© July 17, 2015. All Rights Reserved.
While her bulky grandson (Paul Borasca) rocks in her wooden rocking chair, Cheyenne is boiling caramel in a metal pot. In a hoarse voice, she shouts, “Stop rocking!” She pounds on the stove with both of her fists and peers through the darkness, seeing Paul pause with a gulp. 5-year-old Paul is petrified as she swiftly turns around.
A blue light bulb is hanging on the ceiling giving a soft effect on Cheyenne’s hair and pale skin. The white hair strands from her frizziness flies in the air, reversing to the back of her neck. She rushes in the living room where the wooden floor creaks. There’s a pounding sound on the stove, and she is startled. Nobody is in the kitchen.
“Did ya slip somethin’ in my drink, boy! Ya hear me talkin’ to ya,” she says while stumbling on a black, shaggy rug, “Ya little shit!”
As Paul watch Cheyenne limp closer, it’s as if though he sees her rage illuminating through her eyes. Added to his night, she forcefully slaps him across the right cheek. He winces at the pain, and covers his reddish bruise. Showing that he somehow reached puberty, Paul refuses to cry, and she slaps him again. Still, he maintains the same expression after cautiously lowering his arms.
The strikings stop as she loses her balance. Off to the floor, she drops, with eyes staring at Paul’s malicious smirk. She sees not what Paul does. Once she closes her eyes shut, Paul stands up. First, he flicks off the switch to the blue kitchen lights, which produced a transparent effect through the curtains. He turns on the radio to block the noise of suspicion.
He speaks to himself, “What are you gonna do?”
From Paul’s left pocket, he takes out transparent, rubber gloves, and slips them on. Paul drags her unconscious body into the bathroom. It gets tougher, for he struggles to lift her dead weight in order to place her in the tub. Leaving the scene, he returns swiftly with two ropes. With one rope, Paul ties her wrists together. Like he learned from uncle Henry (a bereavement coordinator), he ties the knot perfectly. The same type of knot, he ties perfectly on her ankles.
Paul walks into the kitchen with a purpose. Silently, he returns to his grandmother, remembered for reprehensible acts. She would hold him upside-down from the roof of the house with a rope around his mouth at night, whoop him anytime he would exit his room to ask for food, and make him a drudge to even do chores for the neighbors. Washing dishes, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, the floors, and raking the leaves are just an easy punishment for asking Cheyenne for food and water. All the pain is rattling inside his mind. With the end of a broomstick, Paul breaks the six light bulbs above the wooden chestnut cabinet.
A loud pounding sound startles him. The repeated noise is coming from the front door. He pauses in fear as the pounding sound reaches its seventh attempt for an answer. The moment he walks, the noise cease. He enters the living room only to hear the doorknob to the front door twisting. A confused Paul still walks to the door to see it open on its own.
Nobody is on the other side of the door. The lights in the hallway turns dim. Then, the glass bulb bursts, causing pitch darkness. Suddenly, the front door slams by itself. Paul turns to the flickering lights coming from the bathroom.
A voice speaks to his mind, “Do it!”
He enters the kitchen to take out a keen knife from the wooden drawer. As a test, he stabs a section of a marble tile on the floor. The knife is indeed a killing object, so he walks to the bathroom, where he slits his grandmother’s trachea.
Against the tub, he sits, staring motionlessly out the door. His prig of a grandmother wakes up dying, but he pays no attention. Already, he can hear the ululation of others at her funeral. More importance is seen in his grandmother’s bedroom. To the painting on the wall of him and his grandmother, he stares.
Finally, Paul came to a committed thought that he can never forget. He turns behind and digs into his grandmother’s pocket. It’s her cell blue phone that he uses to call the police. With the phone to his ear, he cries, “God told me to do it! He followed me!”
21 Minutes Later
By the time the police enter the house, they see over four white, garbage bags in the tub with his grandmother. The repulsive smell from the bags contain blood. It is discovered that inside of the bags are small dissected animals from the woods, such as, rabbits, frogs, and birds.
“God instructed me,” Paul cries in handcuffs out the house.
In the back of the police car, Paul falls asleep. Paul is in a gloomy room with a gun strapped to his shoulder. A deep voice wanders the area. “If you can shoot me, you can leave. Close your eyes.” He tries hold the gun, but the gun is too heavy. It comes to his realization, the gun isn’t heavy, but something supernatural is moving the gun.
“Aim,” the deep voice says, “If you open your eyes, you die.”
He can barely hold the gun. Frightened if the someone is in front of him, he opens his eyes. Nothing is in front of him. Instantly, the gun breaks from his fingers, flying against an unseen, concrete wall. He is fooled until he hears the voice again.
“Negative.”
3 Years Later
Principal’s Office
Paul wakes up in the face of Principal Grisly.
Grisly speaks, “If you plan on staying here long, learn the environment. This school is your only option aside from prison. The students in this school have a second chance at life, but you… my friend, we’re keeping a close eye on you.”
The Library
I have the utmost respect for her. She is walking. … She is actually walking my direction, and I lack the courage to say a word to her. I figure if I say “Hi,” she may not respond back. I panic, and clumsy me drops a black hardcover book from my right hand.
As I pick up the book, it occurs to me, she may not say “Hi.” My limerence is haunting me. How else do I catch her attention? Hell, I’ll catch her friends attention, which could make her interested in me. Unfortunately, she finds courage sexy.
She probably already notices how nervous I am around her, and thinks I’m a creep. Unlike what my future seems to be, my new parents have a happy marriage. They sound nice, right? Wrong.
I never want to go back abode because parents never lectured me about how to speak to a girl. My mother claims to be a feminist. My mother is a well-respected public speaker, but she’s too busy getting fame on social media websites to remember that I don’t want to be cremated. My father on the other hand is too nosy when it comes to me. He hates the type of music I listen to, he hates my clothes, he hates my friends… If I remember one good thing he doesn’t hate about me, I’ll certainly tell you. I have to face the fact. Deep inside, I have no parents, and I have no chance at dating the girl I fantasize about.
My parents are hoarders, and if I wasn’t an introvert, I wouldn’t invite my friends over anyway. I’m not allowed to watch television, listen to music, play video games, read magazines, and enjoy other forms of entertainment. I’m simply unpopular, and if the girl I fantasize about asks me about a popular subject, I’m automatically embarrassed by not knowing. Jesus-freaks are mentally peeling the flesh from my bones before I can do it myself. I grew up forced to attend a Pentecostal church every Sunday where exorcisms were performed. It got to the point where I was forced to go on weekdays also. Then, I went on Saturdays.
Gosh, I looked like a moron praying to an alien God that feeds off of magical energy of His servants. I’m the criminal guilty of sneaking in the church and having sex with other girls. I was twelve, and we did every drug I can name. I wasn’t a bad kid if you ask me. Regardless of how much I’m upset with my life, the girl I want catches my attention like a doorbell ringing in my eardrums.
I’m 8-years-old, and she is the epitome of an ineffable gem. While other students think that girls have the cooties, I think that girls are beautiful mammals. There’s only one girl that defines my idea of beauty with appearance, and I have not the tiniest hint of her name.
My legs wobble like I am lifting up barbells too heavy for me. She’s whistling past me as she approaches (Ms. Casamara) the blond librarian with a ponytail. I can’t help but look at her irresistible appearance. Standing, I’d always notice her undeveloped bosoms, but while my head’s lowered, I notice her purple, velvet panties deeply positioned in the midst of her rumps.
In mesmerization, my eyes widen, and my jaw drops. It’s a dream, but I can’t wake up. I’m the osculator, and she is my future. The librarian gives me a deranged glare. She yells at me with a hoarse voice. “You creep,” Ms. Casamara yells. I instantly jump up with an illogical comment in my mind. “You’re the creep,” I think.
My heart races when I see the girl I’m supposedly fixated about dart her head around. She makes a face of scorn, and I run past several mahogany bookshelves. When I turn around, I see the daunting shadow of Ms. Casamara. Her presence shows.
“You’re in so much trouble,” Ms. Casamara yells, “You’re going down to the principal’s office this instant!”
I make a remark, “I didn’t do anything!”
I rush by the round, mahogany table, to grab my blue winter coat and black book bag.
I try distracting myself even from being chased by the Ms. Casamara. I could explain why I like my dream girl for days without truly getting to know her. Call it obsession, but the other part of me brags about love being overrated. She has all the qualities I want in a partner: confidence, honesty, trustworthiness, loyalty, compassion and more. I’m too young to date, and I come slightly short of a straight “A” in every class I attend. She’s everywhere like a spirit haunting me.
I notice that she’s vivacious and values peoples time. Unlike other women I see, she doesn’t have insecurities about herself. She’s more likely to be independent while I sit around my parent’s house eating junk food at 29. I’ll be a trooper living in the basement like a caveman while my father is too weak to yell at me. He’ll be practically living in his wheelchair until he dies in his sleep. My mother will have a heart attack from the agony of her husbands death, then my future is truly destroyed.
I hate it here. I live in Milan, Italy, where I’m forced to smile every moment. Why did the girl of my dreams frown at me if it’s illegal? The most feasible way of befriending her could cause me to faint. I might as well kill myself because after the perverted mind I showed, she’ll never speak to me. I’m that bad of a kid, I guess. The laws are getting stricter, and my worries are everywhere. I look past the aesthetics. Why not live for the moment while my parents get fined for my troubles? Besides, I only get to be a kid once.
Ms. Casamara blocks the entrance as I rush sliding under her legs. She swiftly turns around to chase me down the hall as students laugh. I shout, “I didn’t do it!” She picks me up from the strap on my book bag. Reluctantly, I slip my arms from the book bag to run past the corridors.
I see the boy’s washroom to the right, and she won’t dare come inside. So, I rush, but the Principal opens the door, and I run into his crotch. I fall on my back as he gets in a squatting position, expressing agony. I’m in so much trouble, and everyone looks at me like I’m a fool. It makes no sense to wait for the principal to put the hurt on me. In this school, authorities have permission by our parents to harm us. I know how I’d feel if someone hit me in the crotch, and I don’t want to feel a man overpowering me.
Again, I run. I’m tired, but I must keep running. I feel like my life’s in jeopardy. As I run, I see ghostly visual images of students falling from the ceiling with ropes around their necks. It’s a ghastly sight, and I slip as if by a puddle of water on the tiled surface. These are the students that committed suicide a few years ago. I know because of the rumors.
Behind me, the principal taps me on the shoulder with a smile as security watches. I turn around to see how he really doesn’t want to smile. Everyone in this school are smiling. They’re all fake, and they expect me to join the fake club? It wouldn’t matter since I’m I’m going to be forgotten in this world when I’m older anyway. I see why past students committed suicide, and I’m on my way to the principal’s office.
Principal’s Office
“Principal Grisly, I’m so sorry about what happened to you,” Ms. Casamara says.
Principal Grisly responds with truculent words, “I appreciate your apology, but if there’s anyone I need an apology from, it’s the stupid kid that disrupted…”
I speak, “I didn’t do anything wrong. You expect me to live under a cycle of trashy people forced to wow you with pathetic smiles? I’m my own individual.”
Principal Grisly frowns and says, “Shut up! The law is the law! Do you want to be terminated from this school? This school has a reputation for the most students who’ll stand out in the future. That girl that everyone knows you like is a valedictorian, and I promise you young man, she’s not interested in you. You on the other hand, don’t look too shabby. It’s a new world, and I can talk to you the way I want. I’m grown, and you’re a minor. Your poor family can’t afford to pay for your fines all the time, and they can barely afford to keep you in this school. You have a choice. I can help you transfer to another school, or you’ll follow the fucking school rules here!”
“You’re not allowed to talk to me that way!”
“Listen to him,” Ms. Casamara says, “He’s preparing you for adulthood. In this school, we can do whatever we want. You’ve been kicked out of every school you ever been in, so this is your last chance. Students here are warned to keep their grades up. You don’t study for tests, but somehow still manage to pass. Passing the classes are what ten percent of students worry about.”
“Just like the rest of the students in this district, you will obey my commands at all times. Son, you will not reach puberty if you continue this behavior.”
“First of all, I’m not your son. Did I hit you too hard? I’ll do the same thing to Ms. Casamara if I have to. Because I know what you both have in common. You all are dating one another. I know more about you too. My fake father used to go to this school. He talks about you from years of trauma. If you want me to not get you fired, I expect you to respect me. Are we done?”
Ms. Casamara gives me a look of confusion.
Principal Grisly says, “I can date whoever the fuck I want! How do you know we’re dating? Are you asking for an ass whoopin’! You keep this up, and we can kill your ass on the spot! Do you want me to kill you in front of Lia?”
“No. Your insults are a complete fabrication!”
“Just shut the fuck up and get the fuck out my office! If you’re caught frowning again, you’re terminated. If you’re terminated, you’re off to prison. I suggest you choose fast all for the price of a slut.”
2 Days Later
The boys restroom has a bright light from outside the metal door. When he enters, the lights turn off. A growling sound occurs. Paul rushes to the door, but the it fails to open. He screams and students outside the area laugh.
To the rescue, Ms. Casamara opens the locked door to the boys restroom as he rushes out.
She questions him, “Who did this?”
With moist eyes, he says, “I take full responsibility for it. It was an accident. Thank you for helping me. I’m going to class.”
While I walk away, flashbacks of Cheyenne haunts me. Once, she through a pot of boiled caramel on my body. I screamed, and she told me, “What are ya gonna do if you’re walking with ya pregnant girlfriend and someone has ya girlfriend at gunpoint? Are ya gonna feel hesitant? Are ya gonna feel pain or are ya gonna do somethin’?”
In English class, he is writing an assignment until the pencil moves on its own. The pencil is moving upward, but he keeps his grip on it as an attempt to write. Struggling to place the point of the pencil on the notebook, he lets go. Thus, the pencil drops and Lia laughs, throwing a balled up paper ball at him.
On his second attempt to write, the pencil is still in control. The pencil stabs his right wrist for blood, twice. He squeals as the pencil illegibly writes, “I’m going to die. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
Paul falls to the floor as students stare quietly in shock. Screaming, the teacher rushes to him, immediately calling for help on her cell phone. After five minutes, doctors from a local hospital arrive to help. At this point, he is pronounced dead. Paul is assumed to have had an unsettling plan of killing himself.
2 minutes later, Paul starts breathing again. His cell phone rings, and he ignores it. Doctors try convincing him to rest on the stretcher, but he refuses. Paul places his hand in their face and limps out the classroom, with a trail of blood leaking from his wrist. Everyone exits the room to follow him.
Paul’s cell phone rings once again, so he answers it.
Yelola says, “Paul! Me and your father are worried about you! Are you okay?”
Ignoring her, he hangs up the phone.
Lia speaks to him, “You need to see a doctor.”
“I’m perfectly fine, fucktard!”
A puzzled look is on Lia’s face with a small amount of regret for bothering him. She can see Paul holding his wrist in agony as he drops to the black and white, tiled floor. The doctors place his body on a stretcher, and rush him to the back of an ambulance. When the ambulance gets to the hospital, he has no pulse.
Isaiah Lawrence 