Part 1
Before you start reading and then remove me from your friends list, this is a peice of fiction. It's a bit dark and will probably piss some of you off. I haven't edited it yet, I like to do that after the story is done. This is the first installment of what is turning out to be a longer story than I intended. I may have to go to the bar later this week by myself to make some real headway.
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I hate mornings. I wake up in a foul mood to an empty house and turn on the news in hopes of seeing something that will make my day a bit better. Typically the opposite happens and I’m set off raving about the lack of intelligence in the country, the stupidity of the world and the general idiocy of humans. I grab some bread, too lazy to toast it, and flop into my worn arm-chair, flipping power button on the remote. The TV flickers on and the young bimbo that reads the report smiles at me and says, “Our top story this morning: 6 teenagers die in a fire last night. Stay tuned for more details. Also in the news: is it possible to lose weight by doing nothing? Our personal investigation gives you the viewer the inside information you crave.”
The rest of what she says is ignored as I stretch and scratch myself. Good, dead teenagers. Less of the morons for me to have to deal with. Most of them have been acting even more fucked up in the head than usual. Last night the secluded coffee shop I go to grade papers was completely full of the twits, all wearing that stupid gothic clothing they’re so fond of and too much eye liner, babbling incessant poetry about how tortured their soul is. I had to leave before I was either sick or strangled one. Both options where appealing. My second option for the night, an all night diner, was also filled with the bastards. Their parents shouldn’t let them out of the house at night, it irritates us proper human beings.
Gradually I tune back in: “Six lives where lost last night in a tragic fire. Our inside source says that 37 teenagers where gathered in an abandoned building on West Jodren Street which they had lit with candles. While dancing to music, several of the candles got knocked down and the building went up in flames. The police are calling this an unfortunate tragedy that could have been prevented easily… I stop listening. Why would anyone want to prevent these things from happening? It just means when I go to school to teach on Monday, they’ll all be subdued. Heaven. It’s tragedies like this that make me hate my job less.
What, you think I’m cruel? You try being a high school teacher. I remember when I was young I use to think I could make a difference. Fifteen years in a job no one appreciates has taught me that our youth are nothing more than deluded, sex-obsessed imbeciles incapable of learning basic sentence structure in under a year. To be fair, it’s mostly because their parents are even more fucked up than they are, but I still hate my job. Everyday I wonder if I should go back to school for a different degree, but the college scene is even more unbearable to me. It’s full of stupid fucking hippy’s walk around trying to preach politics they know nothing about while professors who come in drunk spew useless shit at me.
It’s Saturday, the least offensive day of the week for me. After I wake up, I do absolutely nothing until about three. From there I take off to the coffee shop to grade papers. I come home and make myself dinner around six, and catch the evening news before surfing on the internet for porn. Afterwards I walk to my local bar and drink until I can’t see. It may be boring but it suits me quite well. Three o’clock rolls around and I head out for the coffee shop, hoping that it’s no longer infested by black clad teens like last night. The parking lot is full of beat up cars with pealing paint jobs, a sure sign of sixteen year olds not trusted with a decent vehicle.
The bar is looking more appealing, so I head there instead. Joe, the barkeep, gives me a nod as I walk in and fills up a glass with beer silently. I grab it and head to a booth in the back and start to grade papers. By the 10th grade, you’d expect better writing. The process drags on but I eventually come to the last paper and pack them up. The bar is empty except for me, so I sit near the TV to listen to the news. With any luck more teenagers will have killed themselves through their own stupidity and my class on Monday will be short a few students. The top story again appears to be the teenagers from last night.
“Last night’s incident at an abandoned building on West Jorden Street where 37 teenagers where trapped in a fire after a candle fell has developed a new twists. Psychologist at Joseph Memorial Hospital where the 31 survivors where taken after the fire believe that the children have all been brain-washed. An abnormality in their psychological state was noticed after the nurses in the burn unit reported all of their wards speaking similar phrases over and over. This is currently under investigation. Tune into channel 7 news as we keep you updated.”
The blonde reporter trips over the words memorial, abnormality and investigation. Obviously she was hired for her d-cup and not her ability to speak. Brainwashing, huh? I find it hard to believe that it would be necessary to brain-wash teenagers, they’re hopelessly open to suggestions and have absolutely no ability to say no to anything remotely senseless. Still, interesting. Where would thirty-seven teenagers (hah, thirty-one now) go to get brainwashed? One of their wretched emo concerts? I ponder the possibilities as Joe wordlessly fills up my cup over and over again until the bottles on the wall behind him start to blur and I pay my tab before stumbling home.
*********************
I hate mornings. I wake up in a foul mood to an empty house and turn on the news in hopes of seeing something that will make my day a bit better. Typically the opposite happens and I’m set off raving about the lack of intelligence in the country, the stupidity of the world and the general idiocy of humans. I grab some bread, too lazy to toast it, and flop into my worn arm-chair, flipping power button on the remote. The TV flickers on and the young bimbo that reads the report smiles at me and says, “Our top story this morning: 6 teenagers die in a fire last night. Stay tuned for more details. Also in the news: is it possible to lose weight by doing nothing? Our personal investigation gives you the viewer the inside information you crave.”
The rest of what she says is ignored as I stretch and scratch myself. Good, dead teenagers. Less of the morons for me to have to deal with. Most of them have been acting even more fucked up in the head than usual. Last night the secluded coffee shop I go to grade papers was completely full of the twits, all wearing that stupid gothic clothing they’re so fond of and too much eye liner, babbling incessant poetry about how tortured their soul is. I had to leave before I was either sick or strangled one. Both options where appealing. My second option for the night, an all night diner, was also filled with the bastards. Their parents shouldn’t let them out of the house at night, it irritates us proper human beings.
Gradually I tune back in: “Six lives where lost last night in a tragic fire. Our inside source says that 37 teenagers where gathered in an abandoned building on West Jodren Street which they had lit with candles. While dancing to music, several of the candles got knocked down and the building went up in flames. The police are calling this an unfortunate tragedy that could have been prevented easily… I stop listening. Why would anyone want to prevent these things from happening? It just means when I go to school to teach on Monday, they’ll all be subdued. Heaven. It’s tragedies like this that make me hate my job less.
What, you think I’m cruel? You try being a high school teacher. I remember when I was young I use to think I could make a difference. Fifteen years in a job no one appreciates has taught me that our youth are nothing more than deluded, sex-obsessed imbeciles incapable of learning basic sentence structure in under a year. To be fair, it’s mostly because their parents are even more fucked up than they are, but I still hate my job. Everyday I wonder if I should go back to school for a different degree, but the college scene is even more unbearable to me. It’s full of stupid fucking hippy’s walk around trying to preach politics they know nothing about while professors who come in drunk spew useless shit at me.
It’s Saturday, the least offensive day of the week for me. After I wake up, I do absolutely nothing until about three. From there I take off to the coffee shop to grade papers. I come home and make myself dinner around six, and catch the evening news before surfing on the internet for porn. Afterwards I walk to my local bar and drink until I can’t see. It may be boring but it suits me quite well. Three o’clock rolls around and I head out for the coffee shop, hoping that it’s no longer infested by black clad teens like last night. The parking lot is full of beat up cars with pealing paint jobs, a sure sign of sixteen year olds not trusted with a decent vehicle.
The bar is looking more appealing, so I head there instead. Joe, the barkeep, gives me a nod as I walk in and fills up a glass with beer silently. I grab it and head to a booth in the back and start to grade papers. By the 10th grade, you’d expect better writing. The process drags on but I eventually come to the last paper and pack them up. The bar is empty except for me, so I sit near the TV to listen to the news. With any luck more teenagers will have killed themselves through their own stupidity and my class on Monday will be short a few students. The top story again appears to be the teenagers from last night.
“Last night’s incident at an abandoned building on West Jorden Street where 37 teenagers where trapped in a fire after a candle fell has developed a new twists. Psychologist at Joseph Memorial Hospital where the 31 survivors where taken after the fire believe that the children have all been brain-washed. An abnormality in their psychological state was noticed after the nurses in the burn unit reported all of their wards speaking similar phrases over and over. This is currently under investigation. Tune into channel 7 news as we keep you updated.”
The blonde reporter trips over the words memorial, abnormality and investigation. Obviously she was hired for her d-cup and not her ability to speak. Brainwashing, huh? I find it hard to believe that it would be necessary to brain-wash teenagers, they’re hopelessly open to suggestions and have absolutely no ability to say no to anything remotely senseless. Still, interesting. Where would thirty-seven teenagers (hah, thirty-one now) go to get brainwashed? One of their wretched emo concerts? I ponder the possibilities as Joe wordlessly fills up my cup over and over again until the bottles on the wall behind him start to blur and I pay my tab before stumbling home.