I look up at my spoiled, decaying ceiling, my thoughts as white as a padded room. I was so happy once. Happy as can be. Then, the only thing I had to keep me going was ripped from my arms as if it were nothing. I feel like a starving man in the desert, just searching. Searching for Nirvana, fearing quietus, every minute on the minute. My needs must be fulfilled. I want my fucking pills back.
The normal approach didn’t work. I tugged on my mother’s frills, bawling like a little twerp so very long ago, for the source to help me feel happy again. She laughed, she cried, she snorted. Apparently, I was “too young” to feel the way I did. Feeling miserable, according to her, requires enough experience, and considering that I was only nine, I just needed to walk it off as if I scraped my knee. That old hag still talks to me like I remained the same age forever. The pharmacy? They ejected me from the premises when I came in and pounded the countertop, begging for the little bottle of wonders. I warned them that I’d start breaking everything I saw if they didn’t comply. They didn’t listen. They followed the orders of some withering tart instead, and I ended up in a jail cell for weeks on bail. Some may see her letting me out as something to thank her for. For me, it’s a spit in my mouth. I want my fucking pills back.
I work as a teacher on the regular. When you’re an educator, there’s no winning. If you’re too nice, you don’t get the job done, and if you’re too strict, every single pupil will hate you, except for the man, and the pet. The headmaster, and the smart one. Most of the school would talk about how ugly and vile I looked. How my body was as thin as a pencil, how I reeked of rotting eggs, how my teeth were yellow. And the names. Oh, the names. I went by many, but the name I got the most?
Earneck.
That’s the best these festering rats can come up with. To be expected from a bunch of third graders with no life experience, unlike me. I crawled, and vomited, and lost a ton to get where I am today, unlike them. They were placed in front of my very eyes for free. Seven hours a day, five days a week, one hundred and eighty days a year, all to just not pay attention. Read the books I gave you, listen to my lessons. There’s actual information there for you to gain immense knowledge from… yet you choose to waste it laughing at another. I want my fucking pills back.
I let my insecurities take over with one person. A person who dealt with my same plight. Little Timmy always sits in class, and I do everything I can to make his life hell. I don’t care about my reputation anymore. I long for a good punching bag. I know for a fact his parents don’t want to be what they are, I fail him incessantly, F minus after F minus, yet all he ever does is smirk. That chip-toothed ape smiles when I torture him. I want to strangle that little fucker until his eyes pop out, but I have to keep my job… so I switch feelings. Every single time. If he smirks, I grin back and bare it. I know why he’s happy despite all that I have done, however.
I can see the bottle in his little pocket. I run after it when he’s alone. I fight him for it and hide when someone is about to come by and see me. I’ve even chose to beg at times. Nothing worked. Now? I have no other choice but to follow him, and snatch the source from him like my family did to me.
Don’t be scared, Timmy. Just comply to me. Earneck demands it.
I want my fucking pills back.