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Insanity At It's Finest

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Old 07-13-2010, 11:00 AM
Jason Blonde (Offline)
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Default Insanity At It's Finest

Here is how it will work; Every day i will upload three chapters for you kind viewers. This is my first work ever. Comment, criticize and praise as you see fit.
*EDIT* well for some odd reason im not allowed to post more than 3 chapters a week. Spacing has been added between paragraphs.

Every morning was routine and this particular Monday morning was no different. The alarm blared what would be a nostalgic song if he were a bit older at 6:15 in the morning. His hand came down hard on the STOP button. He dressed in his usual attire which was mandatory for his school. White, button up shirt, blue jeans and sneakers. Then, he staggered to the bathroom. He looked himself over in the mirror. His eyes started at his chest, then slowly rose to his neck, then his thin, red lips. They continued to the point of his nose, where they stopped, like they did every morning. He knew what was above. Two eyes that were a pale blue, almost grey. He stared at the tip of his nose in the mirror, unable to move his gaze upward. Looking into his own eyes would cause too much pain, too much agony. He hurriedly brushed his teeth and left the dreaded bathroom.

The routine continued. He grabbed his Zippo lighter, which he left on top of the refrigerator every night. After he was sure the lint was still alive and the fuel had not been depleted he placed it into his pocket. He turned around and opened a drawer and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Camel Filters. He thumbed it open. Fourteen out of twenty left. He then reached under the sink and produced a large, chrome, Thirty-two ounce coffee container. He filled it with the usual, a third of coke and two thirds of Middleton Irish Whiskey which his parents kept, and continually replenished, in the downstairs freezer. He called the creation, MidCoke. He ate something, usually a small piece of fruit such as an orange or an apple. Something he would not mind throwing up latter in the day. The young man then shouldered his backpack and set off.

The house he resided in was set about a hundred yards away from the main street via a dirt trail named Avila Way. He walked this pathway every morning. He loathed school, and the bitter cold walk that came with it, but he did love his cigarettes. He waited to light up though, waited until he was on the main road, in clear view of everybody who wished to criticize. As he walked his dreaded walk, he sipped from his coffee canister, making sure not to drink too much, he would need it for the rest of the day.

He passed a house in construction. Over the past few months he watched as what was once a pile of dirt be transformed into a beautiful home. It was the only other house besides his own on Avila. He dreaded the thought of neighbors. Just another group of annoyingly ignorant people searching for the American dream, complete with a white picket fence and a Golden Retriever. He vowed to pick off their dog with his Pellet Gun as soon as he could get it within his sights.

He reached the main road and Flipped open his pack. He withdrew a Camel Filter and stuck it in his mouth, Thirteen out of twenty left. He produced his Zippo, lit the tip and took a long slow drag. The first drag on a cold morning was always the best. He swigged from his coffee mug, beginning to feel a buzz. He spit on to the ground to rid his mouth of the taste.

He kept walking towards his destination, Saint Peter's Catholic School, or SPCS for short was about a half a mile away. The streets were busy with it's normal pedestrians, going to the same place he was. He received the same disgusted looks from the same disgusting people who walked his way to school. He just kept walking, puffing his cigarette like a true chain smoker, and tilting his coffee mug and pouring its contents down his throat.

There was another boy walking on the opposite side of the street that he recognized instantly. The boy who went by Forrest, with his plump stature and untidy red hair was in his first class of the day which was math.

"Second-hand smoke kills" shouted Forrest.

At first the boy showed no reaction to the pitiful human across the street from him, but with time he slowly raised his middle finger at him.
So does cake, fat ass" the boy shouted at Forrest.

Forrest's face contorted to a shape of terrible pain, he was obviously hurt. The boy chuckled loudly and took a slow drag from his cigarette. Forrest remained quiet for the rest of their journey.

As he walked, more and more students began to fill the sidewalks, all going to the same place. Kids on the same side of the street as him seemed to stay either far ahead of him, or far behind him. He did not care. He liked their hatred towards him, craved it even. He took another slow drag from his cigarette and drank from his container. When he could see the school, he stopped, took his time finishing his cigarette, blowing smoke on the children who passed him, hopping the teachers would smell it on them, ruining their reputation.

He was rather late by the time he was done with his Camel Filter. It didn't matter, he was late everyday. The teachers, especially his first period teacher, expected it. Before entering his classroom, he put his alcohol in his backpack in exchange for a piece of spearmint gum to take away the smell on his breath. He opened the door and stepped inside.
An unfamiliar face stood at the head of the class. A substitute. He was an older man with thick glasses that engulfed all of his eyes, and part of his nose and forehead. It was comical.

"And you are?" the substitute sounded as if he was holding his nose when he talked.

"Jeremy Fisher" he said.

"And why are you tardy today, Jeremy?" the substitute, who with a quick glance at the board Jeremy saw his name to be, Mr. Wavo.

Jeremy did not answer, he only casually walked to his seat, which was in the back and had been removed from the majority of the desks and placed in its own little island and sat down. The substitute stared at him a moment, then figured the cause was lost and continued taking roll. Jeremy put his head down. He could feel the eyes of the class upon him. Fatass Forrest sat two seats in front of him. The rest of the class period, while Mr. Wavo was conducting the class on the difference of two squares, Jeremy spent his time cutting up little bits of paper and showering them onto the floor. When the bell rang to leave the ground was covered in little white dots, as if it had been snowing.

On the way to second period, Jeremy drank a large portion of his MidCoke. The rest of the day dragged on.

Jeremy checked the clock. Once, twice, three times. The minute hand took its time, taunting Jeremy.

By this time Jeremy was heartily intoxicated as he usually was be the end of the day. The bell rang. He picked up his things, and set off the same way he came that morning. As soon as he was out of sight of the school, he lit another cigarette. His nerves calmed. He noticed Fatass Forrest about a hundred feet ahead of him, obviously trying to keep his distance. Good, Jeremy thought, he then finished what was left of his MidCoke.

When he arrived at Avila Way he was met by an unnerving sight. A for sale sign posted in front of the house that was under construction. He had not expected new faces to move in so soon. Jeremy cursed the lard of a women who's face beamed on the poster. The poster read "Jenna Cullet can sell your house faster than a speeding bullet". Good to know. Before leaving, Jeremy kicked down the sign and stepped on Jenna Culet’s fat face. By doing this he hoped to prolong the inevitable for transformation of for sale to sold. He walked home, smoking his cigarrette.

Jeremy's parents were at work until eight at night everyday. He dreaded their homecoming. Jeremy hated them. He was not like them. The only thing they shared in common was a love for whiskey and ciggarrettes, and they smoked Kools not the Camels Jeremy had grown to depend on. He often dreamt of murdering them both. Spiking a cup of coffee or smothering them while they slept would suffice. Jeremy drank until he slept. He awoke to loud voices. Jeremy turned over and vomited his lunch and some of the fruit he had for breakfast. He let out a loud groan. His stomach was burning as well as his head spinning. The voices grew heightened in volume, adding to his agony.

He pushed him self up with great effort and staggered into the living room. His parents were at it again and they paid no notice to him. They both yelled in each others faces, careful not to spill the drinks they clutched in their hands. Jeremy knew how it would end. His father would eventually hit his bitch of a mother, dousing her flame for the night. Jeremy had learned to tolerate it. He sat down, turned the TV on and raised the volume to a unbearable level, hoping to drown out his feuding caretakers. His feeble
attempt did nothing but make them yell over the noise of the Television. Jeremy closed his eyes, wishing he was somewhere else, anywhere else. Wishing he was someone new, anyone new. Wishing he was with her. Wishing she wanted to be with him. Jeremy craved a drink and a cigarette. He filled his need by walking downstairs to the basement, removing the Whiskey from the freezer, and drinking it out of the bottle until he was perfectly drunk. He then lit a cigarette and lie on the cold, concrete basement floor. He fell asleep with the burning stoge sill in his hand and tears streaming down his face.

The next morning he awoke with cigarette ashes covering his White shirt, staining it. It looked as if he had been dragged through the mud. He did not care. He walked to his room and turned off his alarm which was playing “69 Tears” by ? And The Mysterians. Jeremy carried out his routine. He tried and failed to look into his own eyes. His gaze made it to the bridge of his nose this time. He made MidCoke, only this time with a little less Coke and a little more Whiskey. Jeremy walked to school smoking a cigarette.

Max Jamerson sat next to Jeremy in fourth period. He was the closest thing Jeremy considered to be friend. They both sat next to each other in the back of the classroom. Max was a known drug dealer, with access to anything from cigarettes (which Jeremy took full advantage of) to Heroin. He had long blonde hair that went down to his chest and a pointed, rat like face. He was intimidating to say the least. He stood over six foot three and by his weight it was obvious he had eaten to many cheeseburgers in his day. Though his utterly American appearance, Max always spoke with a British accent. The director of the class, Ms. Anderson, was currently lecturing the class about the Biomes of the world when Max yelled:

"Oye, MISS Anderson, Why aren't you a MISSES, is it cause your so bloody ugly?"
Snickers echoed throughout the classroom. Miss Anderson, showing great self-control, went plowing on with the lesson without showing a signal sign of distress. Max saw this, so he persisted.

"What, are you def, you daft, bimbo?"

The class chuckled a bit more audibly now. Ms. Anderson's voice cracked as she was explaining the weather conditions of the Tundra Biome. Jeremy made sure he laughed the loudest at the pitiful teacher. He loathed every teacher, and she was no exception. A girl, whose name Jeremy did not know turned and flashed Max a nasty look. Max just sneered at her and continued his tormenting Ms. Anderson by rolling up little balls of paper and throwing them towards the front of the class. A couple of his paper crafted missiles hit their mark, one going as far as smacking Ms. Anderson dead in the forehead. The classroom roared with laughter. Again Jeremy contributed as much as he could to the noise.

Ms. Anderson's eyes welled with tears, but she went right on with her lesson seemingly undisturbed. Max knew she was near the breaking point, and he giggled with pleasure. He knew all the right buttons to push and all the right ammo to fire. He set up for the finishing blow.

"Your brother is in Iraq, is he not?" Max yelled.

The class went from nothing but laughs to utter quiet at the sound of the touchy subject.

"Recon he will get himself shot?" Max continued. "No, anyone related to you wouldn't get so lucky".

Ms. Anderson froze mid sentence, lips still partially open, but no words could come out.

"The bloody sand crawlers will torture him I bet." Max paused, letting the information sink in. He rose from his seat.

"They'll make small cuts all over his feeble body so he will bleed" Max started creeping towards the front of the class, and Ms.

Anderson. "He will be in agony for days, until all his blood has been depleted from his worthless carcass."

The class as well as Ms. Anderson were rooted to the spot with shock. Max had been vile to teachers before, but never so blatantly. Jeremy thought the only reason he got away with it was because of fear. He had successfully put fear into his elders.

"Oh it doesn't stop there" Max was at the front row, and continued walking toward Ms. Anderson. The yard stick that Ms. Anderson used as a pointer dropped from her hand, her body remained immobile.

"They will mutilate him" Max was right in Ms. Anderson's ear now.

"They'll cut him up even more, in fact, I heard they fancy cuTING HIS LITTLE WANKER OFF AND FEEDING IT TO HIM!" Max started this statement at a whisper, and it rose in volume, eventually ending in a shear roar. Tears streamed down Ms. Anderson's face and she started shaking violently. Jeremy smiled with delight at what his 'friend' could accomplish with mere words. Max towered over
Ms. Anderson, showing complete dominance. No one in the classroom was laughing now except for Jeremy, who was trying desperately to stifle it with his hand in order to not destroy the mood with a sudden outbreak of noise.

Max waited, Ms. Anderson seemed to cower in Max's shadow. Max broke the seriousness on his face with a grin. Then, Ms. Anderson pushed Max away and ran out of the classroom. Audible weeps could be heard as the door slammed.

Max turned and face the class and bowed to the silent, horror stricken class. Jeremy bolted up and applauded.

"Well done mate!" He said.

The girl who challenged Max before yelled:

"It's not funny! She is a human being! Are you crazy?"

Max stared at her with a blank face, obviously thinking about his next move. He then lifted his right hand and spread his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart as if to say 'A little'. Jeremy stared in utter awe and amazement. He had found a new role model. The girl ran out the classroom to comfort Ms. Anderson.

Max was then left with the shocked class. He took another bow. The bell rang.

Last edited by Jason Blonde; 07-13-2010 at 09:15 PM..
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Old 07-13-2010, 11:43 AM
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Reddy Dean (Offline)
Homer's Odyssey Was Nothing
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I'm pretty sure you're allowed (or, rather, it's preferred, I believe) to post one longer piece per week.

Also, would you please put some spaces between paragraphs? It's very irritating to read as is. Thanks.
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