to record what happened. As a police officer grabs me by the arm and drags me over to a flashing ambulance, my senses come back online.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Dude, did you see that? Is he really dead? Dude, his face like exposed!” laughs a man in his late twenties, wearing the low hanging jeans and backwards cap of a wannabe gangster. Yes, dude, that dude is dead. Smoke another one why don’t you? Did playing all those video games in your grandmother’s dark basement really desensitize you that much?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Oh my God, is he really dead? Poor kid, If I knew him, I could have helped him. I bet it was bullying problems, or maybe his parents were neglecting him. Just like Jessica and her kid. Can you believe she actually lets the neighbor girl babysit? I guess when your husband brings in a lawyer's salary you can afford to pawn your kid off on teenagers!” A woman, too young to be having kids projects onto a lady who's clearly not interested in her trash talk. Using this tragic event as an excuse to gossip and look down on people is honestly pitiful. Is this really a natural response to the death of a fellow human being?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">The rest aren't as obnoxious and loud with their responses and instead talk in hushed secretive murmurs, but it's clear from there pointing fingers and facial expressions that they either find this fascinating or horrifying. People are so one sided, but in all honesty what is the correct response here? Sure it’s tragic a child's life was just brought to an end, but how much merit did his life actually have? I’ve never talked to the kid, but he was clearly a traditional nerd who no one expected much of. Seeing a dead body for the first time, it's only natural people might be a little interested in it. Right?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That's when the image of his blood covered face comes back into my mind and my quivering legs force me to my knees. It took the assistance of two officers to help me into the ambulance and a total of three to bring me back to reality with their rain of questions. I honestly couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I tried to speak, but nothing came out of my mouth. After a good five minutes of me just sitting here shaking, one of the men in blue patted me on the back and told me to relax while one of the EMTs look me over.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After cleaning off the blood to determine it wasn’t my own and giving me a clean white shirt, the EMT went over to the officers to examine the situation. That’s when a sharp slice of static erupts from my right hand and brings my attention back to the phone call. The call was still going, and the breathing finally transitioned to the youthful tone of an annoying brat.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hey, did you hang up on me or something!? That’s just rude! I demand you respond!” I take a minute to calm myself from the shock of the noise and to put on my famed bravado.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Who are you?” The police tape is now beginning to circle the area as more and more police cars, and now even detectives arrive on the scene.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hmmm.” he hesitates, before not answering the question. “If you really want to know come to the subway in an hour. It’s around a thirty-minute walk, but it's worth it! You see, after you burn some calories you can afford to have one of the pretzels at the station! I suggest you try one when waiting by platform B! Got that? Make sure to stand next to the middle pillar that has a clock above it.” I’ve had those pretzels before, and honestly, they’re not worth the calorie intake. Though thanks to it being the only pretzel stand in all the subways within a half an hour walking distance, I’m well aware of where he wants me to go.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Alright, new plan! I tell the police about you, give them my phone to trace you, and I don’t visit you in prison as you enjoy your cozy cell with a five hundred pound gritty sex offender nicknamed, “The Tickler”.” I’m not stupid, well, stupid enough to go to a preplanned location after just witnessing a classmate I was supposed to meet up with die before my eyes. Jumping off the edge of the ambulance, I proceeded to walk over to the cops who are no longer paying attention to me or my well-being.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Yaa...I wouldn’t do that If I was you. See, if I see a cop I’ll just get on the train. This is also a prepaid phone so they can’t trace it, and even if they could, by that time I’ll be out of state. Or maybe at one of your other friend's houses? Rats get a tad psychotic when cornered my friend.” I take a deep breath before I respond back into the phone.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I don’t have friends…” Taking a shot to my own pride for the wellbeing of others is just one of my many selfish talents.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Gordon.” Taking a shot to my own pride for no reason at all is yet another major talent of mine.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I guess that’s to be expected after all. He knows my name and phone number, so knowing the name of the only person in school I talk to isn’t that surprising. Do I really have no choice but to listen to his demands? Should I risk it and tell the police? No, I think the best course of action is to do as he says. Trying to pull one over on him might result in making the situation more heated. I can’t risk that now, but once I start putting things together, I’ll make sure to get even...Somehow.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Fine. I’ll be there.” I comply, beginning to walk away from the scene of the crime. Amazing how cops are so bad at their jobs they don’t even notice a prime witness walking away. Though to be fair, without being able to disclose anything, there's not much point in me hanging around. I’m sorry I can’t do more to help you right now Greg, but I will get even. For me, and you, as I always do.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">It took around twenty-five minutes until I got away from all the commotion of onlookers and the blaring sirens of police vehicles, but once I did, I regrouped in a large crowd of random people who were none the wiser to what just happened a short distance from them. Amazing how even though a person just died so close to them, almost none of them will ever know about it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">A good ten minutes later, I arrived at the station. I’m a rather slow walker. No, it's not because I enjoy the scenery or anything, but more because my legs feel like a ball of iron has been shackled onto each. Do I really want to go through with this? I want to think this is all just a prank by some punk kid, but Greg is dead. Is this guy an actual murderer? Did he kill him, or just force him into killing himself? What is the connection between us? Did I ever do anything to someone who hasn’t deserved the recourse? If this is Mr.Surewood going psycho and killing students all over some bad brownies, I swear, I’ll sell his story to Hollywood to preserve the horrible horror movies trait that's been going on lately.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As my foot stomps onto the cracked concrete, I look down at my dying phone to notice I still have a solid fifteen minutes left. Great, I hate being early. Slowly, I go off to get my ticket, pass through the creaky turnstile, and still have ten minutes left to kill. I’m really not in the mood for a pretzel.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As I look around the bustling decrepit subway station to see the late businessmen and worn out homeless men cuddling the damp walls, I slowly make my way to the position I was told. Leaning on the chipped brick pillar of station B, I look up above me to see an old fashion round clock. Seven minutes left, this countdown is making time go by so much slower.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s I feel something grab onto the cheap white shirt the EMT gave me. Looking down, I notice a small girl with a face covered by long ebony hair. Noticing that I’ve seen her, she puts on a wide smile showcasing two missing teeth. After a small one handed curtsy in her blue frilled dress, she takes it upon herself to greet me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Do you have any green dolphins?” God, I hate kids. I try to ignore her but she just keeps bouncing around me and screaming in a giddy tone about her oddly colored porpoises.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, relatively annoyed as I notice the balding man with the wrestling heel physique holding her left hand and ignoring us. Clearly her father, but as he's starting down the subway lane with an angered expression, I don’t really want to be the target of his anger. Maybe if I could just get him to look into my beautiful pleading eyes, he’ll R.K.O some sense into his child. Or take away her video game privileges. I don’t think social justice warriors or social services will support a parent doing professional wrestling moves on their children. Unfortunately.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Oh, I like the green ones because they're chewy...What about the blue ones?”  She sounds really disappointed, and as she looks up at her father, her expression quickly matches her disappointment.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Agh, you mean like fruit snacks? Sorry, I don’t have any.” It’s when I say this, the father's left eye twitches and his teeth grind so hard I swear a small amount of blood dripped from his mouth. I guess being a parent of an extremely social girl is difficult, but you’d think he’d say something by now. His daughter’s talking to a complete stranger after all. I guess some parents only have so much tolerance for their kids. I think he just wants me to shut up and not acknowledge her existence anymore.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Not that I’ve got to worry, as with a screech and roar from the dark tunnel, it’s clear the subway is finally coming around. Am I supposed to get on it? Looking up at the clock, it's about time to meet this guy, wherever he is. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I check to see if he’s called me, but instead, I’m met with a dead battery as the train pops through like a meerkat from its hole.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s when the balding man in the black wife beater pushes the small girl off the track. As the speeding white arrow splits her apart, the tracks tare with a destructive flare of hisses as a scarlet line splashes upon me and several other patrons.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Unlike last time, I don’t lose my senses, I don’t vomit, and I don’t panic. No, this isn’t like last time at all. As I slowly look around with wide eyes, no one is bringing out their phones, no one is making jokes or talking about irrelevant things. No, everyone is just in shock looking at me and backing away.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s when I hear it, the loud crackle of laughter behind me. Turning my head, I notice nothing but a gap between me and a few blood-spattered teenaged girls. Where’s that coming from? It's so close. Looking all around, I noticed the red-faced balding man as he pushes me into the arms of the now screaming girls. With a shove from them, I’m met with the wall of his chest. I’m not a damn beachball.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You think it’s funny?! Why are you smiling, you sicko?!” Panicked, I back up and flare my arms around hoping it would somehow explain my case. I’ve always had a habit of an awkward grin in nerve-wracking situations, but I don't believe it's pasted on right now. “You pushed her you piece of shit, I saw it! You killed my daughter!” Before I could get a word out, his rock hard fist connects with my jaw bone. Falling onto my back, my head bounces on the concrete like a rubber ball and my eyes haze into black.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I can still hear it, even though my consciousness is drifting away, I can still hear it. The sick laughter of that chipper kid, who must have just got the best present for his birthday. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''

'''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:underline;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Chapter 3 <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">My dream of a million urinals appearing under a waterfall during the world championship game of catball woke me with a crucial urge to let the river run from the dam.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Rubbing my eyes, I roll out of bed only to have my feet meet cold tile. Thinking nothing of it, I walk towards the wooden door across from my bed and attempt to open it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Locked. That’s when I notice the bright red sign above it, labeling it as a room that only authorizes use to sperm donors. Recoiling and panicked, I move my head around the room taking in the pure white appearance.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Where the hell am I?” I question to know one. Placing my hand on my temple, I calm down rather quickly and observe my surroundings. White bed, curtains, floors, walls, yup, It’s relatively obvious I’m in a hospital. Turning my head back around to face the door and examine the sign further, I have no choice but to question why my room has a donor's bathroom instead of a normal one. Also, where are my clothes? There not on the bed, and this hospital gown is a little too, breezy for my liking.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I guess questions can wait, as the urge to use the restroom becomes greater with each passing second. I bolt out of the room, only to hesitate outside as the fluorescent lights gleaming on the freshly polished floor blinds me for a second.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s when I notice it. Dressed in a tight blue shortcut outfit is a largely breasted nurse with long black hair. Maybe working here won’t be so bad after all? I’m sure I could get accustomed to having one of them as my assistant. Some roleplay would be nice.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Walking in the opposite direction down the hall, I get to a new wing of the hospital. I’ve been here quite a few times already, as my father works here, but honestly seeing how it's a huge hospital with multiple different clinics in it, it’s easy to get lost. Finding the bathroom is going to be quite a challenge. Maybe I should have asked the hot nurse? Use my charm on her a bit, and get her to not only show me the location of the restroom but go in there with me. Or after I’ve used it, that might be a better idea.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After around ten minutes of walking around, I finally come to a unisex bathroom and push open the door to relieve myself. Of course, I wash my hands, as I’m not a disgusting animal, and proceeded to randomly walk down hallways and staircases getting even more lost.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">A few times doctors stop me, in fact, I knew some of them, but I just tell them I have to go to the restroom and they leave me be for the time being. One of them, a younger nurse in his mid-twenties with raven colored hair, stared me down and hung around the hall for a few minutes. I guess he was skeptical of my actual reasoning for being in the female birthing area, but after a few minutes he went off. Possibility to give an old man a sponge bath, or maybe to get a real doctor some coffee, I’m not sure.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s when I pass a door and see the name Rebecca Campbell on its small nameplate.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Campbell?” I softly whisper to the air, as I try and recall what Gordon’s, sister’s, first name was. That’s when I feel the sharp sting of a slap to the exposed flesh around my back.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Louie, what are you doing here? Did some guy beat the crap out of you for hitting on him again?” Gordon says in a calm mocking tone.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“No, no! You see, while chatting up a hot babe at Wally-World, her boyfriend and four other large burly men all in camo appeared out of and started to gang up on me. Of course, I was able to take most of them down, but just as I was about to claim the dismissal in distress, two more guys on decked out rascals ran me over, knocking me unconscious! I think I was hitting on one of those Wally-World biker gang chicks you’re hearing about all over the news lately.” This story may not be 100% true, but it’s better than telling him the truth. Plus, I can honestly see this fabricated tale becoming real one day while picking up hair goo, deodorant, racquetballs, chips, and underwear at the store. God, I love monopolized supermarkets. Only places around that have such a wide selection of items at reasonable prices. They should hire me for advertisement.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Giving a slight smirk, but no real indication he found me humorous he shakes his head back and forth to indicate that’s enough. Good, I really don’t feel like reliving what actually happened. I can still see it clear as day, the body, the blood, the passersby staring at me with their cold judgemental eyes. I should call that number back as soon as I get ahold of my phone. I hope along with my clothes, it’s in my room somewhere. Wait, where is my room again?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“So, umm, what are you doing here?” I ask, despite knowing he’s here to visit his sister. He just rolls his eyes and points into the dim room beside us. Squinting, I see the frail girl lying on top of eggshell sheets, slowly, but heavily breathing into an oxygen mask of some sort. Sticking out of her left arm where several fluid tubes connected to several different baggies. She had almost no hair to speak of, but the few strains that clung to her scalp were brittle and gray like that of an old woman. As she saw me, she gave a weak smile, showcasing dents in her cheeks. Gordon never told me what kind of sickness she had, but it must be pretty bad to put her body into this state.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Gordon waved at her, told her we’d be right back and shut the door to her room. After a moment of awkward silence and weird looks from several nurses and some old lady, rolling down the hallways in a wheelchair, Gordon finally spoke.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“My parents got new jobs, and thanks to that, they can just about scratch up two more years of life support. The doctors said she’ll most likely be in a vegetated state after only one year, but they don’t seem to care and took the jobs outside the city anyway. I’m moving before graduation Louis, so I guess our plan to steal bikinis at the beach this summer won’t come to <span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:Arial;color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">fruition <span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">. Sorry man.” So casual, just like always, but I can tell from all these years of knowing him that there’s a kernel of sadness in his voice. Taking a deep breath, I try not to say anything to over the top for once.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“It’s fine man. Have you heard back from your college yet?” Hopefully, he got good news, or else I’m just throwing salt in his wounds. Wait, what if he can’t go because he has to move? What if he can’t even go to school and has to join the workforce? Damn, I’m stupid. Even when I try to say something right I mess up.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Ya…,” his tone went out before flaring up with some pep, “I have a test next week to determine if I qualify for a free ride and dorm room. If I don’t pass in the top percentile, I’ll have to settle for some community college around my area. I’ve already got accepted there after all.” Unlike me, he’s really good at covering all his bases. I still haven't applied.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m sure you’ll get it, man. So…” Taking a seat on a nearby floor bench, I can’t help but notice this hospital has way to many fake plants. There’s one on both sides of me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Is it really worth it?” He cuts me off before I can complete my sentence. His voice is shadowed over the footsteps of passing nurses. Out of awkwardness, I begin to pick off the green leaves of my plastic friends to help calm my nerves.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m sure it is man, the effort you put in is sure to have…”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“That’s not what I mean,” he cuts me off again, “I mean is it worth all our finances just to preserve this poor quality of life for my sister? She can hardly eat, walk, talk, or even use the bathroom on her own. In a year she's not even going to be able to respond to someone entering her room. Is it really worth decreasing our personal states, for this poor excuse of life we’re giving to her?” He’s saying it so calmly, with almost no emotion, as if he wasn’t just saying his sister might be better off dead.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I…” How am I supposed to respond to that? Is he honestly suggesting he doesn’t want to hold on to the chance his sister might get better? I guess it’s only natural to come to such a conclusion. He’s only seventeen, works part time, studying his ass off to get into an elite school, and yet at the same time he’s losing his sister, his home, friends, everything. Is there really nothing I can do? Damn it, I can’t even offer any kind of relief with my weak ass vocabulary.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“If she dies, I’m sure I can live on. She’s my sister, I love her, but with each passing day after her death, I’m sure the memories I’ve spent with her will slowly fade away like episodes from an old T.V show. Then, once I die, taking the last of those memories with me, no one will ever know she existed. So does that mean her life has any actual meaning to it? Does any of ours? Think about it Louie, if no one remembers you, does your life, your existence, even matter right now?” He still hasn’t sat down next to me. Instead, he’s just standing by my side, as he tries his best to ignore the few onlookers we are getting. I’m sure none of them can hear us, but the hallway is becoming claustrophobic from the thick spewing of teenage angst.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m...Not sure, Gordon.” I hesitate, but then allow the words to keep flowing, “I’m not sure if her dying today, or her dying in two years will make much of a difference. I can’t say life matters, or if someone is better off dead, I’m too young and naive to make such a call. In fact, I don’t think anyone has the right to make that call, as life has different merit depending on the values of each person. However I do know, that if she was to die today, you would cry, and that’s more than enough of a reason to hope for the best and hang on as long as possible. Even if she'll fade away one day, it’s today that counts, no?” I honestly can’t really disagree with him. Greg, that little girl, neither of them have left my mind, but as I awoke today my memories of them are hazy. It feels like, even though I saw them right before they died, even though I know what happened to them was real, it just feels so distant.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You never were one to think ahead!” He burst out in an annoyed tone. This is why I always keep my mouth shut. Before I can try and justify my phrase, Gordon speed walks into his sister's room without saying another word and shuts the door.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I want to go after him, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Rebecca's always had issues with anxiety and gets nervous over the smallest things. Whenever I went over to their house, Rebecca would always be a peeking out through her door, to shy to even say hi to me. She’s always been so gentle, and I don’t want to add on to her stress. I remember one time while playing kick the can outside, Gordon stepped on a small rock, as he was an idiot that didn’t understand you wear shoes when outside. Well, after Gordon said ow, Rebecca began crying for five hours straight because she thought he was going to lose his foot. Such a sweet little girl, It really is a shame that even though she's only nine years old, she has to go through things most ninety-year-olds don’t have to suffer through. Damn it all. I really hope I don’t end up having to pay for that plastic fern I pulled apart.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After around an hour of walking, getting stopped and given directions by several impatient nurses and doctors, I finally made it back to my room. With a sigh of relief, I open the door preparing to find my clothes, but instead, I find two men dressed in pale blue police uniforms. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:underline;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Chapter 4 <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">The man who ended his daughter's life tried to blame it on me. Hell, even a few witnesses claimed I was the one who pushed her, but luckily the man wasn’t intelligent enough to do it outside the view of multiple cameras, so he was swiftly proven to be the worst parent of the year. Still, the cops interrogated me and devoured the rest of my lovely Sunday. Sure being the witness of two deaths in the span of an hour is suspicious, but I covered my ass with a tale about being so shaken up by a classmate’s death I had to run to my girlfriend’s house for comfort. It turns out they had my phone as well as my clothes at the station. They still have my shirt as evidence, and they ensured me I won’t be getting it back. It’s a shame, as wearing a shirt with the bloodstains of my fellow classmate seems like a great conversation starter.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">To add insult to injury, I now owe my father money for the hospital bill. Sure it’s only the deductible, but I don’t know where he expects me to get the money from, as he won’t allow my to taint my studies by working retail after school, but it’s the least of my worries right now. Currently, my full attention is needed for only two things.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Number one, of course, is to find out what exactly is going on. After hearing about Greg’s death on the news, I decided to call the number back and try to put some pieces together. Unfortunately, after calling the number six times, I was only able to conclude this person has breathing problems, as the only sounds coming from the other end where heavy breaths and the occasional scream of metallic static from a poor receiver. After a few minutes, I gave up, hung up, and just decided to wait on the next phone call. Whoever this is, has an agenda, so I doubt after pulling such extremes they would just give up on whatever their goal is. Was it to frame me for murder? To scare me? Honestly, I’m not sure, but one thing for certain is true, and that’s simply Gordon being correct, like always. Even the clearest event is clouded after sleep fogs over the memories. As each day passes, the events that felt so real, that were real, began to fade away. Sure, seeing the dead body of my classmate and the murder of a little girl brought me to my knees in fear, but even though only a few days have passed, it’s already started to become numb in my mind. I can’t say I’ll forget either event or that they don’t matter, but I can keep on living knowing they're just memories now. Unlike Gordon and his sister, both of them were strangers to me, and I can’t allow the past to destroy my future. I don’t have time for self-pity, I have to find out who’s responsible for this.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">But first, the most logical issue to tackle is the betrayal of Amy. To begin with, this is her fault. If she just called me, like she said she would, none of the current events that unfolded would have happened. I know I just said I can’t let the past determine my future, but I always get even when I’m wronged.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">She was my childhood friend, my first crush, and she’s still the love of my life, so laxative brownies aren't the answer this time. No, I have to be mature and confront my issues like a grown ass man. Maybe she was simply busy with homework or something family related happened? I’m sure whoever was on the other end of the phone didn’t find my number in a trash can after all. I can’t afford to jump to conclusions when I’m so close to an unlimited breadstick date at Olive Garden with the hottest girl alive.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After putting on a snazzy, yes snazzy, blue jacket, coupled with darkly skinned jeans and a light colored T-shirt, I rush down the stairs for some cereal. Of course, neither of my parents are home, as dads at work and moms off being an old fashioned housewife, bantering with other local harlots at the supermarket, I’m left to my own devices and get to choose from a wide variety of sugar coated nutrition. For the record, I go by how cool the mascot is, rather than what the actual cereal taste like. It’s all going to give me cancer by the time I’m forty anyway, right?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After my balanced breakfast, I walk to the prison of basic unnecessary learning and have six dull and underwhelming periods. It’s the end of the year, so teachers are either trying to cram your head full of recycled theories about triangles, or they’re letting you play Dodgeball with textbooks in the middle of the classroom. Either way, nothing new or exciting tends to happen, and instead, we can either review or slack off. Gordon gets really serious at this time of the year, and Amy is clearly pretending to study while checking hipster apps on her phone.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Amy, that’s right...I need to get to the bottom of it, and as soon as the bell chimes the cattle burst through the door, I stop her before she exits the room.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask, looking over her shoulder as her posse turns around with her. At first, she looks rather dumbfounded, but quickly a smile is plastered on her face and she grabs my hand in a loving schoolgirl way. Her skin is as soft as a teddy bear that’s been washed with ten sheets of fabric softener.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You girls go on ahead, I’m going to talk to Louie for a bit.” A few worried glances and one of the daggers are given by her click, but they surrender any protest and go off to the school cafeteria. After they leave, Amy tugs at my hand and begins to drag me down to the cafeteria as well. Once reach the final step of the brown marble staircase near the double doors of the entrance, she points me to a small closed off space near the upper right corner of the cafeteria. Covered from the side by a brick pillar, it should give us enough privacy even with many students walking over to their tables. I have no idea why we can’t just talk outside or something, but I supposed there’s no harm in talking here. Whatever gets this misunderstanding over with. I doubt she actually threw my number away, she was probably just too busy on the weekend, as she’s a busy girl. I’m sure that’s it, we’ve known each other for so long, she accepted my phone number, I’m sure everything is fine.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As I follow behind her, I look around the filling cafeteria and notice Gordon masking a worried glance as he peeks over his binder. I give a reassuring wink and continue trailing behind my luscious brunette so we can have our private time. Private time with Amy...My brain is honestly exploding right now with a flurry of romantic date fantasies I’ve been dreaming of since middle school. Some of which, may or may not be a too little too subjective for reality, but I’m sure we can work something out.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Sadly, before I can get out any queries, Amy puts a finger to my lip to silence me as soon as we get behind the pillar.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You know I was joking, right?” she laughs, hitting me on the shoulder in a playful manner. My fantasies began to showcase a tragic ending as they halt and force me back into the throttle of unclear emotions. Is she being serious with me, or is she just joking right now? Is that why she didn’t call me? No, that can’t be it. She’s just messing around with me like always. Right?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What do you mean?” I stutter, trying to conceal any variations in my speech pattern. Slowly, I feel the wired frost began to tangle around my heart. Is she actually serious right now, or is she just joking with me? No, be positive, there’s no way my innocent Amy would actually try and mess with me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You didn’t actually think I’d actually say yes, did you? Sorry, If I got your hopes up, but I thought you were just putting me on the spot so I decided to play along. Besides, If I said no, everyone but Victoria would treat me like I just kicked a wide-eyed puppy. I thought you would take the hint after I didn’t call you all weekend. In fact, I ended up giving your number to that one fat girl who sits near you guys, haha.” Swiftly, I slice the brisk threads of sadness that are beginning to entangle themselves with a flaming knife of anger, forcing my personality to blaze out in annoyance.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“And what the hell do you mean by that?!” I shout, uncaring if any passing teachers or wandering students hear me. “Why the hell would I be putting you on the spot?!” I would never do such a thing to Amy. She knows I only get back at people who’ve wronged me. She’s never done anything to instigate such an act.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Because you’re immature Louis! You think everyone’s out to get you, no matter how trivial their actions actually are. Look at what you did to Mr. Surewood! Was it really necessary to poison the man just because he gave you a zero for not doing the homework? You’ve been like this for years, I thought it was just a phase, but it’s clear you just have a garbage personality.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s because it was the only homework I didn’t complete all year long. I tried to explain to him that my internship ran late at the hospital but he just laughed. He’s been out to ruin my perfect GPA all year, he’s lucky that’s all I did to him. What’s with this crap? Has she really always thought this way about me? She's never said anything before, in fact, sometimes she's even laughed at some of my pranks. I thought...Why is she just saying all this now? Does she really think so little of me?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Don’t belittle me, you’re not much better! You’re always pretending to study and act like you care about others but I know it’s all just for appearances. You’ve told me time and time again how annoying it is, but you do it because it’s the right thing to do. Is forcing yourself to act like a goddess anymore immature than what I do?” She’s actually serious, isn’t she? I can’t believe I thought she was better than others. She’s always been this way, hasn’t she? She always complained about having to be nice to people or doing simple chores around her house. She’s always doodling in her textbook, only to tell people she’s studying. I can’t believe I was so blind. Why, why is everyone so goddamn two faced?!

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“See, and that’s the problem with you. I’ve had enough since grade school, but I tolerated it. I tolerated it because I felt bad for you. You're not special, you’re not funny, you’re just damn annoying and everyone around you is sick of it. But hell, so help me if I ever told you that you’re not the next coming of Jesus because that would somehow be unjustified. Get over yourself. There are only a few days left of school, then I never have to see your pocked marked face ever again.” I couldn’t get another word out, as she storms away, dragging her cheap plastic heels on the floor titles of the dusted cafeteria floor.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Just like all the others, huh? I really am pitiful. To think, I would be so engulfed in her beauty that I overlooked the fact she wasn’t any different from anyone else. What should I do now? She’s right, schools almost over, and I guess there isn’t much point in spreading rumors about her being a slut or dumping pig's blood on her at prom, but...Damn. I can’t believe it’s over, just like that. A ten-year crush, crushed like the millions of ants I jumped on as a kid.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I take a deep sigh, and that’s when I notice a small screeching sound coming from no particular direction. Nothing too loud to really draw my attention away from my brooding, but it’s a strange sound to hear in the cafeteria. It sounds like a mix between someone's shoe scraping on a freshly polished floor, and the static of a television. Looking around the room, I don’t see anyone else reacting to it. Weird, as it’s still going on, but with a shrug, I ignore it and walk over to my usual table. I swear I can feel that fat girl staring at me as she openly chews her mush this evening. God damn it, Amy, that’s just overkill.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As I take my seat, Gordon is quick to notice my downcasted face and comment on how I will never get laid by the time I’m thirty-eight. Huh, honestly I have no comeback this time. He quickly notices this and tries his best to offer his sympathies, but honestly, I’d rather he just kept quiet. I hate pity.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“So, I take it things didn’t go well? Sorry, but I have to focus on getting this work done, talk to someone else about your first world problems.” That’s fine by me, I have no desire to talk about how Amy played me for a fool for ten long years anyway. Instead of a riposte, I just begin rummaging through my backpack for my lunch. Maybe cold pizza will make me feel better.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s when a blast of loud screaming air erupts next to me, making me drop my bag onto the floor and quickly cover my ears. The protection of flesh provides almost no coverage from the blast and as it calms, I’m left with an aftertaste of ringing.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What the hell was that? Did you blow a whistle or something?” Gordon screams, most likely louder than normal, as I’m sure his hearing is now impaired like mine.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“No, did you?” I ask, only to receive an untrustworthy glare from Gordon. He’s angry, but why? Sure that was annoying, but I didn’t do it? That’s when I notice the awkward feeling of eyes all around me, and as I look around the cafeteria, I notice several students looking in our direction. Most with bewildered eyes, but a few closer to us are clearly pointed and enraged.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Dude that clearly came from you. You’re not being funny, just knock it off. I’m sorry you got dumped, but I really don’t have time to deal with you acting like a five-year-old right now!” With a huff of anger, he goes back to writing in his binder. I’m rather annoyed he not only jumped to the conclusion it was me without substantial evidence, but that he would also talk to me in such a manner. Must be from the stress of having intercourse with this teenaged angst all weekend.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“It wasn’t me, I had my ears covered just like you. I don’t know what is was, but I know it was as annoying…” I stop the joke there, as Gordon looks up from his papers with an agitated look. Whatever, I’ll just let it slide.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As I prepare to bite into my pepperoni pie, the loud blaring slice of wind explodes right next to be again, forcing my pizza’s cheese and toppings to meet the surface of the stained cafeteria table. Holding both my hands over my ears for a second time, I try and block out as much of the bursting waves as I can until it finally stops.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What the hell’s your problem?! I told you to knock it off!” Gordon screams, standing up and slamming both his hands onto the table. He’s pissed, and as I prepare to tell him it wasn’t me, he reaches over my shoulder and grabs a can that was sitting next to me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Was that there before? As he thrust it out in front of my face, I notice the cylinder on top of the can. It’s an air horn! What was it doing right next to me? As I spin my head around the lunchroom, I notice almost everyone's eyes are on me, and no one seems amused.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I don’t know how that got there, I wasn’t using it!” I object to his silent accusations. Seriously, that wasn’t there before when I was going through my bag. When did it get there and who put it there? As he drops the red can onto the table, I swear it's all he can do not to punch me in the face.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You’re not funny Louis. Just because you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, doesn’t give you the right to halt other people's progress. Fuck around all you want, I’m done with your shit.” With that, he grabs all his books and stomps away without putting them into his backpack.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Wait!” I order, before being grabbed and spun around by my shoulder to meet the face of our meaty school security guard. His overspilling gut and stained blue uniform give me the impression he’s just finished his lunch, or that he hasn’t gone clothes shopping since his wife, undoubtful left him two years ago. The food smeared on his face and the crooked non-matching tie tell me both.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Where you the one blowing that air horn, or was it your friend over there?” Dropping his jaw to the floor, Gordon tells off the security guard before I can even get a word in edgewise. He’s mad, and after running his hand through his distorted comb-over, the police academy flunky is also enraged. This isn’t good at all, now Gordon is going to get in trouble for this crap as well. Damn it, he has enough to worry about, but I don’t want to spend the last few days of school in detention for something I didn’t do...Oh well, I’m used to this kind of stuff anyway.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I did it. I thought it would be funny.” It’s a lie, and Gordon is sure to chew me out about it later, but I can worry about that later. I mean, I should be in detention anyway for the brownie incident a few days ago, so I’m getting my just desserts, I guess. With a huff, Gordon walks off leaving the yelling guard to drag me off by my jacket.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As I look back at Gordon, he’s already gone up the stairs to his next class, and that’s when I see a small ripple in the air. It’s blue, almost like a magnetic neon color, and as the ripples become more fierce, bubbling to the surface, a hand appears from the horizontal flow in the air. Just a hand, with no limbs, and no body connecting to it. What the hell? Squinting I try to get a clearer view of the obvious disillusion, but as I do, the hand with no body attached to it appearing out of the glowing portal flicks me off.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Playing it off as a trick of the eyes and some random pissed off kid, I turn around and quickly follow chubs to the principal's office.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"> <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"> <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:underline;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Chapter 5 <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">The birth givers are going to angrier than that time I refused to pray at Thanksgiving dinner five years ago. I was young and really wasn’t in the mood to lead a prayer after having to deal with annoying family intruding in my room, so I refused every request I was given. So as punishment, not only did they strip my room bare, but they locked me in the shed out back and did some things child services wouldn’t really like to hear about.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I really would love to have the typical twenty-century parents, who either neglect their unwanted kid they had at sixteen, or spoil them with new phones every month. Hell, I ‘d love it if a punishment could simply be taking away my game station for a week, but that’s never going to happen. This is big, as I’m not only coming home late from after school detention, but I’m suspended for the remaining school year. My grades are high enough to the point I don’t have to worry about them dropping from missing the few unnecessary review sheets, but given a suspension doesn’t look good on my record, I’m pretty much screwed, and not in the way I was hoping for with Amy. Now that I think about it, I never even applied for school after everything that’s been going on lately.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Arriving at my pale yellow house, I walk up the few steps to the front door and jiggle the handle in an attempt to open it. It’s locked, again. With a moan, I pick up the disgusting welcome mat that’s never been cleaned and find...Nothing? Where’s the key? Sigh, yet again, with an overly exaggerated moan, I knock on the front door hoping someone is home. I’m assuming them locking me out is just the tip of the iceberg.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">It takes a solid three minutes until I hear the click of locks turning and the creak of the door being opened. Standing in front of me is my father, and in his hand is a small plastic zip bag filled with furry green plants. Why does he have weed on him? Did my sudden suspension cause the alcoholic to begin experimenting with drugs? Trying to push the questions out of my mind, I begin the polite servitude that’s expected of me and greet him with a Sir. But, before I can say anything else, I’m met with his fist sending me off the calico stone step and onto the ground. Some rocks scrape into my hands and I can feel the peeled skin begin to bleed as I look up in confusion. He’s, never actually hit be before.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I…” He bends and picks up two large suitcases next to him and throws them at me. Luckily I have good enough reflexes to catch one, but unluckily, the other hits the ground and burst open, covering the sidewalk with my undies and that one speedo I bought last summer.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You can stay in the shed until the end of the week. You are no longer my son, just another homeless druggie. It’s clear you’ll never be able to pay back my charity, and therefore I no longer have any use for you. Be grateful I’m letting you keep your phone and some clothes, as that’s more than something a pothead like you deserves.” He...Can’t be serious? Pothead, druggie? I’ve never touched the stuff in my life.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Before I can even ask what he’s talking about, the door is slammed and I'm left sitting on the sidewalk by the front steps, covered in blood and dirt. Why is this happening to me? What’s going on? Normally, this is when the rage would take over, but as I sit here, all I can feel is the wet flow of tears as my eyes begin to puff with redness.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Why does this stuff always happen to me? Slamming the door to the shack, I throw my suitcases near the one small broken apart wooden desk near the right wall and jump on the dust covered bed. As I sit here, contemplating what I’m going to do now, I reach for the one lap on the small dresser next to me and pull its string.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Naturally, it doesn’t work. You gotta be kidding me. In less than a week, I witnessed the death of two people, one a classmate and the other a small awkward girl, I ended up hospitalized and making my only friend in the world hate me by not thinking before I spoke, got suspended from school, and now I got kicked out of the house for something about drugs...Oh, and Amy played me for a fool and broke my heart, can’t forget about that nail in the coffin.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Have I really done something to deserve all of this? Sure, I play jokes on people, I get revenge over small things, and I can be immature, but I’ve never exceeded putting bugs in some annoying rich girl’s double mochaccino. Which, of course, had to have light foam, extra whip cream, chocolate drizzle only on the left side, along with many other complex requests that took the stoned employee fifteen minutes to make. Honestly, she's lucky that’s all I did to her, she even got a free lawsuit out of it I think.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">This room is so bare. Besides the desk, lamp, and a small dresser underneath said lamp, there’s nothing but this twin sized bed and small brown pillow. If I remember correctly from childhood, this pillow didn’t use to be brown. Throwing it across the room, it makes a solid thump, causing the wall to jiggle a bit. I’m surprised this poorly constructed hen house didn't fall over in the last storm we got.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Pulling out my phone I try and illuminate the room to at least some extent. The one glass window above my bed gives a small glow of brown light, but it’s not nearly enough to fully light this dark room. Putting my phone above my head as I lay on these slimy sheets, I notice there’s only thirty percent of battery left. I really hope he put my charger in one of those suitcases.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">With a chirp, my phone flashes green, as a call connects to my start up screen. I know the number now by heart. It’s that damn kid.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">All of this hell started when I got that first call, and now, it’s happening again. This fucker is the one who’s been toying with me this whole time, and I've had enough. I hit the answer button, if they don’t respond to me this time, I’m blocking them. No, I’ll find out who they are, go to their house, and beat the living shit out of them. No need for pranks, or some clever plan to ruin their life, I’ll simply use force and beat them half to death. No, actually that’s not good enough, I can do better. Gurage there eyes out maybe? Rip out their heart and eat it? Cut off their dick and smash their balls right in front of them? I’ll make them pay for whatever tragic events they fueled this past week.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As the call finally connects, and I begin the profanities, a loud screech of static slices through the dense air. It’s louder than in the cafeteria, and it doesn’t only force me to drop my phone and cover my ears, but my eyes as well. It goes on, and on, for easily over five minutes until it begins to fade, and I hear a “Hello” clear as day. To clear, as if someone was standing right next to me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Slowly, I open my eyes, and before me is a small rip in the air, showcasing a boy around fourteen with a mess of blond hair and piercing green eyes. If it wasn’t for the small mole under his left eye, he would look almost exactly like me a few years ago. He looks like he’s in a painting, or a mirror, with the frame being small moving ripples blaring out of the thin air itself. They look as if their electrical, but as I stupidly touch them, I can only feel a hard smooth wall with bumps.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Don’t touch that!” the kid orders. Breaking his hand out of the floating mirror with a hiss he slaps my hand away like a mother slapping the hand of a child trying to take a cookie from the jar before dinner. In a flash of confused anger I go to grab the kid, but as my hand meets the floating circle, it’s forcefully pushed back with a thud, as if I just hit a wall. I don’t understand, what is this? It’s illuminating the whole room in a soft turquoise light, like a computer screen, but he can go through it, and I can’t? A one-way portal or something? A hologram, or some kind of virtual reality program? What is this?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Yaaa...See we don’t have the same data plan so only I can go through this. You’re just simply not covered!” He laughs louder than an autistic hyena, throwing his arms in the air as if he’s just told the greatest joke of all time.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What? What’s going on? Who are you? What the hell is this?” I continuously ask, not learning my lesson and touching the glowing portal like object in front of me again, only to have my hand be pushed back.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Wow, I find it fascinating you’ve been this stupid ever since you were around my age! You never grow out of it!” Yet again, another gut busting laugh of a madman. He’s worse than sitcoms overly using their laugh tracks. Picking up my dirty pillow, I throw it at the hovering portal hoping I'll do something, but it just bounces back and hits the wall behind me. He shakes his head in disappointment at my attempts, but he keeps that damn ear to ear smirk glued to his face. At any moment it’s going to tear open with squeals of villain like laughter.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What do you mean I never do? It’s time you start explaining things before I wake up from this dream, kid.” That’s right, I’m just having a bad dream. Everything's just been a bunch of unfortunate coincidences and due to the stress out I passed out on one of the maggot covered pillows.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“This isn’t a dream, that slap proves it, no?” I guess that’s true, I did feel an abrupt pain and examining my hand, I can see it’s a tad red. Still, this is just so unrealistic, it can’t be true. “Also, while I’m a kid, it’s important to clarify, that I’m your child. I’m here for one thing, and one thing only. To watch you slice your mother fucking throat opened.” With that, a small circle in the portal breaks apart and a sharp skinny blade is tossed out and lands right in front of me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hilarious, so this is some kind of prank, right? Or is it some 3D model, virtual reality, bull that just came out and is being marketed to kids in their thirties who want to escape the reality of their mom’s basement?”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Look, I don’t have much time here. You see, this portal can only connect to your word for however many minutes you’ve spent on the phone connected to me.” Wait, if that’s true, then all of those phone calls with just heavy breathing… “I can tell by your facial expression you get it. Yes, father, all of those calls were simply to give me more time in this world. You see, I can call freely, but I can only appear near you equal to the amounts of minutes you’ve spent on the phone. As we speak, I’m gaining time, haha.” Looking down at my call, I can see it’s still connected. Panicking, I hit the end call button and look at him with a slight grin of my own.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Maybe you really are my son, as you sure don’t know how to keep your mouth shut. Don’t worry, I won’t be having you, bye bye now.” Nothing happens, and this time, he laughs so hard tears begin to drip from his eye sockets along with a gooey flow from his nose. This kid is really into himself.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I wish you wouldn’t, but, words are just words, and therefore, meaningless. As I’ve said, the amount of duration over the phone is all that matters for retaining this portal. On the other end, the number of times we’ve connected is how strong the portal is.” I see. I guess that adds up then. The laughing, the finger, and now a full view of him in person...However, that doesn’t explain…

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Then how did you kill Greg? When the girl died, I could only hear your laughter, there was no sign of you. So, I’m assuming the portal wasn’t large enough for you to really do anything at that time. So, enlighten me, how did you kill him?” His never ending laughter finally comes to an end, and he just stares at me in anger.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m not an abusive piece of shit like you. I would never kill someone unless I deem it absolutely necessary. I simply did research on the area you grew up in and found a few tragic events for you to witness. It was pure luck that not only was a kid from your grade going to kill himself but just across the way, a little girl would be murdered by her father. I could get into the actual tragic events that lead to such things, but knowing you, you don’t care about anyone but yourself.” I guess he finally ran out of laughing gas because the little twerp stopped giggling after everything he says. Personally, I‘d love to hear the tales, but I highly doubt he’s willing to consent to a father, son, story time.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“And what was the point of making me watch them? You honestly think I’d be so weak willed I’d end my life over watching some strangers kill themselves?” I’ll admit it, during the events I was shocked, speechless, and unable to even move, but as the days have gone by, and more and more things kept happening to be personally, I’ve gotten completely over it. I doubt I would’ve spent too much time grieving over them anyway. I’m from the generation of violent video games and school shootings being made out as white people jokes, it takes a lot to mentally scar me for life.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I was hoping you’d have some humanity in you and at the least, be taken aback a little bit. I was planning on adding on more stress and doubt until you come to the same conclusion that I have years ago...That your life is worthless and it's best to end it.” Fat chance. I really don’t care how much some snot nosed brat values my life. I have no idea who he thinks I am, but he’s wrong about me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“So you were the reason Amy wouldn’t go out with me?” I knew it, she couldn’t resist me even if she tried. He must have posted some rumors on social media or threatened her not to go out with me. She’s most likely his mom! Is his plan to make it so we never convince him? Fine by me, kids are annoying.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“No, that was pure coincidence. The only things I did was lead you to the deaths of some people, blowing the air horn, and planting the drugs in your room…” He trails off, trying to recall if he’s done any other wrong doings to me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“So I was right, he was holding drugs. You planted them, how?” That’s right, how is he doing all of this. The calls are one thing, but actually affecting something outside of his portal? I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised, as I’ve already seen that he’s capable of it. Wait, does that mean he can actually leave it?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hmm, I guess it doesn’t really matter how much I tell you in the end. Using this device I can connect to any area within five miles of any phone that I’ve called before. The time limit is how long I’ve spent on said phone. It wasn’t hard to dial your house number using some old phone books I found online. I did a lot of research for my revenge. I was hoping you’d have taken your life by now, but I guess it just wasn’t enough of a push.” Of course, it wasn’t. I don’t know what kind of child he thinks I am, but there’s nothing on this earth that will push me to commit suicide. No matter what challenges I have to overcome, I will achieve my goal.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You know, you really should keep your mouth shut. I don’t know why you want revenge, I’ve never done anything to you, but you’re giving me plenty of info I can use to my advantage.” This kid’s an idiot. All I have to do is wait out the time, and I’ll never have a problem again. All I have to do is avoid answering any numbers I don’t know.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You met my mom in college.” This has nothing to do with what I just said, what’s he going on about? He’s just giving me more information I can use to win this. “Around a year after I was born, you left us and I ended up spending the first ten years of my life with her. Throughout those years, all she ever did was complain about you. I got no attention, no love, I was only a reminder of her past mistakes. After my tenth birthday, the court ordered I’d be given to you, and the next five years of my life until you randomly left home, were the worst of my entire life. You see, I want to watch you kill yourself. I want to see your goddamn dead body in return for the pathetic childhood you’ve given me. The reason I’ve been answering your questions is so you fully understand there’s nothing you can do. Now, I’m not here to play twenty questions. You have three days to end your life, or else...I just...I just really want this to end already.” His blond hair brushes over his eyes, his teeth clench, and I can feel the heat exiting his body. Have I really done something so wrong, to my own child?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You’ve already ruined my life. You really think you can do much more to push me over the edge?” I have nothing now, and not even that’s going to stop me. I really can’t think of anything he can do to make my life even worse.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I have around a half an hour of time I can connect to this world through your phone. In three days an event will happen that I will take advantage of. I’ll check on you a few times to see if you’re alive throughout the week, until said event.” It’s a waste of both of our time. Why don’t you just move on from your petty revenge? I can’t believe I raised such a whiny little bitch. “If worst comes to worse, and my time runs thin, and you refuse to replenish it be answering the phone, I’ll simply end your life myself. I really don’t want it to come to that. Honestly, I never wanted any of this to begin with, but you left me no choice, dad.” As the portal flashes into a deep purple, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut, the last thing I see is his never ending grin finally turn upside down. Opening my eyes after the sting of the bright light, I notice both him and the portal are gone. Was it all just some stress filled hallucination?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Looking down on the crusted sheets of my twin sized bed, I see a sharp blade reflecting the light blue glow of my phone. No, it wasn’t, but I really wish it was.

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"> <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:underline;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Chapter 6 <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">There’s a knock at my front door, and I’m scared it’ll bring this whole shack down. I thought my dad said I could have the rest of the week to live here? It’s only been three days, but he’s never really been a man of his word, so I can’t be surprised.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I don’t know where I’m going to go. Yesterday I went to the bank and took out all the money I’ve saved throughout the years. Only a messily eight hundred dollars, but that should be enough to get a place of my own until I find a hope. At least, I hope so. After all, I have no one to co-sign, and I don’t have a source of income. On top of that, finding a job with no references is going to be tricky as well...Damn, what have I been doing these last few days besides sitting on my ass? What am I going to do?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Kill yourself! <span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">No, that’s not an option. I can do this! Even if he kicks me out right now, I’ll find someway to survive out on my own, without anyone's help! That’s right, I’ve always been alone, nothing’s changed.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Opening the door, expecting to meet my beer gutted father in a drunken rage, I’m met with a nerdy glasses wearing kid around my age in a fancy black jacket and name brand shoes. His military cut is made unprofessional by the neon green dye washed through it and the multiple piercings lining the outer rim of his ears are sure to leave scars.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Gordon? What happened to you?”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What happened to me? What happened to you? You’re living in a shed that smells like a barn! You could have at the very least used some candy scented candles!” His voice was rather chipper for someone who had a chip on his shoulder just a few days ago. What’s with him? Not only do his shoes cost over a hundred big ones, but that jacket isn’t cheap either, and that hair, while it makes him look like a mental peacock, seems to be professionally dyed.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Ya, I got kicked out of the house and have to find somewhere else to go. I’m actually about to go fill out some job applications at the library and look for a place…” It’s so awkward talking to him right now, and I don’t know if it’s because of his 180 personally flip, the fact we had a fight, or because he looks like an overly nerdy fuckboy that picks up the semi-heavy fat chicks at conventions.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Cool, I have nothing better to do today, so I’ll help you out! We can take my car!” His...Car? What the hell is going on?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Gordon, you were eating plain bologna sandwich with no contaminants three days ago, and now you have a car? Did everyone at school win a cash prize or something when I was away?!” This is getting ridiculous. Having my son from the future trying to get me to commit suicide is more believable than Gordon having any legal tender.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“We can talk about it in the car, come on!” With a sweep of his hand, he gestures for me to follow him. As I slip on my shoes and walk after him, I can’t help but look in the windows of my two story house. I’m not sure why. I’m not looking to see my father, and I can’t say I have any pleasant memories of the place, but looking at the house I grew up in as a place I’m no longer welcomed in, is rather off-putting.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Gordon doesn’t notice my slow pace and is already out of view by the time I come back to reality. That’s right, I just have to keep moving forward.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As I come to the front of the house, I notice an old rusted scarlet pickup in our overly grown yard. I guess without me to mow it, they just ignored it for the time being, but it really looks rather hillbilly now.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">To be honest, after the shock of Gordon’s new attire, I was expecting a flashier ride. I mean, go big or go home, right? I guess I can’t really judge, being homeless, jobless, and of course, careless. Though to be fair, I don’t see much of a need for a car when we live in a city that has subway transportation and the only houses are the ones near the school, like mine...my parent’s.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hop in milady!” he jests, opening the passenger side door for me. The inside of the truck isn’t much clearer than the outside, but reluctantly, I step up, sit down, and buckle up while he walks around to the driver's side. Before he gets in, I toss my jacket into the back seat. It’s around eighty outside, but I need to have it around me for style reasons.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">He starts up the rumbling engine, only to peel out of the driveway, leaving a trail of black smog behind us. As we get to the main street and get stuck in the never ending traffic cities are known for, I just stare out the window, looking at all the peasants having to use their feet to get places. One of them, a middle-aged fat man wearing cargo shorts with a Bluetooth in his right ear, jogs into a fast food restaurant at the corner near a crosswalk.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Should I tell Gordon what’s going on? No, not only will he just laugh it off, but under his new happy exterior, I’m sure he’s still rather annoyed with me. Best not to bring up anything retarded for awhile until things calm down.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“She's dead you know..” My eyes pop as my head turns to meet Gordon, still just staring at the red light in front of us.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Oh...Sorry…?” I accidentally ask, trying to comprehend the bomb he just dropped on me. Rebecca can’t be dead, can she? Just a few days ago, you told me she had at least a year left before things started getting serious. I can’t…

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Something happened to her life support and it malfunctioned...She's gone for good.” I see. I guess I should just keep my mouth shut this time, regardless of the fact I want to give him my condolences. It would just make things worse, like always.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Three days

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“No, it couldn’t be…” He said something would happen in three days...Did he? No, he couldn’t have messed with her life support, there’s no way.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“That’s how I got all this new stuff. Now that the hospital bills are going down, they figured after all I’ve been through these couple of years, it's time I deserve something in return.” I guess Gordon is just as selfish as me. I’d never thought he was the type to think something is owed to him, simply because his sister's health put his family in the poor house. It’s rather childish, but I suppose I’m the last person that should be thinking that. He’s most likely just saying such things to put on a facade of some sort.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s right. I’m more selfish and childish than anyone, and that’s what's gotten me into this mess in the first place. What could've happened to me, to make me abuse my son? Do I really never grow up? Why do I even have kids? I never wanted any. Once you have a child, your own life gets put on pause, and everything you do revolves around them. I find most people have kids to fill a void in their life. I don’t know, or really care, what that void is. Whether it’s their own regret, their fear of death, or simply there need to love, but unlike them, I have no such feelings. I want to live a full and fun life, I want to accomplish many things, and having a child will not only waste my time and money but such dreams as well. I’m going to become someone important. I’m going to show Amy, my father, and everyone who else who doubts me, that I matter. I don’t know what pressures me to have a child, but maybe if I just vow not to, right here, he will disappear. That’s how it works in the movies, right? Change the present and it affects the future?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m sorry man, I really don’t know what to say…” That’s right, I don’t. No matter what I say, I have no idea how to react right now. Sure, I’m sad, but I’d assume you’d be too. You’ve always been good at hiding any emotion, but this was your sister. I want to tell you it’s ok to cry, but will that just make you enraged?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“That’s a first!” He jokes, turning left as some old women walking her dog attempts to jaywalk in the middle of oncoming traffic. Luckily, she stops in time, flicks us off, and starts ranting about how young people have no respect for the elderly.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Ya...So, where are we going?” I suppose he wants some time to get away from it all, lower his stress level, but he’s honestly a little too carefree and it’s making me uncomfortable.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Not sure, we can go bowling, to the arcade, the park, a diner, whatever. Like I said before, I won’t date you, but we can still hang once every now and again, right?” Damn, I just can’t seem to get a date.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Arcade.. Eh, I forgot to ask if he knew what happened to Greg. There wasn’t even an assembly for him. The only thing that brought it all back to reality for me was the fact his desk was empty Monday and the teacher didn’t even bother calling his name during roll call. Hell, I doubt the Arcade is even closed right now. They probably just cleaned up the blood and used his suicide as a promotion for some new horror game. It’s sad how little people's lives matter. I guess Gordon was right after all.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I don’t know. Let’s get a bite to eat I guess, I haven't had anything decent in days.” I’ve been living off dollar store pop tarts and noodles for the last few days. I have to find a place fast as cooking pasta over a fire isn’t really that efficient.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Fine by me, I’m playing. Think of it as an apology for blowing up on you.” He’s laughing. I really am sad about his sister’s death, but I’m glad he’s happy again. For the last few years, he’s been poor and depressed, so I’m glad things are finally turning around for him. Still, is this a stage of grief or something?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After a few minutes of driving, and some small talk here and there, we finally settle on a fast-food place in the mall and head towards it. Looking out the poorly tinted window, I can see the arcade passing us. Yup, bustling and filled with the typical fat nerds, like always. I’m kind of glad a place like that does so well though. There can’t be many old fashion arcade’s left now that personal computers for gaming and virtual reality are becoming huge.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Ow, what the hell?” Gordon screams, pulling over to the side of the road into a parking space. There's no cars around it, so parallel parking isn’t an issue. Right across from us is an Asian nail salon. It's the third one I’ve seen on this short drive, but the first with a meter in front of it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What’s wrong?” I ask, unamused about a sudden bug hitting him in the ear. I told him to roll his window back up.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I just heard a loud ringing in my ear.” I get that sometimes. When my ears just ring for no reason. Not sure what causes it or why, but it’s never been painful for me before.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Well, we're almost here, want to just walk over? I’ll pop in a few quarters.” I ask this as I’m already opening the door of the truck.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Ya, sure.” He’s holding his ear and is squinting his eyes in discomfort. He’s such a baby.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">After a decent enough meal made by some underpaid college dropouts, we decided to hit up the arcade after all. I was uncomfortable at first, but as time passed, I was too busy shooting zombies in the face and shredding on a fake guitar to care. I didn’t know Greg, and his death shouldn’t haunt me or prevent me from enjoying my life. Right now, Gordon, my only friend needs me to smile and have fun. I don’t know how bad he’s hurting on the inside, but I’m here for him. Hell, I’m listening to him brag about his new phone and this chick in Amy’s group of friends he’s dating. I haven't seen this side of him in a long time.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">We finished up acting like idiots, drunk on soda from the cheap bar in the arcade, and Gordon brings me home. Well, not really home, but close enough. He pulls into my father’s driveway and I grab my jacket from the backseat and bid him adieu. It’s still bright outside, and as he peels out of the driveway, he gets dirt all over me.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“God damn it.” I begin to brush off my jacket, only to have a folded piece of paper fall out and hit the unpaved driveway. Did Gordon put this here? I reach down, pick it up, and as I begin to unfold it, I hear the dragging of brakes on concrete and a loud crash coming from less than a mile up the road.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I bolt, paper in hand, all the way to the top of the driveway, only to see in the distance a red truck collided with a now fallen tree.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Trampling, I look at the half unfolded paper and unravel the rest of it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I gave you three days.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:underline;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Chapter 7 <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I warned you, didn't I?”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’ll kill him you know. I don’t want to, but if I have to I will.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Look, just end your life, this is getting to be a drag. Your only friend is in the hospital, you have no family, I can wreck any chance you have of getting into college or even getting a decent job, it’s over. Just take that knife and end it all.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You’re no different from me, you know that?” My head’s fully engulfed in my dirty pillow, but I’ve taken a few glances to him. The portal is larger now, large enough to the point I can see his knees. I wonder...If he can exit it, just like his hand has done before.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Excuse me? I’m not an abusive asshole who had kids just to torment because he had a difficult childhood. We’re not the same at all.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You don’t get to decide who I am, who I will become, just to absolve your own actions, you little shit. Unlike you, I’ve never murdered anyone. I don’t know why I treated you the way I did, but I’m not that man yet, and therefore, the only abusive fuck here is you.” While my words are harsh and should be flared with anger, the flame is rather dull and the light breeze of sadness is blowing it out. It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? I never even wanted kids, I never thought my actions were abusive to anyone, but..Damn. Why did Gordon have to face the consequences of my actions?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m not deciding anything....” He’s starting to trail off, as if his anger, his ambition to drive him so far is finally beginning to falter. He’s just a kid after all. Once the adrenaline and angst die down, he’s bound to question if his actions were justified. He knows it, just as I do. I can’t say I’m a good person, I can’t say I won’t become a monster, but at the moment, right now, as he sees the state I’m in, he can’t say he’s any different from what he’s making me out to be. I just have to push him further and make him clearly realize it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You’re no different from me. I haven't done anything to you yet, have I? So, you’ve put my best friend in the hospital, in a coma, just to get back at an innocent man. Like father, like son.” With this, I take my head out of my pillow and stare blankly at him with my puffed red eyes and snot covered face.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m not like you…” I don’t say anything, I just keep staring at him, watching him fidget and look away from his one-way portal. I can see them, the scars on his face. Did I really do something like that to him? Why? "Unlike you, I understand empathy and compassion. You’re right when you say you’ve never done anything to me. However, I don’t want you to be my father. I don’t want any other version of me to go through this…So...I’m going to give you one last chance.” His words are far less aggressive than they used to be and show no hint of intimidation or aggression.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“A chance? You laughed at people killing themselves, you made me watch horrific things, and you hurt an innocent bystander all for your revenge! What’s with the new leaf now?” I thought he was far beyond help before, but in all honesty, I don’t think he’s realized what he’s been doing. Just like me, he doesn’t think that far ahead. He’s just a kid after all.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“The year I live in isn’t that much more advanced from yours. A few years from now technology kind of halts from its lighting fast speed to becoming slower than a drug up snail. Things happen, I’m not going to get into detail. The point is, while you can get artificial private areas made and connected to your body, by getting rid of your testicles there’s no chance I’ll be your son. I’ve had several DNA tests done, I’m 100% yours, and there isn’t a surgery out there to give a man back the way to produce his own sperm. If you understand what I’m getting at” I really hope I don’t.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You can’t be serious… You mean like a vasectomy? That’s fine by me.” I never planned to have kids anyway, and after all this, any small part of me that wished to continue my amazing legacy died faster than the virginity of a hot girl at a comic convention.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“No, a vasectomy is faulty, and I think there are ways to reverse it. I don’t have enough time to keep checking up on it if there’s an issue. Instead, cut off your testicles, and before I run out of time, I’ll crush them.” He wants me to neuter myself? Get rid of my man pride? Is he into S&M or something? Hell, I’m not going to do that, he’s practically out of time already, I just have to keep him talking long enough…

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“This...This is ridiculous! First off, how can I be sure you’ll keep your word and fuck off? Next, are you sure this will even work? If the future exists, that means there are millions of other timelines that have failed at killing me. Are you really just going to give up, knowing that you could be one of them?” I guess pointing out loopholes isn’t the smartest option, but I just have to run out the clock. Still, what can I do in this situation? I have no idea how far ahead he knows my future. If I simply get rid of my phone or change the number, will he be able to contact a future employer or something? I’m willing to bet he knows some of my college history as well.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“It’s true, I don’t know why or how they failed, but with this method, you can no longer produce sperm, so, therefore, I can never be your child. I’m guessing they took your word for it, or maybe even tried a simpler approach and attempted to stop you from meeting our mother when you’re in college. I honestly don’t know, but I’m sure as long as I witness this, it will all be over.” His face frowns but there’s a small amount of satisfaction showcasing itself. Just like me, he just wants this all to end. “I’m not doing this for myself, after all, I’m just hoping in your timeline, you won’t be able to abuse your son.” My timeline? So I’m assuming anything I do, won’t affect him in the slightest. So he’s telling me, that he’s been doing all of this, just so I won’t have a son and abuse him, even though it won’t offend him at all? I can’t tell if that’s the most selfish or courteous thing one can do. Still...I’ve grown fond of my man area and don’t wish to see it unattached from my body.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sorry, but it’s not going to happen. You can try and kill me, but I’ll just be on high alert and wait out the clock. I’ll break my phone, leave the country, anything.” I’m not going to lose my mainly bits just so this kid can save someone that doesn’t even exist, and won’t exist. I think he’s noticed I have no will to end my life already and that’s most likely a good part of why he’s starting to show sympathy.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“It’s true, getting rid of your phone would have prevented all of this. I can’t call a number I don’t have knowledge of. Still, I can’t just let you run away, in fear that you will have a child one day. So, you leave me no option. I’ve never killed before, but if I have to, I’ll end your friends life.” His frown begins to shape into a small smirk, and his eyes begin to straighten. I can tell he’s not joking.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You wouldn’t…”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I don’t want to, but, I’ll do it if I have no other choice, as I’ve said countless times. You run away from me, and I end his life. Using the hospital's phones will make it hard to migrate to his room, but it can be done. Hell, if I want to, I can just let it lose anywhere and jump out. The portal itself is mainly a physical barrier to prevent your movement, I’ll disappear when my time is up regardless of what side I’m on. Trust me, I’ve practiced with this thing a lot. Did you not even consider the fact I can gain time by calling people other than you? If it runs out, I just restock it. The only issue is how much time I have stored with your number, but hospitals are pretty much a gold mind for that kind of thing.” He practiced with it? Now that I think about it, I have no idea how he’s even doing this. If technology doesn’t develop much in later years, how is any of this possible? How can he, a child, have something so advance? Before I can ask any of this, he continues to speak.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I know you care about your only friend, and I really don’t want to soil my hands with the death of someone just for my own revenge.” He looks over his shoulder at something I can’t see through my oval like window.” It’s almost 12 PM, get to the hospital by 3:50 PM. If you’re not there by 3:55, I kill him and leave. You might never see me again, but you can live the rest of your life knowing you killed your one and only friend, right at the peak of his happiness. I’ll see you there” He said that the portal has to be near the phone he has time stored on. So, f I just blocked his number, instead of messing around, could I have ended all of this before it got this far? Sure he could connect to my house, school, and a few other places, but given the fact his mother and I are neglectful, I doubt he knows much about our past...Or future...Or whatever it’s classified as.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Wait!” I shout, just as the portal begins to slightly fade. The color of his world is slowly disappearing, now only showcasing plain black and white smudges. The electrical ridges that frame the portal are now beginning to needle into the center, slowly causing the toneless world to fade from my reality.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hey, if technology hasn’t advanced that far in so many years, how is this even possible? How can a phone that can contact with the present exist? It would be regulated and there’s no way a child could have it. Where did you get it?” I need as much information as I can get out of this kid. Maybe there’s still a way out of this...

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I do not know. After you left the house, this arrived on the doorstep with a note saying, “In the past, I made a huge mistake, please, fix it for me.” I assumed it was some kind of cheap attempt you made at asking for my forgiveness, but I’m honestly not sure. I’m just as clueless as you are. All I can say is, after all of this is over, I’ll hunt you down, the you in my future, and make you pay. Hopefully, I’ll see you soon so I can start my hunt.” That was the last thing he said before the portal whirled into itself and collapsed, leaving the air thick, but free of all future traveling kids.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Do I really have no other choice here? I don’t have time to think, I put on my shoes and bolt for the hospital. It’s not far, by train it should only take me around thirty minutes to get there. I have to think of a way out of this. I can’t let Gordon die, and I’m sure if this kid is bluffing or not. He’s confused, he doesn’t want to be a murder, but he’s so hurt that his one directed mind can’t think of anything but getting back at me. There has to be a way I can make this right for both parties, without losing my junk.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">This isn’t fair at all. I’ve never done anything to him. No wonder I abused the kid, this probably all happened before, only…

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I scan my ticket at the gate and rush into the subway just as it's about to leave. I plop down in a huff, trying to catch my breath as some old granny tries to start a conversation and give me butterscotch candy. Sorry lady, I don’t have time for hard candy at the moment, as I’m about to lose the one hard thing that matters to me. Ignoring her, I open up my phone and proceeded to cancel my plan through my provider's website. I have to make sure that after this is all over, I change my number monthly and move around a lot. Maybe I should even change my appearance...Wait, would any of this work? Hasn’t this all happened before? Doesn’t that mean...

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I can’t believe I did it. I let Gordon die, all so I could get back at this kid. That’s it, isn’t it? I let my best friend die, just so I could have a child, and abuse him for doing all of this. Only, it didn’t work out. I’m assuming I must have felt guilty, left him, and expected this all to happen again, hoping I would make the right choice the next time. Heh, I wonder, how many me’s have thought of this. I bet it's like some kind of rock, paper, scissor effect, where if you think too hard about it, you only end up contradicting yourself. Still, maybe I should leave him to die, life doesn’t even matter to him. He said it himself after all, it's all meaningless, life will just end with your existence being a memory.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I jog there, and as the doors open for me at the front of the hospital, I look around to check the time only to notice it’s not even 1 PM. I still have hours to kill. I sit down on a slick, plastic chair, trying to catch my breath next to a coughing young hoodlum with a bandaged hand. Most likely shot himself with a BB gun while on acid.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I can’t do it. Even if it makes my sex life a lot more challenging than it already is, I can’t just let Gordon die for my petty revenge. He just started to enjoy life. For the last few years, ever since his sister fell ill and he ended up being poor, he’s been depressed. All he’s done is try and look professional, talk professional and study as life just passed him by. He gave up on enjoying life and just tried to take the path he thought would be the most profitable. I can’t let that bastard kill him.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">I guess it has to be done. Looking around the room, all I can do is hope some god takes pity on me and shits out a solution. Though, I’m pretty sure if there was a god, he’d be rather happy with the fact I can’t produce any more sarcastic assholes onto this planet. There by no means a dying breed after all.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">So, am I supposed to use a scalpel or something in the room? I didn’t even think about bringing a knife with me. I can’t even fathom how painful it’s going to be. I guess it’s not a good thing I have balls so big I’m willing to go through with this, as I’m sure their size is just going to make this even more painful. I guess I should at least use the bathroom with my own mini-me one last...The bathroom, of course!

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">…..

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“3:54, you’re almost out of time.” Tossing a scalpel on the floor in front of me, he walks over to the nurse call button next to Gordon’s sleeping body. He’s come out of the portal. Could I, if I’m quick enough, kill him with this? What would happen then? Is it worth the risk? “As soon as you do it, I’ll click this button so you don’t die of blood loss. The benefits of being in a hospital, right?” In his other hand, he holds scalpel as well. As I slowly bend down and pick up my own, he places his closer to Gordon's throat, ready to slash if I have any unexpected movements. Guess I don’t have a choice.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Welp, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I was such a shitty father to the point it had to come to this.” I nervously laugh, as I begin to unbuckle myself. I notice the unimportant fact that we both have the same color shoes. Though, mine are plastered with a brand name, while his look worn out and too large for someone his age.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“And I’m sorry I couldn’t just let this go. For what it’s worth, you named me Lucas by the way. A play off your own name I guess. Very creative and totally not an overused method or name.” he smiles, as if he’s not witnessing his future father taking off his pants in front of him.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Me to Lucas, me too.” That’s right, like father like son. Just like you, I never let things go. I was really planning to stop these childish games. After all this, just letting everything slide, proving to my dad, to everyone that I can accomplish something on my own without holding onto petty grudges seems like a nice relaxing lifestyle.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Unfortunately, you had to push it just too far. There’s no way I’m letting this slide. I will get even. I get it now, why I abused you, and why I left you to do all of this over again. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''

'''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:underline;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Chapter 8 <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Gordon and I are no longer friends. I guess no matter how close you are to someone, or how much you’ve done for them, you can’t help but drift apart as the years go on. I tried keeping in touch, but after our second year of college, all contact with him became unbearable.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">We both went to different schools, but we tried to meet up whenever possible. I, without the chains of my father, was able to pursue a career as a carpenter and architect. After years of studying and building, I moved back to the small city in my parent’s old house and began building houses for rent in the area. As time went on, the old city has fallen quite low, and not only are properties and complexes rather cheap, but it's become more of a rural, rather than an urban area. Still, it’s a rather nice place to live. Like a ghetto with glitter on it and a good school district.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Gordon, on the other hand, went for some science jazz I didn’t understand. It honestly struck me as a surprise, as he’s been more of a math guy and always wanted to pursue a career in data entry or as a teacher. I guess it wasn’t that drastic of a change, but that was only the start of his changes. You see, Gordon became an introvert and no longer wanted anything to do with me or anyone else.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Throughout our short-lived friendship after high school, Gordon became extremely interested in sci-fi, occult, and just in general creepy nerd stuff. His composure, health, and just general mannerism all went downhill as well. The last thing he said to me before he blocked my number was that he regrets that he chose his life over his sister’s. I’m not really sure what he meant by that, I presume he still feels guilty about her death, but I never put too much thought into it, as I’ve been busy and have no way to contact and needle him further. It’s a shame really, but even though I lost my man pride for him, I wasn’t about to give up my future for him as well. Sure I feel bad for not trying harder to contact him, or even calling help for him, but as the manager of several different apartments complexes, a newlywed, and dealing with several different surgeries throughout the years to fix my manhood, I just didn’t have the time or energy to dote on him.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">My would be son Lucas was right. Even though it’s been nine years since I met him, science hasn’t advanced enough to the point they can give me back the ability to produce my own sperm. Sure I got reconstructed down there, but the ejaculation process doesn’t really hold the count to create children. Sure made college flings less stressful, but my wife really wants to have a child and it's become an issue.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">That’s why I’m here right now. After my father died and my mother took her life, the hospital he worked at kept going under new management and even expanded. Luckily, it still has all the same clinics attached to it, as it’s still the only major hospital in the area. Guess he wasn’t as important as he thought he was, huh?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">So, with my blond-haired wife loosely gripping my hand like an annoying school girl, I walk through the automatic doors and head to the front desk. She really is a pain sometimes. We’ve been married for only a year and I honestly can’t stand how childish she is. Every day she's whining about some inconsequential bullcrap or how I don’t pay enough attention to her. If it wasn’t for the fact I’m almost 100% certain she's Lucas’s mother, I would’ve left her years ago after the second date when she threw up seafood on me. It would help fatten up my wallet as well because she has no job even after graduating from college with me. Whenever I tell her to find work, she’ll break down crying about how the economic system and job market isn’t stable, despite the fact unemployment is at an all-time low and her degree in computer engineering is the most fundamental job in the market. Oh well, I just have to put it up for another year. Maybe afterwards I can hit up one of these hot nurses walking around. There tight pale blue outfits really do get my going. God, I love being able to get aroused again. It was a tough couple of months, but my dad actually ended up paying for my surgeries just before I started college. I think he thinks he drove me to madness or something and Gordon’s accident was my psychotic breaking point. Also, it turns out he smoked all that weed he found under my bed as well. Never would have guessed.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Scratching my stubble and pushing back my fallen locks, I give the middle-aged Indian women at the front desk a nice smile and simultaneous wink. As she blushes, I can feel my wife’s grip tighten and her fake fingernails drill into my hand.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What can I do for you today, Sir?” she asks with another blush, clearly unaware of my foreboding wife's bloodlust. Looking down at her chest to read her name off her name tag, I can feel my wife's hand finally let go of mine.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Well Sarah,” I start looking back at my wife to see her arms folded, scowling at a random old woman knitting in a wheelchair. I hope she just hates old people, so I don’t have to hear later about how I flirt with every woman I come across. “You see, my wife and I want to have a baby, so I was wondering if the sperm clinic was still in this building?” I finish, gesturing to my wife, hoping my establishing the fact we’re married will calm her down. It doesn't and she’s still glaring at that poor old women. Now I can’t ask for a home made knitted scarf with kitty cats on it…Must women ruin everything?

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Yes, it is. Do you have an appointment?” It’s at this point my wife walks away and slumps down into one of those old plastic chairs you see in elementary schools. In her unjustified rage, she grabs a magazine about plant fertilizer off the small table next to her and pretends to find fascination in it.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“No you see, I banked some sperm here nineish years ago, and I was just wondering if it was possible to use it with the fertilization process?” I say, not holding any visualization of embarrassment on my face. Unfortunately, I can’t help but smile a little. I’ve won Lucas. You should have at the very least tried to check up on me. I have no idea why you didn’t, but it’s going to be your undoing.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'TimesNewRoman';color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Oh, of course! We keep them all in the back freezers and they last for around twelve years. Nowadays banked sperm can be preserved for near thirty years, but we still should have yours. I’ll check on it right now, I just have to contact that part of the hospital.” As she furiously types away at her keyboard, I can’t help but widen my grin. You played the game well my son, but in the end, I always win; and I always get even.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"> <p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.2;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<ac_metadata title="(I Shouldn&#039;t Of Had A Kid) I had two days off so I wrote this."> </ac_metadata>