I Didn't Know It Was Wrong

***I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS WRONG***

In addition to being a cardboard sign in Seether’s music video for “Fine Again”, you can also say the title of this journal whenever you create a piece of art that was unintentionally offensive. I can’t stress the word unintentionally enough. Sometimes all you want is to create a loving romance between two people and their relationship becomes hypersexual. Sometimes you want to show off the fighting abilities of a barbarian tribe from another culture, but they end up looking like stereotypes. Surely, you weren’t trying to be offensive, but that’s how it came across anyways, through no fault of your own. All together now…

I didn’t know it was wrong!

Yes, this is a reasonable defense against charges of unintentional bigotry, but there will always be that one smart ass who smashes you over the head with a hardcover book and then says…

Sorry, I didn’t know it was wrong!

You’re damn right it’s wrong! That’s assault, you moron! It carries a prison term of at least seven years! How about we save the phrase for people who actually need it? Wes Anderson, the writer and director of Isle of Dogs, could easily use this phrase and get away with it. As a white guy from Texas, his depiction of Japanese culture was frowned upon even though it didn’t deserve to be. There was nothing inherently offensive about it, at least not compared to Dick Tracy cartoons from the 1960’s where Joe Jitsu comes across as ultra-stereotypical (in case his name wasn’t obvious enough). Hey, Wes! Say it with me!

I didn’t know it was wrong!

I wish I knew this phrase when I was writing offensive shit back in the day. It could have helped me when I wrote a pornographic parody of “Stole” by Kelly Rowland. It could have helped me when I was swashbuckling with teenagers after they read “Class of ‘13”. It might have even helped me when I was writing the super-violent Zeromancer for my second multi-genre writing class in college. None of these scenarios would have been a cheap escape if I used that phrase, because I legitimately didn’t know they were offensive reads. I don’t know if I chalk it all up to being young and immature, growing up in Chehalis, watching TV-MA rated shows and not processing them correctly, but say it with me…

I didn’t know it was wrong!

You know what else I didn’t know was wrong? Incorporating a trope called the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. It’s a literary pejorative for any supporting female character whose main role in the story is to boost the self-esteem of the brooding male protagonist. Adrienne Simpson from “Silent Warrior” reeks of this trope, and in some ways, Tarja Rikkinen from my current WIP “Beautiful Monster” qualifies too. It was never my intention to make them this way, but you have to understand…

I didn’t know it was wrong!

I think I’ve given you guys enough examples that you’re adequately educated. Luckily, there is help for anybody who needs it. When you’ve finished writing your manuscript, you can send it to somebody called a “sensitivity editor”. This person will comb through your work and make sure nothing sticks out when it comes to potential offensiveness. Because they’re sensitivity editors and get this kind of work all the time, you can bet your ass that they won’t judge you even if your manuscript is glowing like a nuclear rod with offensive material. I didn’t even know these people existed until I started watching Jenna Moreci’s You Tube videos. Perhaps I should hire the services of one when I’m ready to get cracking on editing Silent Warrior. Hell, there’s probably more wrong with it than I thought and that extends beyond Adrienne Simpson being a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

If you think for some reason I’m just bending to the will of the Social Justice Warriors and ignoring my own individuality, you’re wrong. There used to be a time in my life when being offensive was my bread and butter. I was young, immature, and had the sense of humor of an alt-righter despite being a hard leftist. Well, some things have to change because a bigot is not who I am nor would I be proud of being one. I want to represent the positive side of humanity, not the worst. I want to be on the right side of history and be a good role model for readers who look up to me. If that makes me an SJW, then fine, I’m an SJW. Fuck it, I don’t care. In fact, you can go ahead and call me the Social Justice Barbarian if you want. Barbarians appeal to me more than regular warriors since the former has the ability to rage out of control at a moment’s notice. Plus, I get to eat raw meat, howl at the moon, and swing a bloody battleaxe. How much fun is that?!

Sorry, guys! I didn’t know it was wrong! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

In the interest of bouncing back and forth between the past and present of this novel, chapter four will feature a look into Windham Xavier’s captivity, where he’s strapped naked to a table and felt up by Shelly and Torger. Don’t worry, you won’t have to go all the way to Wattpad to read this, because no sex will take place (yet). Lord knows Deviant Art has enough nudity as it is, so a chapter of Beautiful Monster with a naked male elf won’t hurt the status quo too much. Look forward to it! And before you ask, no, I’m not gay and even if I was it wouldn’t be the reason why I write about naked male elves. Grow up!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“The world is precious, a gift to you and me. I suggest we treat her right, with love and dignity. Everybody’s looking for some peace of mind. If you seek the truth, then you will surely find. Everybody wants to have global peace, whilst the press of a button can shake the world to its knees. Some say might is right. I beg to disagree. I say we all unite and redirect our destiny. Everybody’s looking for a quick solution. Our lungs are choking from breathing in air pollution. I say put down the guns and stop the revolution. I say it’s time to make a restitution. Can you hear what I’m saying? There’s so much starvation, so much untruth, so much prejudice, so much liquidation. Oh, how long? How long?”

-Toto singing “Can You Hear What I’m Saying?”-

Silent Warrior, Chapter 27

It took fifteen seconds of staring at his own Nikes, but Craig Dunham finally said what he needed to say: “Look, Scott…I’m probably the last person who should be asking you for help right now. You threw a garbage can at me only a few months before. Hell, you probably feel like doing even more than that, maybe deck me a good one on the chin. But…I didn’t ask for this appointment for nothing, I swear to god.”

Sitting in his comfy swivel chair with the ease and professionalism of a true counselor, Scott calmly said, “Listen, Craig, whatever happened between us in the past, it’s all over now. Things are different now, just like Miss Williams said they would be. I have a new job and you happen to be my first client. You’re here for a reason and I’d probably be right in thinking it has something to do with that scar on your hand.”

Craig sighed and lifted up his hooded sweatshirt to reveal he had even more scars than that. One on his belly, one on his ribs, and a couple of bruises on his chest. Scott hypnotically gazed at them in sympathy and replied with a whispery, “Holy shit. Those are fresh. Who did this to you?” No response. “Craig, if I’m going to help you, I need to know everything that happened. How did you get these bruises? Walking into a doorknob doesn’t do that to people and neither does falling down stairs.”

“Funny, because that’s what I’ve been telling people this whole time. Anytime I took off my shirt for gym class or football practice, they’d be as plain as day. I’d laugh about them with the guys, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling them everything. Oh, and I also said they’re from being tackled during games. I think that was what threw them off my trail.”

“Craig, you didn’t answer my question.”

“My dad did this,” said Craig with trembling lips, causing Scott to lean back in his chair with even more pathos in his eyes. “He, uh…he caught me listening to some…questionable music. Here, let me show you.” As Craig choked back tears, he pulled various CD’s out of his backpack, all of the cases cracked, all of the music preaching nonconformist values: Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Motionless in White, and Ghost to name a few.

“Is your dad religious?”

“Oh, that’s putting it mildly. He makes the old testament look like a Disney movie.” Craig still refused to make eye contact with Scott. “The first time I heard about him talking about God and shit, I didn’t know what to make of it. And just for that little bit of doubt, he beat the shit out of me. I was only six years old then. That’s not some Freudian shit and I know it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done to people like you. It’s just that…” The tears slowly fell from his face and Scott was there to hand him tissues.

Scott leaned forward in his chair to further engage in his subject and placed folded steeple hands in his own lap. “Listen to me. I’m sure not many people are inclined to tell you this, but I’m going to tell it to you right now. Nobody…and I mean nobody…should ever use their religion or politics as a weapon against another human being. It’s not a dad’s job to beat the shit out of his kids over a minor disagreement. It’s not discipline. It’s barbarism. There’s nothing wrong with the music you’re listening to and there’s nothing wrong with questioning authority.”

With his lips trembling even harder, Craig wept, “What will the team think of me? They can’t see me crying like this.”

“Well, that’s funny, because I always thought the true definition of a friend is someone who is loyal to you until the end. It’s like Marilyn Manson always said: if you want to find out who your friends are, sink the ship. The first ones to jump are not your friends. If your football teammates make fun of you for being emotional, they’re not true friends. They’re bullies with a close connection to you. The reason you picked on other students so much was because of all these negative influences, and no, that’s not Freudian bullshit.”

Craig shrugged and said, “They’re the only friends I’ve ever had. I can’t just tell them to fuck off.”

“You know what’s worse than having no friends at all? Having shitty friends who bring you down just to build themselves up. I’m sure those kids have some deep-seeded issues just like you do, but until they come forward with open arms and open hearts, they don’t deserve you. If you want to cry your eyes out, you’re more than welcome to do so. Not only is this stigma of men not being able to cry bullshit, but you’re doing it in a safe place: my office. Nothing you do here will ever leave this room…except for one thing.” Scott handed Craig the phone cradle and nodded knowingly at him.

“You want me to call 9-1-1 on my dad? Are you crazy? The cops aren’t going to believe me. They don’t believe anybody who doesn’t have more DNA evidence than a CSI laboratory.”

“Your bruises and cuts are more than enough evidence to put your father away for a long time. And even if the cops don’t believe your side of the story, at least this police report will set everything in motion so that you don’t have to see him again. If there’s another family member or friend you can stay with, find them and pack your bags. The cops may be overly skeptical, but if you don’t try to at least reach out to them, this is going to continue and things will only get worse. Come on, Craig. Just try.”

After a while of staring at his counselor with dewy eyes, Craig took the phone cradle with a convulsing hand and slowly brought his fingers to the keypad. “Would you mind giving me some privacy, Scott? This is my first 9-1-1 call and I…I can’t explain it right now.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Craig. I’ve been there before. The first call is never easy. I know this, because I was the one who made the call when my own father died. You never forget your first time for a lot of things. If you want privacy, I’d be more than happy to step outside the office for a little while. Take as much time as you need and don’t leave out any important details.”

With one arm, Craig gave an awkward hug to Scott and thanked him over and over again for his help. Scott reluctantly returned the hug and stepped out of his digs to give Craig his due privacy. Once the door was closed, Scott rubbed his face and breathed sobering sighs. He almost didn’t see Adrienne standing in front of him with a brown paper sack and a smile on her face.

“I take it your new job’s getting pretty intense right now,” said Adrienne.

“It’s a lot to handle at once, but overall, I’m glad I took the job. I just need some time to recuperate after that, that’s all. Is that my lunch?”

“Sure is. You left it on the kitchen counter this morning. And no, there aren’t any worms or maggots in your lunch today. Instead, you’re getting a classic favorite: peanut butter and jelly. Not just any kind of P&J, but Concord grape jelly and crunchy peanut butter. Your favorite!”

“No way!” said Scott with a sudden burst of happiness. Sure enough, he pulled the sandwich out of the sack and there it was in all its glory: the ever important grape jam. “You’re the queen!” he said before kissing Adrienne on the cheek and hurriedly unwrapping the plastic from his sandwich.

“Let me know when you get off work and we’ll see a movie or something. See you soon!” smiled Adrienne before she waved and hopped off to her next class. She didn’t see it, but Scott waved right back at her in a hypnotically slow manner. She probably got the message by now.

Scott had a seat in one of the chairs outside his office and eyeballed the contents of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He even pulled the two pieces of sourdough bread apart to see if there really were worms crawling around in there. His smile slowly descended into a faraway introspective expression. He searched every corner of his sandwich, every squished grape, and every broken peanut in the peanut butter. It was as though he was a detective honoring a search warrant. But no. Not one worm, not one maggot, and not one sing-songy command from his now-known biological mother.

The real test came when Scott took his first bite of sandwich. As he chewed, he rolled the food around in his tongue for yet another throughout inspection. Not one slime-covered creature swirled around in his mouth. In fact, the sandwich tasted as delicious as a P&J could be, probably because it was his personal favorite. Scott took another bite. And another. And another, until the whole thing was gone in record time. For even more reassurance, Scott lifted his T-shirt and saw that the skin was forming nicely over his previously exposed ribcage. If someone was looking for signs of an eating disorder or PTSD, they’d have to actually have the detective skills of someone honoring a search warrant.

Principal Williams made a throat clearing sound and Scott was immediately yanked out of his trance long enough for him to realize he’d been exposing his belly this entire time. Pulling his shirt down, he smiled and allowed redness to envelop his face. Principal Williams didn’t punish him for it, just smiled right back at him and said, “It’s good to have you on the team, Scott. Carry on.”

Silent Warrior, Chapter 25

Tom Simpson dared not tread on sacred ground, otherwise known as the Xanax Pavilion, where a special kind of ceremony was being held. Instead he sat in the driver’s seat of his car and allowed the soft sound of “True” by Spandau Ballet to relax his aching soul. He closed his eyes like a dam keeping his raw tears in check. He knew what was going on in that pavilion. Cheers, screams, and general happiness, the latter of which he knew nothing about. This was the next generation of greatness…and among that generation was Scott fucking George.

The sound of that name running through his pounding head caused Tom to clutch the steering wheel with strangulating force. He could have ripped the damn thing off if he wasn’t careful. But if such hulk-like strength was possible, he could only imagine how easy it could be to disconnect Scott’s head from his shoulders. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do that. Maybe it could be a series of powerful haymakers. Maybe Tom could gouge his eyes out through the back of his skull. Maybe he could feast on Scott’s worm-infested brain like a zombie and never have to eat again. Oh shit, there he was.

The new generation of knowledge and wisdom poured out of the pavilion dressed in gowns, caps, and bright smiles. Scott led the pack with happy tears in his eyes, though Tom would be more convinced if such wetness came from a crocodile. Even more disturbing to the disgraced teacher was watching Adrienne and her mother Julie hugging it out with Scott and showering him with sugar and kisses. Julie looked beautiful in that flowery sundress and blond hair. Adrienne looked cuter than a baby bunny as she hopped up and down on her love interest’s arms. But Scott…oh, Scott…

Tom turned off the ignition and got out of his car to stare down the unsuspecting trio. His heart was frozen cold and his blood was boiling hot at the same time. Just a few punches to Scott’s jaw would make everything okay again. Daddy would come to the rescue and put the Simpson family back together again. No more would Scott become man of the house. But even in Tom’s icy heart, he knew such an outcome was only a Hollywood fantasy. A tear rolled down his cheek as he sat on the sidewalk with his head lurched forward. “What am I doing?” he quietly asked himself. He continued ranting in solitude, “This isn’t me…this isn’t me…I couldn’t…I couldn’t…uh-oh….”

The last bit came when the shadow of a rotund woman was cast over him. Tom slowly peeked upward and saw a lovely smile on the face of a high school graduate in a cap and gown. She appeared to have Down Syndrome, which still made her more beautiful than Tom could ever imagine himself being. The young lady held a tiny LGBT flag in her hand and waved it around while shuffling her sneaker-wearing feet. “It’s okay to be gay!” she sang over and over again in a cutesy-wutesy voice before handing the flag to Tom.

For the first time in a long while, Tom’s smile was genuine and heartfelt. “I guess it is okay. I guess so. But how did you…?”

“These things have a way of getting out. That’s okay, though. I still like you anyways!” said the young lady as she patted Tom on his disheveled hair. She introduced herself as Misty Keith before Tom introduced himself offered her a place to sit, which she took. Misty gently rubbed the ex-teacher’s shoulder blades and pointed at Adrienne while saying, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yeah…yeah, she is. And smart too,” said Tom with solemnity. “She’s going to grow up to be quite the remarkable woman, that’s for sure. But unfortunately, I probably won’t get to see it happen. Not in my lifetime.”

“How come?”

“…You wouldn’t understand. It’s…rather complicated.”

“Try me.”

Tom took a deep breath and held his face in his triangulated hands. “I said some things to her and her mother that I shouldn’t have said. I raised my voice at them. I tried to make them something they’re not. And this is the end result of it all: a nasty divorce and a new man in their lives. I can’t even find it in my heart to be angry anymore. I’m just…” Another tear traveled down Tom’s face and Misty was there to wipe it away with a restaurant napkin. “Thank you, young lady.”

“You’re welcome,” said Misty as she ruffled Tom’s hair yet again. “Why don’t you just tell them you’re sorry?”

“Oh, Misty…I wish things were that simple. Trust me, if I knew I could make things right with a wishy-washy apology, then I would have done it a long time ago. But unfortunately, not all stories have a Hollywood ending. If I tried to apologize to Julie and Adrienne…they’d just tell me to fuck off again.”

“You don’t have to do it right now, Mr. Simpson,” said Misty as she wiped away more tears from Tom’s face. “Give them some time. Don’t rush into things. Remember: slow and steady wins the race.”

Tom smiled and shook his head. “That’s a lot of wisdom coming from an eighteen year old. I’m decades ahead of you and even I couldn’t figure that out in time. That’s amazing to me. So what are you going to do now that you’re done with high school?”

“I’m going to be an artist!” said Misty with excitement in her voice and a gleam in her eye. She even pantomimed paintbrush strokes to solidify her dreams. “I’m going to draw lots of pretty pictures and be in an art gallery someday! You want to see one of my drawings?” After Tom nodded, she pulled a folded up drawing out of her breast pocket and showed it to him.

Tom’s eyes grew wide with impressiveness as he saw a highly-detailed drawing of roses and trees, colored with unique shades of purple, orange, and teal. There was even a fairy with butterfly wings waving hi in the background. “That’s amazing, Misty. You’ve definitely worked hard on this drawing.”

“Thanks!” said Misty before she pecked Tom on his cheek, causing him to blush slightly. “So what are you going to do now, Mr. Simpson?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders and said, “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out this whole time, Misty. In the meantime, I’ve been collecting unemployment checks and dipping into my savings. I can’t live this way anymore. Something has to change. I don’t want to be a teacher anymore. If I can’t get through to my own daughter, let alone Scott George, then I don’t deserve to teach history.”

“If you don’t like teaching, you should find something you love doing,” advised Misty. “Maybe you could draw lovely pictures like me. Or maybe you can play the piano. Or you could dance!”

“Once again, you wisdom shines through, young lady. My own students and my own family have been telling me something along those lines for years. I didn’t listen to them. Now I’ve got unemployment checks and a broken heart.”

Patting Tom’s shoulders, Misty said, “It’s never too late to start over again, Mr. Simpson. You don’t have to decide what you want to do right away. Take your time. It’ll come to you. Maybe you can find yourself a nice boyfriend.”

Tom chuckled in embarrassment and shook his head. “You’re funny, Misty. You really are.” Seeing that wonderful smile on her face, he asked, “You’re serious about that last part, aren’t you?”

Misty shrugged and said, “Sure, why not?” She stood up and waved at her mom and dad in the crowd. “I have to go now, Mr. Simpson. You think about what I’ve said today. I just have one more question before I go. Are you sure you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, Misty, I’m sure,” said Tom with a sad smile. Misty waved at him and trotted happily away towards her own parents. Tom ducked his head and said, “I can’t even afford to be a good husband and father.” His legs ached as he heaved himself up and plopped down in the driver’s seat of his car, turning the stereo back on.

Feeling a little more relaxed now, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander between Misty’s talking points and what his next move was going to be. Tom learned more about the world in that one conversation than his college degree gave him credit for. Being mentally disabled nor being gay was anything to be ashamed of. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Tom Simpson was free from psychological bondage. Free from anger at the world around him. Free from a job he never loved. Free from judgment for his past sins. His body was so relaxed at that moment that he almost fell asleep in the car. A mid-afternoon nap with a creative dream: what beautiful things.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 23

“Mother…please forgive me…I just had to get out all my pain and suffering…remember I will always love you…I’m your…son….”

“That’s very sweet of you, Mr. George, but I’m not your mother,” said a nameless jail guard as his words jolted Scott awake.

The battered prisoner’s body ached and pulsated while his eyes stung as they adjusted to the florescent lights of an infirmary. He had patches and bandages all over his wounds and even had some cotton pressed against his gums, though his speech was clear enough to decipher. As soon as Scott’s eyes adjusted to the light, he stared up at the prison guard trying to get a good read of him. The bright lights gave him an angelic aura, but Scott knew this was far from heaven.

The guard reached up and pulled the wire out of the only camera in the room, thus making their interactions completely private. Scott’s body jittered at the thought of what might happen to him next. But when he gave a wide-eyed look at the guard, the latter said, “Doctor-patient privacy.” Scott’s confusion and anxiety grew even more rampant when the guard knocked on the door and said, “You can come in now, Dr. Archer.”

“Wait a minute, who’s Dr. Archer?” asked Scott in weak tone.

“Your girlfriend’s therapist,” answered the guard, who allowed a slender black lady in business attire to enter the room with a clipboard, a pen, and a sympathetic smile for her patient. “I’ll leave the two of you alone for a while.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the therapist. Once the guard vacated the room, she engaged Scott with a gentle handshake and a warm attitude. “My name is Dr. Simone Archer. Your girlfriend sent me here to see how you’re doing.”

“It’s amazing anybody cares about me at all,” said Scott with a saggy frown.

Simone took a seat on the edge of Scott’s bed and began taking notes on her clipboard. “Adrienne cares a lot about you, Mr. George. This isn’t just some one-time fling for her. She’s committed to your happiness. She hopes you feel the same way about her. Do you, Scott?”

Scott closed his heavy eyelids and sighed, “I’ve never loved anybody that much in my life. Too bad it’s illegal.”

“Just because something is illegal, doesn’t mean it’s wrong, The reverse is true as well. The laws that are built on commonsense are the ones that mean the most to nonconformists such as yourself. But not everybody has the commonsense you do and that’s why you’re here, not because you did anything morally corrupt.”

Scott’s eyes slowly opened into pseudo-wideness when he said, “I’ve been waiting far too long for somebody to say that to me.”

“Adrienne told me of your struggles with your history teacher. And before you ask, she has granted me permission to divulge this information to you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t do it. Just like I won’t divulge anything you say to me in this session without your own permission. What happens in this room stays in this room. It was my idea for the guard to unplug the camera.”

Deep sighs and waves of relaxation washed over Scott’s exhausted and burdensome body. “As long as this conversation is private and I’m talking to someone who doesn’t think I have my head in my ass…there’s something I’ve wanted to get off my chest. I’ve told Adrienne about it, but not many other people.”

With clipboard and pen ready to go, Simone said, “I’m listening. Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”

Another deep relaxing sigh later, Scott said, “As you can tell from how fucking skinny I am…I’ve been having problems eating lately. It’s like…every time I take a bite of something, it’s covered in these slimy little worms. I know they’re not really there, but I can’t get my mind to shut the fuck up about it.” Tears welled up in his eyes and Simone gently patted his ankle. “I miss eating the good shit. I used to love eating steaks, cheeseburgers, pizza, Oreos…now all I can eat are worms and more worms. Everything around me is just a worm den.”

“And why do you suppose this is?”

Scott shrugged and said, “That’s what’s been giving me nightmares lately: I don’t know why. It’s like…every time I close my eyes, there she is again. This puppet teacher named Aloysius Striker. And then when I go to court, I find out she’s a living, breathing human being. She’s my bully’s step-mother. I don’t know what the hell any of this has to do with my worms. But every time the worms crawl around, her hideous face is always there to mock me.”

Simone allowed her new patient to shed a few silent tears before she patted his ankle again and said, “I want to try something with you, Scott. You seem to be in a relaxed state of mind, but I think you can go deeper than that. I want you to close your eyes for a moment. Breathe gently in and out. I want you to get to the root of these issues. The answer is locked up somewhere in there. You just have to be the one who unlocks it.”

“But…but…what if I find something that fucks me up?”

“Whatever you find locked up in there, it will no doubt be painful. You’re showing classic signs of PTSD. And as a coping mechanism, those who suffer from PTSD push their worst memories to a neutral corner of their brains. That may work in the short term, but now you’re at a point where it’s eating you up inside. I know you’re scared, Scott. But if you don’t’ confront your demons now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Scott gave a sad flat tire noise and said, “However long that is.”

“Have you given up already, Scott? Even if you have, don’t you at least owe it to yourself to find the answers you’re looking for?”

Taking more deep breaths, Scott closed his eyes and said, “Okay, I’ll play ball with you. Let’s do this.”

Holding Scott’s hand in a soothing grip, Simone spoke to him in an ethereal new age voice in hopes of triggering a hypnotic effect. “Think back to your earliest memory of Mrs. Striker. When did this happen? Who is she to tell you what to think about? Why does her presence mean so much to you?”

Scott’s mind swirled with colors while his body sank deeper into his hospital bed. His arms went limp as did his legs. He could breathe deeply while ignoring the agony in his nearly broken torso. Any stress point in his body, he breathed into and dissolved the tension. No judgment. No condescension. Just Scott and his mind, one-on-one.

As he traveled through his imagination, he could feel himself getting smaller. His babyish voice echoed throughout the halls of what appeared to be another hospital room. He tensed up slightly when the worms flooded his imagination, but he brushed them away like mere annoyances since they blocked the path to his answers. And then he felt a motherly pair of hands cradling him and soothing his baby screams. A woman gently sang to him, “Good morning to you. Good morning to you. Good morning, dear Scotty. Good morning to you!”

Scott sat up in his bed and triggered the pain in his stomach, his heart and brain beating at a blistering speed. Adrenaline poured through his system as tears flooded from his eyes. When Simone asked him what he saw, he caught his breath long enough to say, “Aloysius is my mother!...That fucking bitch is my mother!” Scott plopped backwards in his bed and allowed the tears to burst over his face. “That’s not possible. How could my dad marry a woman like that? Damn you, Dad!”

Simone pulled a handkerchief from her suit pocket and wiped the wetness from her patient’s face. But alas, not even the best janitors in the world had that kind of cleaning power. The tears kept coming and so did the snot. Simone held the rag to his nose and allowed him to blow his nose until his sinuses were dry. She tossed the rag in the garbage can, but the tears kept coming.

“Listen to me, Scott. Your past doesn’t define you. I know that sounds cliché, but quite frankly it doesn’t get said enough. This woman obviously had a tremendous effect on your psyche. But she’s neither here nor there. She has no control over your life anymore. She made the decision to leave you and mother your nemesis. That’s all on her. As far as you go, Scott, you must now use this story as a launching pad for your future, not as a barricade. Be the change you want in this world.”

Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, Scott wept, “Future? What future? I’m in prison, for god’s sake! There’s no such thing as a future in prison!”

Taking Scott’s hand in hers yet again, Simone looked deep into his dewy eyes and confessed, “I wanted to wait to tell you this until you’ve calmed down a bit. But I can see you need to know it now. It’s the only thing that can convince you to stay strong and push for a better day. You see, Scott…your principal Miss Williams set up a Go Fund Me page to get you out of jail…she met her goal. Your bail’s been paid. It’s all a matter of waiting for the paperwork to go through. Scott…you’re free!”

That news should have brought a permanent smile to Scott’s face, but instead more tears poured from his bright red pupils. “I don’t deserve this….I didn’t do anything to earn this…this is some Deus Ex Machina shit right here!”

“You’re wrong, Scott,” said Simone. “While it’s true you’ve made a few enemies during your high school years, you’ve also inspired many. The parents of Perkins High paid close attention to what happened to you. They were shocked not at your actions, but at your results. They looked at you and asked themselves…What if that was my child in the defendant’s chair? This is your story now, Scott. While you didn’t come up with the money yourself, you win this war by virtue of your survival. The world needs to hear what you have to say. They need your individuality. They need your strength. They need your empathy. That’s why you’re free from prison. And yes, you do deserve your freedom and so much more.”

After a while of letting his new therapist’s words hang in the air, Scott hugged her tightly without caring how awkward it would seem. He soaked the shoulder of her business suit in tears, but Simone didn’t mind at all. In fact, she returned the hug and allowed him this moment of newfound happiness. Scott knew he still had a long road ahead of him in terms of recovery, but this was a huge first step. “Thank you, Dr. Archer. Thank you!” he said softly.

“Please, call me Simone. You have my permission. This isn’t school, my friend. This is just you and me.” As soon as the embrace ended, she said, “Speaking of school, you have finals to prepare for, including a US history test, though Mr. Simpson has been replaced by someone else. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Wiping away the last of his ocular fluids, Scott nodded and said, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life!”

Silent Warrior, Chapter 22

“I wanna go home…take off this uniform and leave the show…but I’m waiting in this cell because I have to know…have I been guilty all this time?”

Scott George’s trembling rendition of “Stop” by Pink Floyd was met with a sarcastic golf clap from the shadows of his jail cell. A familiar voice said, “Good one, buddy. You really do have the prettiest little voice. The last time I heard singing that good, you were bawling like a big baby over your daddy’s grave.” With shadows now covering only half of his face like a neo-noir villain, Alan Young’s hideously transformed visage sent chills up Scott’s spine. Tattoos on his arms, a short Mohawk, and scars on his face marked Alan’s metamorphosis from childhood brat to demonic tormentor.

Unwilling to let this bruiser shake him any further, Scott descended into bathos by angrily joking, “What the hell were YOU doing at a graveyard anyways? I was grieving my dead father. What about you? You can’t get laid any other way, so you’re going to give necrophilia a try?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious, Scott. You’re just fucking marvelous. It’s especially ironic considering how you got yourself in this jail cell to begin with. Though I do admit, you couldn’t have found a better piece of ass than Adrienne fucking Simpson, I’ll tell you that right now.”

Scott bolted out of his bunk bed and shouted, “Don’t you ever talk that way about her again, you fat piece of shit!”

“Or what? You’re going to strangle me and get me kicked out of prison like you did on that bus ride? Come on, dude, you’ve got way too much to lose and you know it. You throw one punch at me and it’s off to the hole for you. Me? I don’t give a fuck where I go from here. The only thing I’ve got left to lose is my own sanity and even that’s questionable.”

Folding his arms and giving his cellmate the gorgon death stare, Scott asked, “What do you want from me, Alan? You want to keep making my life a living hell? What for? Why me? Why not somebody else? Answer me, damn it!”

Alan stood up quickly and barked, “You want to know why?! I’ll tell you why. I don’t do it because of your skinny ass body. I don’t do it because I can. I don’t even want your survivor’s benefits from your dear old daddy kicking the bucket. The reason I gave you hell all those years is because of who you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, because you’re too blind to see it. Your massive ego won’t let you. Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re a phony. You like to rage against the machine and all that bullshit. Guess what? I’ve always wanted to rage against the machine too. Growing up with Aloysius tends to do that to a man. All this talk about communities and worms and puppets and shit…if I ever do get thrown in the hole, that’s probably what I’m going to think about the most.”

Scott’s expression softened and his arms went limp at this revelation. But he would still hold his ground against the much larger and much more aggressive cellmate.

Alan wagged his finger at Scott and ranted, “Yeah, that’s right. The old Freudian excuse. I can play that card until the end of time. I abuse other people because I too was a victim of disgusting shit. That would be the convenient answer. But that’s not it. Aloysius is just one piece of the puzzle. It’s the whole world that fucks with my mind the most. And you, you’re the biggest hypocrite of them all. You claim to be about individuality and personal freedom, yet here you are sucking up to the teachers so that you can get the best grades. Don’t you see, Scott? You’re doing what they’re telling you to do. They’ve got you by the balls, buddy! Me? I don’t want a pointless career. I want to watch the world burn. Being in jail waiting for my sentence gave me time to think about it and that’s what I want most out of life.”

Scott half-grinned and shook his head before saying, “So that’s it, huh? Because life didn’t turn out the way you wanted, you want to watch the system around you collapse. Well, guess what, lard ass! My life wasn’t exactly a bed of roses either! I too have nightmares that keep me from getting the sleep I deserve! I haven’t eaten a decent meal in god knows how long! And yes, I’m in jail because the world wants me to be here! But I don’t want to watch the world burn! You know why? Because without a world to live in, there’d be no place for people like Adrienne to grow up. I know not everybody in the world is a Mr. Simpson clone. I don’t paint everybody with the same brush like you do. There are good people in this world and they’re the people I’m fighting for! I don’t care how long I have to stay in this cell, because I won’t let jail break me!”

Alan blitzed towards Scott, grabbed his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. “Bullshit!” the bully shouted. “You’re not going to beat the system that easily! Everybody who comes through here turns into the ugliest fucking monster imaginable! You’re no different from the rest of the losers in this jail! You’re going to break one way or another and if I have to be the one who breaks you, goddamn it, I will!”

“Go for it, Alan! Make a move! You’ll be taking those words to solitary confinement! It’s just like you said to me a few minutes ago! That shit works both ways, my friend! You want to take a swing at me?! Go ahead!”

Alan smiled sadistically and bore his yellow demonic fangs while clutching Scott’s shirt tighter than before. “If that’s what you want, then ask and ye shall receive!” Alan dropped his victim with a right hook to the gut, causing him to cough and wheeze violently. Scott even spit up a few droplets of blood. Alan grabbed his hair and said, “You see that? That’s what happens when you don’t eat your meat, let alone your pudding. Yeah, I can quote Pink Floyd too, buddy. Look around you: nobody’s coming to save you because nobody cares. I bet watching the world burn sounds pretty fucking good right now, doesn’t it?”

The next attack in Alan’s arsenal was a knee to the chest, bouncing Scott against the metal bunk bed and causing even more heavy, blood-laced breathing. “Pathetic. That’s all you are, Scott.” Alan turned around and sat down on his bed while watching his victim collected what was left of himself.

Scott sat against his bunk and heaved some more, his lungs and heart working overtime to make sure he didn’t drop dead right then and there. And then he mustered up enough oxygen to get these words out in a clear voice: “Is that all you got?”

Alan’s hamburger face morphed into monstrous rage when he stood back up and shouted, “No, it’s not all I got, you dumb shit!” He pulled a shank from under his pillow and glared down at his prey with venom and fire in his bulging eyes. “You just don’t know when to break, do you? That’s alright. You don’t ever have to worry about breaking ever again. As your daddy will tell you…dead men tell no tales!”

The bully jerked Scott up by his neck and held the blade to his throat, drawing a tiny droplet of sweet red juice. “You see that, Scotty boy? That’s what jail is really like. You haven’t been here that long and you’re already knocking on hell’s gates. Say hello to your dear old daddy for me!”

Scott’s rage glowed a brighter shade of red than the goop pouring out of his mouth, nose, and throat. A night in solitary confinement would have been a welcome time to rest his bones if it meant he could live another day. He forgot all about the possibility of losing his sanity in a dark room. Did he really have it to begin with?

Scott swung his leg backwards and made Alan a permanent cast member of the Nutcracker Suite, causing him to drop the blade and leaving him open for a sharp elbow to the nose. Alan’s already demonic face looked like it went through a wood chipper after that blood-curdling blow. Both combatants lay limp on the floor floating in and out of consciousness while the sounds of boots pounding the cement floor flooded their ears.

Scott could hear the cacophony of swear words and authoritative threats as both he and Alan were being dragged out of their cell, though in different directions. He could distinctly hear one of the guards threaten, “You’re in a lot of trouble, little boy!” Although, he couldn’t discern who it was being said to. Either way, Scott knew he was up shit creek without a paddle, judging from how roughly he was being dragged away from the scene of the fight.

Was it this easy to break in prison? Was there anybody out there truly strong enough to withstand such a torturous grind? Scott couldn’t think of one person that fit the bill. Even superheroes would go crazy in this shitty place if they didn’t get brutally murdered. Getting out on a sweetheart deal didn’t mean shit either. The prisoners were dead inside by the time they tasted freedom, thus ensuring this place’s status as a graveyard rather than a real housing facility. At least when death or insanity washed over Scott, he would be reunited with his father, which wasn’t much of a silver lining considering he would also lose Adrienne forever. Scott took a temporary vacation from the ultra madness when his vision faded to black.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 21

As a handsome middle-aged gentleman in a brown ponytail stood by her side, Linda Williams took center stage of the gymnasium with a microphone in hand. She noticed the sullen expressions on her students’ faces as they filed into the bleachers one by one. Linda caught a glimpse of Adrienne Simpson sitting in the far upper corner by herself. The Principal’s heart ached for her and all of this new trauma she had to deal with. That was not to undermine the sadness of the other students filling the seats, all of which had slumped over postures and saggy frowns.

Right at the time everybody was seated where they needed to be, Linda tapped the microphone a few times and tested it for feedback. She gazed around at the audience before her with a combination of sympathy and strength in her face. She needed to be strong when others felt they had the strength sapped right out of them. Linda took a few breaths to steel her nerves and brought the microphone up to her lips to begin her oratory.

“Before I get started with this emergency school assembly, I want to get two talking points off my chest. First, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming today, students and teachers alike. I wish this was all under different circumstances, but it is what it is. And secondly,” Linda patted the ponytail-wearing gentleman on the shoulder and said, “This is Paul Corbin. He will be your new US history teacher as he’s taking over for the departed Tom Simpson. He’ll take good care of you and hopefully you’ll find him to your liking.”

Linda gazed down at her loafers to allow for a beat of silence. Reengaging the audience, she said, “I’m sure some of you heard by now what happened with Tom Simpson and why he’s not here today. For those of you who need to be brought up to speed, let’s just say he won’t be working here anymore. He made a bad decision and it cost him his job. I know that argument sounds familiar to those of you who were close to one Scott George. I know how quickly rumors can travel.”

Pacing back and forth with slowness in her step, Linda cleared her throat and said, “We can debate all day long about the morality of what Scott George did. Then again, we can also do the same thing for Mr. Simpson. And for Alan Young, another student whose name you might recognize. Varying opinions aside, I have a confession to make as it pertains to my tenure here at Perkins High.”

“I haven’t been a perfect Principal. I’ve made a few enemies here and there. But the one thing I can never forgive myself for…is allowing my own students to be victimized. I’ve been blind to the mistreatment going on around here. I thought it was just another day at the office. And then I saw a You Tube video of Scott George sobbing at his father’s grave while the so-called filmmaker Alan Young laughed in the background. That never should have been the ultimate breaking point and for that I’m sorry.”

Pointing her arm at the new teacher, she said, “As you can see from Mr. Corbin’s presence, there are going to be some changes around here. These changes are going to shake the very foundation of this once esteemed high school. No more abuses of power. No more hostile work environments. No more mediocre school lunches. Everything is going to change around here from top to bottom, left to right. Mind you, these changes aren’t going to happen overnight. Reforming a broken school takes time and effort. While I realize that patience isn’t always a virtue among everyone here today, it is needed if we’re to make these changes in a civilized and methodical way.

“To put it as delicately as possible, Scott George hit some bumps in the road during his educational experiences here. I’ve no doubt that many of you feel the same way. The only difference is, his story came to my attention first. And his story is the reason why these radical changes are happening in the first place. As long as they’re happening, I’d love know your stories as well. You know why? Because unlike what Tom Simpson had been preaching this whole time, democracy isn’t dead. Your voices matter now more than ever. You have the right to be heard and there’s not a teacher walking this earth that can take that away from you.

“Which brings me to my final talking point of the day. If you’ve been following the local news, you’d know that Scott is currently sitting in jail awaiting his final sentencing. The crime he committed had no victims, yet he currently has a five thousand dollar bail looming over his head. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before that bail will be revoked and his prison sentence will officially begin.

“Therefore, I am announcing to you all this morning that I’ve set up a Go Fund Me page to pay for his bail. The link to the page will be posted on the bulletin board outside of my office. I don’t expect any one person to fork over the full amount. In fact, I don’t want any of you to think that the new changes to this school will be contingent on how much money is donated to the cause. This isn’t extortion. This is purely optional. One dollar would be fine. A quarter. A nickel. Every little bit will help.

“If you’re wondering why you should care about a kid who was rebellious at his worst and tearful at his best, then know that I would do the same for any one of you if you were placed in a similar situation. No student deserves to be taken advantage of. No student deserves to be silenced. Every student has the right to an education should he or she decide to pursue it. I feel that way about Scott George, a kid with so much promise and so much of an upside that it breaks my heart to see him lose it all over an asinine loophole in the law he allegedly broke.

“I’m not asking you all for help. I’m pleading with you. I’m all but on my hands and knees. I’m asking for this school to be united, not torn apart by bullying or abuse of any kind. If there’s one thing Scott George will teach you all, it’s that empathy and love will go a lot further than empty disciplinary tactics and mindless conformity. He wants you all to be free thinkers. He wants you all to take advantage of the opportunities you have. He wants to see these changes to our school just as much as you all need them. I’ll close this assembly with one final plea: can you find it in your hearts to give Mr. George another chance?”

The expressions on the students’ faces spoke volumes: angry eyebrows, defeated frowns, and tense stares. One by one they left the gymnasium without waiting for Miss Williams to give permission to exit. They never said one word, presumably because for so long they had been fed the “democracy is dead” shtick like it was the worst tasting medicine imaginable, worse than any worm-infested food Scott George would eat in his new home. The only student who didn’t get up and leave was Adrienne Simpson, who pulled her knees up and tucked her head in her lap, feeling dejected and forlorn.

As soon as the bleachers were empty sans Adrienne, Paul Corbin placed a gentle hand on Linda Williams’s shoulder and said, “You did your best to convince them.”

“Did I really, Paul? Is this just another chapter of broken promises and ignorant leadership?” asked Linda in a sullen tone.

“Nobody’s perfect, Linda. Not you, not me, not Scott George himself. But that’s what makes us human. We grow, we adapt, and we learn things. Isn’t that what school is all about?”

“It’s too late for us now,” said Linda. “These changes should have been made long before Scott was taken into custody. I could have prevented all of this from happening. But instead, I sat by and did nothing. I was naïve to think everything was okay. Does anybody really tell you that everything is wrong in their world? For god’s sake, I should have never hired Tom in the first place.”

Linda’s stonewall strength had crumbled all around her and she couldn’t help but shed a few silent tears. How could she remain strong after all that’s happened? She believed it was all her fault and that she had no right to cry about it in the first place. But the tears kept coming, albeit in a silent sob that still caught the attention of Paul Corbin. The new history teacher gave the Principal a hug light enough to avoid awkwardness, but strong enough to know that he was by her side.

“Excuse me, Miss Williams?” said Adrienne, who was now standing within close range and Linda hadn’t even realized it until she picked her tear-soaked face up. The little freshman held out a twenty dollar bill and said, “I want to contribute this to Scott’s bail. It’s not much, but I hope it’s a step in the right direction. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”

A smile spread across Linda’s face despite the flowing tears. She accepted the twenty dollar bill and said, “Oh, Miss Simpson, bless your little heart. I know Scott means a lot to you. He means a lot to me too. Speaking of rainy days…” The last sadly joking sentence was punctuated by pointing at her own teary face, hence the raindrops.

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately too, Miss Williams. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re still one of the strongest women I know, next to my mom.”

Linda sighed, “I guess we all have to be strong now, don’t we? I just hope Scott feels the same way. Of course, it’s hard to be strong when you’re all alone behind those barred walls.”

Silent Warrior, Chapter 20

With the sun’s gentle rays caressing their skins and the ocean’s waves to lull them into comfort, Scott and Adrienne strolled along the beach together hand in hand without a care in the world. Scott’s tan cargo shorts clung to his hips like he actually had the body of an athlete. Adrienne’s purple bikini revealed her best physical features, though none could match the beauty of her smile as she pecked her boyfriend on the cheek.

Somewhere in one of the straw huts, a portable stereo played the underrated Sting classic “When We Dance”. And by god, the couple was going to do just that. Scott spun his girlfriend around and leaned her backwards while she lifted one of her gorgeous bare feet in the air. The two lovers shared another kiss together, this one much longer and more passionate than the first.

The two hugged each other and slow-danced to Sting’s lyrics. When Adrienne asked him why his face grew serious all of the sudden, Scott said, “Can we never leave this beach? Do we have to go back to Perkins City?”

“Trust me, babe, I’d love nothing more than to spend forever with you on this beach. We have everything we’ll ever need here: good food, gentle waves, and enough sunshine to keep us warm until the end of time,” said Adrienne in a seductive voice. Her face also grew serious when she finished her sentiment with, “Unfortunately, we have to go back soon. Vacations are only temporary as we both know from going to school all the time. It seems like time is just flying by and we can’t catch up with it.”

Scott embraced his girlfriend tightly and begged, “No, I’m not going back! Please don’t make me go back. I fucking hate that place. It’s like a reverse fucking Disneyland!”

Adrienne pushed him to a close distance and said, “I know, Scott. Trust me, I know. If I go back to Perkins City, my dad is just going to make my life a living hell, just like he did yours. Reality sucks, but that’s what life is.”

“I don’t want this life anymore,” confessed Scott. “I’ve waited all this time to be free and I’m not going to just have it snatched up from underneath me.”

“But then who’s going to pay the bills, honey? What will we do for money? This beach isn’t paying our rent. It’s just an escape from our responsibilities. Whether we like it or not, we’re part of a community.”

“No, don’t say that word! Don’t say the C-word!” snapped Scott as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears. “Don’t say that fucking word! I hate that word! Oh god, oh god, oh god, I hate that word!”

“Scott, please! You’re scaring me! I didn’t mean to trigger you!” said a frightened Adrienne as he gently rested her palm on her boyfriend’s shoulder. The minute Scott’s tears splashed on the soft sand, she hugged him around the head and comforted him with, “I’m sorry. I’ll never say that word again. We can stay here if you’d like. It’s not like this island is in short supply of jobs or anything like that.”

“Jobs?” wept Scott. “Who’s going to hire me? What boss in his right mind wants to hire a guy who falls to pieces after every little thing?”

Placing both hands on her boyfriend’s shoulders and giving him a stern look, Adrienne said, “You have to take responsibility to wake up from your nightmares. You can’t live this way forever, my dear. I can only do so much for you. Now it’s your turn to fight back against the world. You can’t let these people beat you so easily. Fight for me, Scott. Fight for us. Fight for our child!”

The two of them stood up slowly together and Scott’s watery eyes were now staring lovingly into his girlfriend’s sweet face. “You’re right, babe. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry I acted the way I did. Can you do me one last favor before we leave here? Kiss me. Kiss me as hard as you can. If I’m going to fight for what’s right, then I’m going to need all the strength I can get.”

“Of course I’ll kiss you, silly. Come here.” Just as promised, the two of them locked lips and swirled their tongues in each other’s mouths. Adrienne’s lips became much more aggressive as Scott held her closer.

Scott closed his eyes and enjoyed the passionate kiss…until he felt some strange presences crawling around on his tongue. He forcefully pulled away and his eyes shot open in horror at the face he was now gazing into. The visage of Aloysius Striker sang her operatic “Good Morning” song while Scott desperately spit out worm after worm, maggot after maggot. He stuck his index finger in his mouth and barfed the last of the worms onto the sand below, turning his body nearly inside out from the deadly force.

“Good morning to you! Good morning to you! Good morning, dear Scotty! Good morning to you!” Mrs. Striker’s voice became progressively deeper and more demonic as she sang her whimsical tune. Her teeth looked more dangerous than those of a great white shark. Her evilly-slanted eyes glowed with orange neon. The worms in the back of her throat slithered down her jaw and all Scott could do about it was scream his head off.

“Order! Order in the courtroom!” commanded the judge as he smashed his gavel and awakened Scott from his nightmare. Drenched in sweat and still wearing his hospital scrubs, he found himself back in the defendant’s chair with his lawyer by his side. Scott’s breathing grew deeper and deeper while his lawyer tried to calm him down with shoulder pats.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” asked the judge.

“We have, your honor,” said the lead juror. Scott’s hazy vision was now laser focused as his heart beat quickly and adrenaline flooded his nervous system. Even though his “vacation” with Adrienne was only temporary, he had to take that lesson to heart: fight for what you believe in. Fight for what’s right. Never give up. This internal monologue steeled his raw nerves to where he could focus on the verdict. No matter what the jury decided, this fight wouldn’t be over by a long shot and Scott showed that with his eyebrows furrowed.

“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, on one count statutory rape, we find the defendant Mr. Scott George…guilty as charged.”

“No!” cried Adrienne from a far corner of the courtroom while the judge’s gavel banging restored order to a chaotic situation. No amount of mallet whacking could drain the tears from Adrienne Simpson’s eyes as she hugged her mother tightly.

“Bail set at five thousand dollars. Thank you, members of the jury. Bailiff, please take the defendant away. I’ll hand down his sentence soon enough. Case dismissed,” said the judge before banging the gavel one last time.

The bailiff grabbed Scott’s arm and brought him to his feet before cuffing his hands behind his back and pulling him away. The defendant’s eyes watered as his lawyer mouthed the words, “I’m sorry for everything.” Scott nodded at him as he was being half-dragged down the aisle.

“Scott!” shouted Adrienne as she rushed to the center, stopping the bailiff and his charge in their tracks. She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and whisper-sobbed, “Promise me this isn’t over! Promise me you’ll fight through the pain!”

“I promise you, Adrienne. We will see each other again.” He tried to kiss her, but was immediately pulled away by the scruff of his neck. He never took his eyes off of his beautiful, yet sorrowful Adrienne Simpson, even when she turned away to hug her mother once more.

Before Scott could cross the threshold leading to the outside world, he distinctly heard his girlfriend shout, “I’m not a goddamn victim, you assholes!” The uncaring judge banged the gavel even louder in order to shut her up.

The one thing that raced through Scott’s mind as he was being hauled away into the police car was anxiety over whether or not he made a promise he couldn’t keep. Maybe the two of them would see each other again…in the next life. Maybe there could finally be justice in a political climate where there was none…in the next life. Maybe the world would finally pull its head out of its ass…in the next life.

Such a funny phrase for someone as atheistic as Scott George: the next life. He had only heard about its beauty through the Pop Evil song of the same name. Even without his trusty MP3 player, he could still hear Leigh Kakaty’s golden voice crooning that lovely rock tune to him. Scott was surprised that his mind was cooperative for a change instead of trying to force-feed him worms, or worse yet, the philosophy of a conformist community.

In many ways, the prison system was a “community” of its own. Everybody wore the same clothing. Everybody did the same activities. Ate the same disgusting food. Lived with the same disgusting people. Lived by the rules of the same disgusting prison guards. Lived under the thumb of a warden who could only be described as Aloysius Striker on steroids. And to think, that woman was actually a real person instead of a traumatic Floydian ghost.

That reminded Scott of something that brought out even more wormy feelings in his stomach: would he see Alan Young in prison too? What kind of person would he become after such a short time of captivity? Alan was already a nasty son of a bitch. What would he look like in an orange jumpsuit? Would he be covered in prison tattoos? Would he look twice as ugly as when he went in? Would he actually be good at fighting this time around? Scott somehow took solace in the idea that the other prisoners wouldn’t put up with his rotten attitude. But even that modicum of solace wasn’t enough to shut up the worms in Scott’s belly and brain. Where was a gavel when he needed one?

Silent Warrior, Chapter 18

“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, how does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

Every eyeball in that courtroom gazed upon Scott with judgment and scorn. Dressed in a suit and tie passed down from his father, Scott could feel their hatred radiating off of his soul. His defense lawyer said not guilty, but his mind said otherwise. His face was more readable than Mr. Simpson’s desecrated chalkboard and the message written on it over and over again. So this was what defiance was like, Scott thought to himself. This was what happened to anybody who dared to be more than mediocre and ordinary. He could feel his dreams being crushed like poison pills under the weight of this courtroom’s table knife. His face drooped with depression and self-loathing.

The judge banged his gavel and said, “We will now hear the opening arguments from both sides. Mr. Prosecutor, you have the floor.”

A lanky gentleman who towered over the rest of the courtroom personnel took the center stage and held his hands in front of him, eyeballing everyone with seething persecution. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he started. “The defense will have you believe that this is just a simple case of a vengeful teacher lording it over his pupils. But I now ask you, who is the vengeful one here? A man who gives out C-minuses like it’s Christmas or an even younger man who plays mind games of his own by having sex with that man’s daughter? That’s really all this is: mind games.

“And guess what? Judging from Miss Adrienne Simpson’s absence from this courtroom, I’d say those mind games are working. Don’t forget that she is the victim in all of this, not Mr. Scott George. She is the one who will live with this mistake for the rest of her life. Fifteen years old is not an age for losing one’s virginity. It is an age in which she should be exploring the world around her. It’s an age in which she learns from greater sources of wisdom than an 18-year-old boy posing as a grown man.

“Members of the jury, don’t let the defense minimize this incident as some kind of BS technicality. This is a serious offense Mr. George committed and he must pay for all of the damage he’s done. Thank you, your honor.”

As the prosecutor took his seat and straightened his tie, Scott absorbed his harsh words like a sponge soaking up toxic chemicals. His posture grew worse, his saggy face became less defined, and it wouldn’t be long before the floodgates underneath his eyes opened for the final time. Final seemed like an appropriate word to him, whether that meant getting stabbed in prison or doing the job himself. The not guilty plea sounded less and less genuine with every second that passed.

The defense lawyer, a stocky man who would measure up to his opponent’s chest easily, took his turn at center stage and engaged his audience with a stern tone. “And why shouldn’t I minimize it?” he asked. “Is it because the status quo needs to be satisfied? Is it because technicalities are more important to us than the real issues of today’s justice system? Let’s not forget the real reason Adrienne Simpson isn’t here today. It’s not Scott George she’s afraid to face. It’s her own father, the one who made this 9-1-1 call to begin with.

“This is HIS war. All is fair in love and war, right? No tactic is too underhanded. No victory is too minor. As a history teacher who specializes in the art of war, Mr. Simpson lives by these mantras. But let’s be honest: if Scott George was only seventeen years old and Adrienne Simpson was fourteen, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What is Mr. George supposed to do: break up with her and then start their relationship over again once she’s of age?

I know that this argument gets thrown around a lot in legitimate rape cases and for the most part it’s a valid statement. So let’s keep that statement valid by giving Mr. George a fair shake. Save your judgment and vitriol for someone who truly deserves it. Thank you, your honor.”

Scott picked his head up and wiped the sadness out of his eyes, if only for a minute. His lawyer patted him on the shoulder and assured him it would be okay. Would Scott believe such a thing was possible? Would anything be okay ever again? Would the damage continue even after the not guilty plea became an undisputed reality?

“Mr. Prosecutor, you may call your first witness to the stand,” ordered the judge.

The skyscraper of a human being took center stage once more and said in a commanding voice, “I’d like to call Ms. Aloysius Striker to the stand, please.”

Scott mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” as the living presence of his most brutal nightmares skulked to the witness box. Sure enough, there she was: no puppet strings, no puppet body, no worms, yet she still gave Scott violent shivers throughout his system. He could feel the maggots swarming in his intestines like villagers running away from a fire-breathing titan.

“Ms. Striker, I’ll start off by asking how you’re related to the defendant,” said the prosecutor.

“I’m Alan Young’s step mother,” she said in a trembling sob. The maggots grew even more restless inside Scott’s bowels. He didn’t know whether to shit himself or projectile vomit across the room.

“And who is this Alan Young you speak of?”

“He knew Scott George ever since they were in elementary school together. My step-son never got the education he wanted and it was all because of Scott’s vindictiveness. Alan never stood a chance. He was always sent to the principal’s office over minor occurrences. Scott used the system to his advantage and made sure my baby boy suffered for as long as humanly possible.” She wiped a singular tear from her eye and asked, “How is my step-son supposed to learn anything when he’s being held down?”

Scott whispered the word, “Bullshit!” and his lawyer patted him on the back to calm him down.

The prosecutor leaned on the edge of the witness box and said, “So what you’re trying to tell the jury here is that Scott George is a powerful man. He has so much power that he can use it for anything he wants, whether it’s for good grades or for making sure those he deems unworthy feel his wrath.”

“Objection, your honor.”

“Overruled. Please, Mr. Prosecutor, continue.”

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to ask you, Ms. Striker: based on your interactions with the defendant as well as your step-son’s interactions, do you believe it’s possible for Mr. Scott George to be manipulative enough to take a young girl’s virginity out of spite?”

“Objection, your honor!”

The rest of this conversation became a cluster-fuck of gibberish to Scott as he paid more attention to what his intestinal worms were going on about. They slithered around like spitting cobras and hurled their venom about. Scott’s head felt like a balloon ready to pop. His mind was also crawling with these toxic worms. And cockroaches. And faceless cheerleaders who proudly proclaimed they wanted to, “Bring out the gimp!” Sweat drizzled down his forehead and into his eyeballs, which were already going blacker than the lungs of a coal miner, an appropriate analogy for someone who could barely breathe.

And then it happened. Scott George plopped onto the floor limp as a noodle. The cacophonic rage swirled around him some more as he overheard his lawyer shouting, “Get some paramedics! He needs help!” Scott believed no amount of medical attention could give him the help he needed. An oxygen mask was only a fashion accessory. An IV needle was more of a weapon than a bastard sword. The paramedics could flood the courtroom with all of the equipment they wanted, but he made no mistake about it: nobody was coming to save him.

If there really were maggots and worms in his system, they would cannibalize him and leave him on the side of the road as a gigantic turd. How appropriate considering he felt like the lowest form of human shit imaginable. He didn’t know whether the judge wanted to send him to prison or a bottomless toilet. Either way, the future was dead, just like the democracy Mr. Simpson always rallied against.

He could hear Adrienne’s voice in the back of his head comforting him with soft, unintelligible words. How he wished for the feel of her silky hands against his cold skin. Fuck the legality of it all: love was love. But the judges and juries didn’t care about love in the first place. To them, it was just as expendable as democracy and the future themselves. Scott wanted to awaken from his blackness and check to see if Adrienne was really there, but what was the point?

Silent Warrior, Chapter 17

“Scott Marcus George, place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for the statutory rape of Adrienne Melanie Simpson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, the state will provide you with free legal council. Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

As chilling as those words were to hear, they couldn’t compare to the shrieks of terror from Scott’s own mother as he was dragged to the police vehicle in handcuffs. As he lay in his one-bunk jail cell with damp eyes, Scott replayed that morning in his head over and over again. He had just gotten home from serving detention. He finally had a calm moment with his only parent as they ate cereal together. And then the police obliterated that peace treaty by showing up at his house and reducing him to a convict.

Scott wiped away the tears welling up in his eyes for fear that other prisoners might see him like this and get some funny ideas. Yes, he was all alone in that cell with nothing but his thoughts, but even his own mind conspired against him in this dark time. Visions of anal penetration in the showers flooded his numbed out brain.

It hadn’t happened yet, but he could still feel Bubba’s hairy crowbar dick ripping his intestines to shreds. But instead of blood or shit coming out of his asshole, it was worms and maggots. Funny little creatures devouring his soul from the inside and leaving him with an empty shell. Scott wiped away even more tears, but the sounds of a knight stick banging against his cell bars brought him back to reality.

“Mr. George, your mother is here to see you. She don’t look happy,” said the guard.

He wasn’t lying. Beth George approached the bars looking like she saw the devil himself. Whatever tears Scott had in his eyes, his mother had an even bigger surplus of. Her hands trembled as she touched the bars and gazed deep into whatever was left of her son’s soul. “Scott…is it true? Did you really have sex with a young girl?” He just stared at her with blankness on his face, not even so much as a yes or no. “Answer me, damn it!” Beth screeched.

Scott sat up in his bunk bed and said, “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Whatever the case, I found something that neither you nor anybody else could give me: true love.”

“Scott, what the hell are you talking about?” wept Beth. “I’ve done nothing but love you this whole time. I know we haven’t been getting along lately, but that wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I’ve always loved you. But now…” She wiped away tears and snot with the back of her hand. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

“Well, that’s funny, because you look so familiar to me,” said Scott as he approached his mother. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re someway related to Mr. Simpson. You both love to scream at the top of your lungs. You both like to intimidate your inferiors into getting what you want. You both orgasm yourselves inside out at the thought of me being sent to a military school. You say you do it all in the name of discipline and order. Well, my grades speak for themselves! I’ve got all the discipline I’ll ever need! How about some love every once and a while, huh?!”

“I’ve tried to give you love, Scott!” sobbed Beth. “I’ve tried to be easy with you! It wasn’t working! I can’t let you get complacent! And now here you are fucking little girls because you think they’re going to fill the void! Well, if you like sex so much, you’re going to get plenty of it in prison, I’ll tell you that right now! You did this to yourself, Scott! Now you’re going to live with the consequences for however long the judge says!”

“Listen to me, you crazy bitch!” shouted Scott. “If you and Mr. Simpson couldn’t get through to me, what makes you think a bunch of morons in orange jumpsuits are going to have any better luck? At least when I’m finally locked up, nobody will care if I fight back! Nobody’s coming to save the poor schmuck who gets his head kicked in by me! And if for some reason I get killed in the struggle, well, it’s been a damn good life and I’m more than ready to leave it!”

Pounding on the bars with closed fists, Beth bawled, “Stop talking like that, Scott! I don’t want you to die! I want you to realize what an asshole you are so that you can make something of yourself!”

“Oh, yeah right, like prison is going to be my ultimate education,” belted Scott. “They don’t teach things like Pythagorean Theorems and French grammar behind these walls. The prison system in this fucked up country takes innocent, damaged people like me and turns them into hardcore criminals. You can thank your conservative politicians for that one. How do I know all of this? Because I hate school and love education at the same time!”

Beth George collapsed onto the floor and soaked her knees in tears, all while Scott looked down on her with a stone cold expression. No pathetic display of emotion was going to shake his foundation that day. In his mind, he had come too far in this war against the system to be swayed by petty tears.

The mother used the jail bars to pick herself up and stared harshly into her son’s eyes while tears cascaded from her own. “If that’s how it’s going to be…then do me a favor, Scott. When your prison sentence is over, don’t even bother coming back home. You can go anywhere you want to when it’s all said and done. You can go live with that poor girl you fucked…you can live in the school’s tool shed…or better yet…you can go straight to hell!”

Beth scratched the bars and struggled to make her way down the hall when she heard her son say, “Whatever turns you on, Beth.”

She slowly turned around and hobbled back to Scott’s cell while asking in disbelief, “What did you call me?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but a few seconds ago, you just disowned me, right?” said Scott. “Well, as long as you’re throwing me away like a common piece of trash, we might as well be on a first name basis. You don’t want to be my mother anymore? You want to throw me to the wolves? Fine. Then I won’t bother calling you Mom anymore. You’re Beth now. You’re Beth fucking George!”

“You take that back, you sick bastard!” sobbed Beth as she scratched the bars yet again.

“You know what? You’re right. I do take that back. You’re not Beth George. You’re Beth Green! Green is your maiden name, right? Well, you better get used to being called that, because you’re even less of a wife than you are a mother. Dad is spinning in his grave like a pinwheel and it’s all your fault!”

“You monster!” shrieked Beth as she pounded on the jail bars like a silverback gorilla, prompting the guards to rush in and restrain her. Their tight grips on her arms and legs didn’t stop her from screaming vitriol at her now ex-son. “You bastard! You fucking piece of shit! I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your life! Hell, I hope you get sent to the gas chamber! You’re no son of mine! You’re a monster! You’re a fucking monster, Scott George!”

Just before Beth could be dragged through the doorway, Scott had a stranglehold on the bars as he roared, “I welcome the gas chamber, you stupid cunt! Hell, I’ll even settle for the electric fucking chair! There ain’t enough lightning in this world for me! I hope the state uses the whole fucking power grid against me! At least then I can get some goddamn peace and quiet for once! Fuck you, you stupid bitch!”

The white hot display of anger left Scott’s entire body juicy red. He breathed heavily as his lungs and heart worked overtime to keep him on his feet. Feeling his legs wobbling like gummy worms, he staggered back to his bunk bed and face planted onto the mattress. At this point he didn’t care if other prisoners or prison guards saw him cry. He was going to unleash his biblical flood of facial fluids into that one pillow. Drool, tears, snot, they all came rushing out of his system like a leaky oil pipeline.

His mind raced like a cheetah scurrying from rifle-wielding game hunters. He knew he would be a changed man once he got out of prison (if he was found guilty). Would he change so much that Adrienne wouldn’t recognize him anymore? Would she turn him away once he showed even once sign of aggression towards her? Would she abandon him at the thought of Scott being raped in the showers? All in all, he really felt like the world’s biggest pain in the ass, sodomy aside. To wait for him on the other side, let alone put up with his newfound outlook on life, required the patience of a saint. Adrienne, as young as she was, probably didn’t have a massive supply of that.

“I’m sorry, Adrienne…I’m so sorry!” whined Scott as he sank into a deep, haunted sleep.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 16

Linda Williams sat comfortably on her couch enjoying a bowl of wheat cereal while watching her daily dose of MSNBC. While her “pet project” Scott George no doubt spent his Saturday in misery, Linda felt guilty about being able to enjoy hers, so much so that she could barely concentrate on the world news. “I sure hope Tom is enjoying his little triumph,” she said softly to herself before taking another bite of cereal.

The rampant pounding on her front door jolted her so much that she spilled her food on the hardwood floors. Her spine tingled at the sounds of a familiar voice screaming, “Linda! Open the damn door! We need to talk!” The pounding grew progressively louder with every second Tom Simpson was forced to wait. “I know you’re in there! No sense in hiding from me!”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” belted Linda as she marched over to the front door in bare feet and a nightgown. Sure enough, Tom stood there with his fists balled up and his teeth gnashed together like a venomous snake waiting to pounce. “This better not be what I think it’s about.”

Taking labored breaths, Tom let himself in the house much to Linda’s confused dismay. He said, “You need to have a little chat with Scott George. Oh, he showed up to detention like he said he would. It’s what he did after that made me so...UGH!”

“Two things,” said Linda with her arms crossed. “One, you don’t come barging into my house without me letting you in first. And two, once you’re in my home, you don’t demand things from me like you own the damn place. Both of those things could have gotten you arrested today and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a cage, quite frankly.”

With a sickening smile, Tom said, “Arrested?  You’re going to have me arrested? Well, you better bring the entire police force and the SWAT team, because you’re going to fucking need them!”

“Well, look at you, tough guy. The same Tom Simpson who’s so anal retentive about swearing is suddenly unleashing some nasty words at me. If hypocrisy was against the law, your ass would have been gone a long time ago.” Linda pointed at her front door and barked, “Seriously, you’d better get out of my home before things go south. Get a massage. Sit in a hot tub. Meditate. Do something relaxing for the first time in your life and quit acting like a small child!”

“Speaking of small children, guess what your teacher’s pet did to my daughter,” said Tom while grabbing his boss’s arms. “They had sex behind my back. Lots and lots of sex! Can you imagine that slimy little creature Scott putting his lips and other body parts on someone else?” Tom shivered for extra dramatic effect.

Linda ripped her arms away from Tom and said, “That’s not my problem, Tom, so quit trying to make it mine. While I don’t condone underage sex, there’s not really much we can do about it. If Scott and Adrienne are in love, so be it. Don’t forget: you were in love at one point in your life. And then you threw it all away in a disgraceful divorce. Is that where you’re getting this attitude from?”

Tom pulled his glasses off and shouted, “You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage!”

Linda remained stone-faced as she stood up to her employee. “So why don’t you educate me about why you’re so upset. You are an educator, after all. That’s part of your job description. Tell me why you suddenly care about your daughter’s life now that she’s completely out of yours.” Tom’s haunted face stared off into the distance as he refused to respond. “Tom! Tom! Ground control to Major Tom! Hello?!”

“How old is Scott?” asked Tom.

“Eighteen. Why?”

Tom’s insane smile widened and was accompanied by clownish chuckles. “I got him! I got him by the balls!” He grabbed Linda’s arms once again and excitedly explained his viewpoint to her. “Think about this for a minute: Scott George is eighteen years old and Adrienne is only fifteen. The two of them openly confessed to having sex. That means…Scott just broke the law! Oh, this is too good! This is too fucking good!”

Once again shoving Tom away, Linda said, “Give me a break, you sick freak. Scott’s no more of a pedophile than you are a good history teacher. Three years difference between them doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world.” Shoving a finger in his face, Linda said in a low, angry tone, “I’m warning you, Tom, don’t you go through with this so-called case of yours. This is beyond vindictiveness. You’re talking about ruining a young man’s life before it even has the chance to begin, all because of a stupid technicality that shouldn’t be there!”

“Oh, Linda, you’re just as naïve as Scott. For better or worse, the justice system in this country doesn’t care about circumstances. It doesn’t matter when young people are applying for a job. It doesn’t matter when they get suspended from school. It won’t matter when they’re sitting in the defendant’s chair with all eyes of the world judging them. The law is the law and it will be enforced. If you don’t believe me, ask any war protestor who’s sitting in jail over causing a traffic jam.”

Arms folded and death stare locked on her target, Linda sneered, “I’m warning you, Tom, if you press charges against Scott and turn his life upside down, I will fire you. I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to give you a pink slip. I think I may have just found it.”

“Well, look at you, Miss Social Justice Warrior,” said Tom with his hands on his hips. “You’re all about getting justice for women on college campuses who get gang raped at frat parties. You’re all about sending Alan Young to jail for trying to get away with less. But the minute statutory rape takes place and it involves one of your favorite students, you’re so quick to cover it up. Who’s the hypocrite now?”

“There are degrees, Tom!” shouted Linda. “There are circumstances! I don’t give a damn what the law says! Everybody is different! Every case is different! You can’t just paint them all with the same brush! Lord knows what else you’re applying that twisted logic to! Is that how you teach slavery in your history class?! By painting all black slaves with the same brush?!”

“Wow, your naivety really does astound me, Linda,” chuckled Tom while shaking his head. “Don’t you get it by now? This country has gone through the ugliest history imaginable and not a goddamn thing has changed. The ugliness never went away, Linda. It just showed itself in a different way. The same applies to the law, for better or worse. Unless Scott has the debating skills to back it up, he’s not going to make it with the wolves in that courtroom. I’ve tried to toughen him up to the world around him, but he’d rather be sheltered. Well, they don’t shelter people in the darkest parts of prison, I’ll tell you that right now!”

“Just know this, Tom…” said Linda with a trembling voice. “You will not have the support of this school or any of its officials. And just like your classes, you won’t have the support of your own pupils. You want to win this war? You’re going to win it on your own. Clean your belongings out of your office first thing Monday morning. You’re fired, Tom. Get out of my house!”

Tom’s maniacal chuckling caused him to double over before he said, “That’s okay, Linda. I don’t need anybody’s help to win this case. The law is on my side and that’s the only ally I’ll ever need. I don’t need you. I don’t need my ex-wife. I sure as hell don’t need my daughter’s help. Scott George is going to crash and burn because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants like our sex ed program says to do.”

Before Tom could cross the threshold to the outside world, Linda stopped him with one last thing to say. “No matter how this court case turns out, whether you’re triumphant or defeated, just know that you’ll have nothing you want by the time it’s all over. Once Scott George is behind bars, there will be another rebellious and open-minded student to take his place. And another. And another. You’re not going to send a good message to your students by going through with this petty trial. One of these days, Tom, the hate alone will be enough to give you a stress-induced heart attack.”

Fiddling with the door knob, Tom looked down at his feet and said, “You know, Linda, some people prefer to die while having the best sex of their lives or doing some kind of extreme sports activity. Me? I think you just gave me an idea of how I’d like to die someday. See you soon!” Tom closed the door behind him and walked back to his car, leaving Linda Williams in a cataclysm of her own tears.