Zoe Bee: School Is Over, But Learning Never Ends

 

Lyndin Wheatstone, Innkeeper and Wheatstone Patriarch from "The King Smells Like Formaldehyde"

 

King Nigel Hargreaves, Leader of the anti-Oxford Comma Crusade...and a Guy Who Needs a Social Life

 

Spoon Feed

The yellow monkeys love to do kung fu

The curtains are blue, because they set the mood

The diamonds are red, they adorn your boobs

Some food for thought that’ll put you off food

 

What’s the matter? Didn’t make a lick of sense?

You’re a fickle motherfucker, always on the fence

Do you want to be fed with a silver spoon?

A jar of Gerber, hope your tummy has room

 

I can’t make heads or tails of my own symbolism

I threw it all together, ‘cause I thought I had a vision

Come to think of it, I need to be spoon fed too

Open up the hangar for an airplane or two

 

Open wide like you’re taking a trip to the dentist

Here’s an infodump to overload your senses

Dumping is something you do with your ass

Any wonder why we’re stuck in a middle school class?

 

I hope I’ve got an out, because I’m on the spectrum

I know it could never be a shield or a weapon

When the C+ stares into my eyes like a demon

I don’t get mad or rich, I want to get even

 

It’s me and my madness against the world

Some authors wear pentagrams, some authors wear pearls

How do I stand out a cut above the rest?

Do better on the scan sheet bubble filling test

 

But that shit don’t work, they just laugh

They always remind you to forge your own path

When tax time comes, you got to do your own math

They put you through the wringer, leave you crawling with your fingers

 

I don’t expect the world to know what it’s like

To feel like a stranger at an open mic night

To feel like puking at the thought of being famous

Keep thumbing your nose, go ahead and shame us

All You Ever Gave Me

If the stack of papers on Rosalina Grayson’s desk got any higher, her apartment would need a sunroof. Her grading assignments would be even more repetitive since her students insisted on using the “raindrops on the window” device every…single…time. In her mind, the definition of insanity wasn’t doing the same thing and expecting different results. It was grading the same papers and expecting a reprieve. “I need a bottle of beer. I need one now.”

She strolled down the street to El Segundo Convenience not giving two shits or a flying fuck if her fleece pants and wool sweater gave off an air of laziness. She washed her long brown hair that morning, so that was a plus. Hopefully, the smell of deodorant would cancel out the booze odor that was about to float from her mouth like an acid rain cloud. Being single and having no roommates would have made masking the beer stench obsolete, but still…

She adjusted her glasses and trudged through the entrance of the convenience store, bell clinging, but nobody calling out to welcome her. Then again, being welcome wasn’t a feeling she was used to among students she gave a shitty grade to. The more she dwelled on the inevitable, the more appealing that bottle of Olde English was. In fact, it seemed to have a heavenly golden glow the closer Rosalina got to it. When she untwisted the cap and took a sip, it was like liquid heaven soothing her dry throat.

“You can’t drink beer in the store,” said the clerk behind the counter.

“Sorry about that. How much do I owe you?” Rosalina approached the counter and her eyes lit up just a little bit when she saw who was jockeying the register. “Raf? Rafael Ortiz? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Miss Grayson.” Underneath his puffy black hair was a facial expression that reeked of tiredness and disappointment. His ratty gray T-shirt and faded blue jeans showed that he gave even less of a shit about this job than he did before. “That’ll be three dollars for the beer.”

Rosalina dug a five dollar bill out of her pocket and paid for the beer, continuing to drink it now that it was accounted for. “How’ve you been? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Congratulations on getting that degree.”

“Eh...” Rafael crossed his arms and rubbed his temples like he was trying to send a subtle message wanting to be left alone.

“So…what are you writing these days?”

“Nothing.”

Rosalina chuckled. “No, seriously, come on, what are you really writing these days? You’re an English major. You’ve got to be writing something.”

Rafael’s tone was slightly amplified when he placed his hands on the counter in frustration. “That’s what I said, I’m not writing anything. At all.”

Rosalina gave an awkward frown. “Oh…I see…So let me see if I’ve got this straight: you spent all that money getting an English degree and you don’t write anymore? Raf, you had potential.”

“I had all the potential in the world, but all you ever gave me was a fucking C+.” He went back to folding his arms and sulking.

“Wow. Do you talk to all women like that or just the ones who give you legitimate criticism? See, that’s your problem, Raf, and that’s what a lot of students these days don’t get: whenever a teacher gives you a mediocre grade, it’s never personal.” Rafael gave her an incredulous look. “Okay, maybe not with all teachers, but for my class, it was never about getting personal. Just because I gave you a grade you didn’t like, doesn’t mean I didn’t think you had potential.”

“Potential doesn’t pay for groceries, Miss Grayson, much less for a bottle of Olde English.”

“That’s true. And that’s why you have to keep working on your craft, so that you don’t get mediocre ratings anymore. The more you do something, the better you’ll get at it. If nothing else, you’ve got a degree that you can wave in people’s faces whenever they give you a hard time.”

Rafael slammed his palms on the counter, leaving a tiny scratch in the glass above the lotto tickets. “A degree? A degree? You mean the world’s most expensive piece of paper?”

“Okay, I’ll admit that college is way too expensive for my liking. I’d love nothing more than to have progressive politicians do something about this, but…”

“It wasn’t just you, Miss Grayson.”

“…Pardon me?” She took another sip of beer hoping he wasn’t going to say what she thought he was going to say.

“You weren’t the only one who thought of me like that. You want to know what my GPA was when I graduated from college?” Rafael leaned in closer. “Two…point…five…”

“…Ouch…yeah, that stings…”

“It does sting. And I happen to be allergic to venomous stings.”

In the middle of sipping her beer, Rosalina gave an approving, “Mmm!” Once she had a clear mouth, she pointed at Rafael and said, “See that? That’s a good line. That shows you have potential. Personally, I would have taken out the word venomous, but other than that, you could use that line in a story someday. Or a poem, either way.”

“Miss Grayson…listen to me…” Rafael’s voice lowered to an intense hush. “I don’t have potential. I never did. That’s why I work here now: because it’s the only job that will let me make at least a little bit of a dent in my student loan debt. Nobody would pay a penny for the words I’ve written. In fact, one teacher said I should be the one paying him.”

“Okay, that’s a little overboard, I agree, but…”

“Miss Grayson…I’m going to die behind this counter. That’s not a suicide threat. That’s not a prediction. That’s a prophecy. This is the only job I’ll ever be good at…what? Something wrong?”

Rosalina sighed in disappointment. “You forgot to give me my change for the beer.”

Rafael opened the register and gave her two bucks. “I guess that doesn’t make me a very good clerk, does it. Almost worthy of a C+, right?”

She tucked her head and almost missed her pocket when she put away the change. “Actually, I was thinking more like a D-, but they’re practically the same thing…at least in your mind, anyways. I’m sorry that my class was a waste of time for you. Have a nice life, Rafael. If you ever want to change your mind…I’m in the directory…maybe…I don’t know…” She sighed in defeat. “Goodbye, Raf…I’m sorry you don’t believe in yourself…”

“It was bound to happen one way or another.”

“I guess so.” Rosalina trudged out of the store sipping her beer the entire way. The more she thought about that conversation, the bigger her swigs became. She didn’t even care if she was stopped by a cop for public intoxication. Maybe she belonged in prison for the crime of denying an entire generation their dreams. She crossed the street, not caring about the honking car almost hitting her. She was lost in her own world as she continued sipping her beer.

At first she thought nothing of the screaming going on in the convenience store. Something about opening the “goddamn register”? Something about not being a “hero”? None of those things mattered nearly as much as the sound of gunfire, which caused Rosalina to drop her beer bottle on the ground and retreat for cover behind a garbage can. She held her knees to her chest and shivered while the robbers fired even more bullets and swore like sailors. The crash of the register echoed in her ears and made her tuck her head further into her knees. Her only saving grace was the sound of gangsters laughing and driving away with their stolen loot.

Rafael was right. He was going to die behind that counter and he just did. He never did have potential because corpses didn’t pen the next great American classic. Rosalina wanted to think that a necromancer in somebody’s story would bring Rafael back to life and make his memory immortal again…but immortality was never meant for mediocre students. All that promise…gone. His soul was crushed by his 2.5 GPA and his body was crushed by a hailstorm of bullets.

All Rosalina had to say about this was…”I need another beer…”

She could have just as easily went back into the store to grab a freebie, but she didn’t want to see Rafael’s body mangled by bullets. She couldn’t even hear him breathe. All those grating noises…and then there was just silence. No spitting up blood. No shallow breaths. He was gone. All gone. But in reality, it was the college, Rosalina included, who pulled the trigger, not the robbers.

“I definitely need another beer…”

I'm Not Laughing

BEEP! “Dr. Love, your twelve o’clock is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

Claire Love sat in her easy chair with her high heeled feet propped up and a cup of rosemary tea in her hands. The smell relaxed her senses, but not enough to keep the barrage of questions from swirling in her mind. How would she tell Alexander Percival what she needed to tell him? What would his reaction be? Would this put a strain in their therapist-client relationship? She took a sip of hot tea and closed her eyes as she waited for her client to enter her office. Just to show she was serious about trying to relax, she pressed a button on her remote and played gentle piano music on the stereo. Still not enough to put her at ease.

There was a knock on her door and upon being told to come in, Alexander Percival waddled in the room with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and a worried expression that equaled his therapist’s. “So what’s the emergency, Dr. Love?”

“Thank you for coming by on such short notice, Alex. Please, have a seat. Get comfortable.”

He took his gray hooded sweatshirt off and hung it across his own easy chair, complete with its own footrest. His dismal expression told the story of not being able to relax despite the cushy chair’s comfortable features. He sat with his spine hunched over and his fingers drumming on the coffee cup.

Claire placed her tea mug on the coffee table and took deep breaths as she tried to come up with the right words to say. “Alex…I want you to know that…I enjoy these sessions of ours. I really do. I enjoy learning new things about you. I enjoy giving you healing when you need it the most. Nothing will change that. However…I want to preface this by saying…I know you don’t actually have hostile feelings towards women.”

“…What? What are you talking about?”

Claire pulled an iPad out of the coffee table’s drawer and scrolled through it as she explained herself. “I went through your Twitter feed last night. I saw something there that upset me deeply. This Tweet goes a while back in your history, but it’s still there and it still gives me chills every time I read it. In this Tweet, you’re doing a parody of feminine hygiene product commercials. And…my stomach hurts reading this out loud…you said…‘If it smells like dead fish and you’re nowhere near the ocean, buy a shipping container full of…Vagisil Pussy Wipes.’”

Alex’s massive hand trembled so badly that he spilled a little bit of coffee on his blue jeans. He gave a tiny yelp and wiped the stain off with the belly of his shirt.

“It doesn’t end there,” continued Claire, swallowing a wad of saliva. “In a similar Tweet, you refer to tampons as Tampax Tube Steaks. You also refer to maxi pads as Blood Huggies.” Holding her palm against her aching stomach, she placed the iPad back on the coffee table and said, “Alex, do you see where I’m going with this? I know you have a weird sense of humor, but this goes beyond comedy. Comedy can’t be comedy if it’s not funny. These kinds of jokes will do more damage than good.”

Alex downed the rest of his coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the rubbish bin. He hunched over and ran his trembling fingers through his thick brown hair. He seemed to have a more difficult time coming up with the right words than his therapist. She even detected a tiny tear dropping down where his coffee stain was.

“You know what this conversation reminds me of?” he said with a shaky voice. “It reminds me of being back in college with a creative writing professor who wanted me to submit only G-rated stuff. I couldn’t have any R-rated fun around her and she threw it in my face all the time. I gave her what she wanted…and all I got was a lousy C+ in return.” He lifted his blushing face. “I feel like you’re trying to censor me, Dr. Love. I don’t want to be censored.”

“Alex…listen to me….this is not about being R-rated, G-rated, PG-rated, or whatever. This is about using common sense. Your Tweet was buried so far beneath the rest of your history that you dodged a bullet when it came to getting backlash. But what if the wrong people saw that Tweet? What if you finally managed to find a girlfriend you liked and she read that? What if your boss read that? What if your writing became famous one day and a media outlet picked up your Tweet? Are you really prepared to defend those jokes against the ones who mean the most to you?”

Alex’s voice grew even shakier than before. “So what? You want me to ask you for forgiveness? You think I don’t know how the online mob mentality works? I could ask for forgiveness over and over again and it won’t make a difference. I could literally be on my hands and knees and it wouldn’t be enough. I gave up on asking for forgiveness a long time ago.”

Claire took a sip of tea to settle her anxious tummy. “Alex, you don’t have to ask me for forgiveness. I already forgive you. It’s not my job to cast stones at you. Unconditional love is a prerequisite for being a sex therapist. But you’re right about one thing: those other people might not be as forgiving as me. Which is why it’s important that you do something about this Tweet before everything spirals out of control.”

“You want me to delete it? Why? So that I can prove the conformists and gatekeepers of the world right? So that I can remind them that they can do whatever they want to me without resistance? This is a free country, Dr. Love. I don’t have to justify my first amendment rights to anybody.”

“That’s true. But there’s something you should know about the first amendment. It protects you from the legal consequences of free speech, not the social consequences. In other words, you won’t go to jail for anything you say as long as you don’t defame anybody. But free speech is a two-way street. If you have the right to make sexist jokes online, then your critics have the right to respond to you however they want, not the least of which is labeling you a social pariah. Alex, if you want to be in a creative field, you have to learn to take criticism gracefully.”

Claire could tell that Alex was doing his damnedest to hold back his tears and shield his red face. He shook some more as he refused to engage his sex therapist.

“Alex, you don’t hate women. I know you don’t. That’s not who you are. But when I read those Tweets, as a woman, I think to myself…I don’t feel safe around this person anymore.”

Another small tear splashed onto Alex’s jeans. It was obvious to Clare that he couldn’t stand breaking down in front of a woman whose job it was to build self-esteem. He pulled himself up and staggered towards the door.

“Wait, don’t go!” Claire pleaded. “Please. Just do me this favor.” Handing him the iPad, she said, “Delete what you’ve posted. This isn’t about censorship. This is about your life. This hatred is not worth defending. You’re better than this.”

“Better than what, exactly?” said Alex with a sniff. “Better than a C+ student who couldn’t hack it with a G-rating?”

“Please, Alex. I know you’re hurting now, but you’ll hurt even more if this joke circulates to the wrong people. Nobody’s asking you to change who you are. I’m just asking you to use some common sense. Please…delete these messages. Do it for the women in your life who trust you and love you.”

Alex’s breathing became labored as he wiped another tiny droplet out of his eyes. He kept his back to Claire as if to stall for an answer, as if this choice was the most difficult one he’d ever made. She could see that he thought his individuality was on the line and she knew nobody should have to compromise that. But in the end, Alex turned to face her without lifting his head. He reached for the iPad and sat back down to do his work. After a few more long seconds of stalling and refusing to crack, he tapped the screen a few times and handed the iPad back to his therapist.

“It’s done. The Tweets are gone.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank you so much for doing that for me. How do you feel?”

Still refusing to lift his head, he answered, “Hurt…defeated…controlled…embarrassed. I’m an English student, I should have more words for it somewhere. Humiliated…sorrowful….”

“I know you’re hurting, Alex, but whether you know it or not, you did the right thing by deleting those Tweets. You’re not a sexist. You’re just a guy who made a mistake. You don’t need to be punished for it by the online mob.”

Unable to hold back any longer, Alex’s tears came more frequently and his voice grew even shakier. Pouting sympathetically, Claire crossed the room and cradled his head in her arms. “It’s okay, Alex. It’s okay. I forgive you. Let it all out. You are an amazing human being. You are sweet. You are kind. But most of all…you are loved. After our sessions are over, I’m sure you’ll find a lovely woman who’ll agree with all of those things I’ve said.”

“Crying sucks. Goddamn, I’m such a snowflake.”

“No, you’re not. Snowflake is a derogatory term for a natural emotion. You’re just a highly sensitive person. And to be honest…I like that in a man. Now, what shall we work on today?”

The embrace was broken and Alex snorted more salty liquids up his nose while wiping his tears with his shirt sleeve. “Can I have some of that tea?”

“Of course you can, Alex.”

Incelbordination, Chapter 21

The penultimate smack in the face for Oswald was being forced to go to therapy. The ultimate smack in the face was knowing it would affect his final grade in English if he didn’t. He must have read that email from Valerie Sand fifteen hundred times, but his fist-tightening anger didn’t subside any more than the first time. “Who the fuck does she think she is?” he wondered aloud as he swung his little feet in the computer chair. He took care not to pound his fists, for they were still healing slowly. He took one last look at his bruised knuckles and wondered when he would be able to punch the “Sand bag” again. “Therapy…I don’t fucking need therapy!” he huffed as he got dressed and exited the dorm.

The little guy still wore his medical boot and still had a modicum of pain shoot throughout his foot with each step, but the wincing and limping were minor prices to pay for his recovery. At least the therapist’s office wouldn’t be too far from here. But even so, it was still his longest trek due to how many people around him still had those ghostly expressions. Maybe they needed therapy too. Maybe they were already going to therapy and it didn’t do diddly-squat. Did they have their grades depend on this too or was Oswald the odd man out?

Oswald didn’t want to admit it at first, but when he first arrived at the therapist’s office, he was already comforted by the atmosphere around him. Harp music to relax his ears, receptionists talking in their best ASMR voices, paintings on the wall of gorgeous pink sunsets, and not one stereotypical “cray-cray” person sitting in the waiting room. “Good morning! How can I help you?” asked one of the receptionists with her sweetest smile.

“My name is Oswald Crow. I was told to come here by my English teacher Valerie Sand. She might have already scheduled an appointment for me, but I’m not sure.” Oswald just then figured out how much venom was oozing from his mouth as he spoke those words. It must have been like talking to a spitting cobra for this poor young lady behind the desk.

Nonetheless, she typed away at her computer and never once lost her gentle disposition. “Okay, Oswald, I’ll let Dr. Jealous know you’re here. Take a seat in the waiting room anywhere you like.”

“Thank you.” The waiting area wasn’t exactly packed to the brim with traumatized patients, but even so it was hard for Oswald to pick a seat without getting in someone’s personal space. This was his strategy all throughout high school and college: pick a seat completely isolated from the rest of the group. He could’ve sat next to the cute chick texting on her phone. He could’ve sat next to the fat guy in the Star Wars T-shirt enjoying a bag of Doritos. He could’ve sat next to the middle aged lady gazing languidly into the distance. So few options, yet he had to choose. Or did he?

“Oswald Crow?” said a gentle feminine voice, which caused the little guy to jump a little bit before clutching his pumping chest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Kristen Jealous. I’ll be your therapist today.” She and Oswald shook hands. “Follow me into my office.”

Oswald couldn’t help but wonder why this lovely woman wasn’t wearing shoes. In fact, the sweat pants and Mickey Mouse sweatshirt didn’t exactly scream therapist from the mountaintop. Something was fishy about this whole setup and it all became clear once Oswald noticed a bed in the center of the room instead of a stereotypical leather couch. “What’s going on here?”

“Well, when Ms. Sand made your therapy appointment for you, she figured you could use this specific kind of treatment. Our session is going to last two hours and it’s going to be cuddle therapy.”

“C…cuddle therapy?”

Placing her soft hand on Oswald’s shoulder, Kristen said, “Yes. We’re going to cuddle for two hours and try to get you to open up. There’s one ground rule before we begin. This is a nonsexual activity, so any perverted comments or actions will result in the termination of this session. By that same token, the whole purpose of this treatment is to make you as comfortable as possible. If you don’t like something I’m doing, please let me know.”

“…C….C…Cuddle therapy?”

Kristen gave a closed-mouth giggle and said, “Don’t worry about a thing, Oswald. I’ll take good care of you. I know you’re nervous, but you don’t have to be. I promise you that this will be one hundred-percent safe. When we’re done, you’ll be nice and relaxed.”

“…O…Okay, um…”

Gently squeezing the back of his neck, Kristen said, “Do whatever you have to do to get comfortable and I’ll be waiting for you on the bed.” With a few more pats of the little guy’s shoulders, Dr. Jealous plopped down on the bed and patted Oswald’s half of the mattress.

Taking a few deep breaths, Oswald removed his T-shirt and footwear before hobbling to his side of the bed. He surprised himself by how easy it was to pull his body up without assistance. Maybe he was healing nicely after all. He rolled on his side with his back facing Dr. Jealous while the longhaired therapist pressed her body against his and ran her fingernails through his now spiked hair.

Any nervousness about this process and any ill will Oswald had towards Valerie Sand melted away when the tingling sensations ran through his scalp. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, already sinking into the bed.

“See? There’s nothing wrong with clean physical contact,” said Kristen while squeezing Oswald’s shoulders and spine. “Now, do you know why you’re here today?”

“Because my English teacher thinks I’m a fruitcake?”

“Couldn’t be further from the truth. Besides, I don’t like to use that word to describe my patients. It’s very derogatory.”

Oswald’s face reddened when he said, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I can understand your frustration. Your teacher tells me that you have a hard time letting people into your life, that you struggle with loneliness, that your loving needs aren’t being met.”

“Am I that obvious?” asked Oswald in a progressively relaxed voice. “People don’t like to be around me because of who I am and what I look like. They think I’m some kind of circus sideshow. I’ve even heard stories about drunken frat boys throwing my kind across bar counters for fun and games. I’m angry, Dr. Jealous. I don’t let people in because they’ll just stab me in the fucking heart.”

Transitioning into a waist hug, Kristen said, “While I do admit there are some guys in this world who think that way about people with dwarfism, it’s not the whole population. Most people are good to each other. Most people would look at someone like you and smile their friendliest smile. You might have to go out of your way to find these kindred spirits, but they exist and they’re waiting for you.”

“I’ve only found a handful of people on campus who fit that bill. Even then they don’t have any qualms about leaving my life and letting me rot.” A single tear rolled down Oswald’s face and Kristen wiped it away with her finger before working on his shoulders again.

“They leave your life because you don’t pursue them. Truth is, they’re probably hurting just as badly as you are. They don’t make the first move because they’re the ones who’re afraid of rejection, not you. I’ve had many patients come and go who had the exact same attitude towards social situations as you. They yearn for love of some kind, but they don’t pursue it because they’re afraid of getting their hearts broken.”

“They’re right to feel that way.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t feel that way about you,” said Kristen while resting her head against Oswald’s shoulder. “I know it’s my job to make my patients feel good about themselves, but I wouldn’t have this job in the first place if I didn’t feel some sort of empathy towards my clients. That’s kind of a requirement.”

Oswald smiled. “True.”

“You know…on the day you’re able to find a girlfriend, she’s going to want to cuddle with you a lot. She might even call you her little teddy bear. It’s not a knock against your dwarfism. It’s a celebration of cuteness.”

Oswald’s face glowed like a nuclear rod as he did his best to hide his smile.

Dr. Jealous continued, “I really do believe there’s somebody out there for you. Someone who you can share opinions with. Someone you can share moments with. It doesn’t even have to be someone romantic. It could just be a friend who cares about you. Friends can engage in physical contact too. That’s what I want you to think of me as: your friend. You can tell me anything you want.”

“…Anything?”

“Anything you want.”

Oswald didn’t even know where to begin. So many thoughts swirling his head and this was his one opportunity to get it all off his chest. It took him a while to come up with a launching point, but when he did, another tear rolled down his cheek. “I almost became an incel.”

“You what?”

Holding his thumb and forefinger together, he said, “I was this close to joining Incelbordination. I was lonely and scared. I didn’t think anybody in this world wanted me, so it only felt right to be a part of this. I wanted to hurt the world so badly. I wanted them to feel my pain and my agony. But…I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. And now I have nothing to show for it.”

Wiping away more of Oswald’s tears with her fingers, Kristen said, “You do have something to show for it: wisdom. You’ve seen the worst side of humanity and you didn’t give in. You almost did as you’ve just said, but you overcame that. That alone takes courage. You’re a hero, Oswald. You can inspire people in a positive way if you so chose.”

“How? Nobody will listen to me and anybody that does just thinks of me as a walking C+.”

“C+ or no C+, you’re still going to graduate from this place one day. And when you do, all the pain and suffering will be worth it. College can oftentimes be a depressing experience, but for you, it can be an opportunity to grow into something greater than yourself. Your teachers don’t care about the grades you get as much as they care about the person you become once you leave their classrooms.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Doubt is a natural emotion, but not if it gets in the way of your greatest ambitions. I want you to be happy, Oswald. I want you to make friends, make love, and be the sweetest teddy bear you can be.”

Oswald’s tears turned into a full-on crying session and Kristen Jealous was there to hold him every step of the way. Scratching his back, rubbing his shoulders, playing with his hair, these things made crying a comfortable part of the process. For the first time in forever, the little guy felt secure. He felt loved. He didn’t want to leave the comfort of this room despite the fact that the session was only two hours long. “Why does this have to last for only two hours?” he sobbed aloud.

“Because I have other clients to see who need my help just as much as you do. Otherwise…I’d cuddle you for as long as you needed it. This doesn’t have to be our last session. In fact, I hope to see more of you in the future…you little teddy bear.”

“I love you.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Sorry…I’m really sorry about that.”

“Wasn’t the first time somebody told me that by accident. Won’t be the last either. You’re safe in my arms, Oswald. Cry as much as you want. Heal as much as you need to.”

The rest of the two hour session was spent doing those things: crying and healing. And it felt good to do that after so many years of loneliness and isolation.

Incelbordination, Chapter 18

Oswald Crow didn’t sign up for college just so he could sleep through the whole thing. He didn’t lose his parents to a drunk driver pretending to be a born-again Christian so that he could run into another fruit basket with the macho name Antero Magnus. College was supposed to be a learning experience, yet he saw his teachers not as mentors, but as obstacles. Maybe there was some truth to what Valerie Sand had been saying to him this whole time. Maybe she shouldn’t have had a piece of gym equipment named after her. Maybe…just maybe he really was loved in this world.

Rather than reflect on his many nights spent in the hospital (where his toes were surgically reattached and his ribs were held in place with Canisteo tape), Oswald wanted to go right back to work on his homework assignments. No misogynist criminals were going to hinder his process. No lack of marijuana was going to cloud his mind. It was do or die for the dwarf and he wanted to graduate as soon as possible. Summer was almost upon him. He needed to fix that C- paper. With a little more life experience under his belt and some hardcore Googling, his aching fingers danced across the keyboard to produce something he could actually smile about, even if only sadly.

He emailed the corrected paper to Valerie and sat in his computer chair staring at the medical boot on his surgically repaired foot. “Goddamn, that’s going to cost me,” he said. “Where the fuck is all this money supposed to come from?” Even successful authors needed extra employment every now and then. Oswald couldn’t picture himself sweeping popcorn off of movie theater floors or dipping frozen fries in boiling oil. Then again, he knew he had to start somewhere. The bottom of the ladder would be a welcome place if he could ever find it. He had weeks to think about it since graduation was on the horizon.

As Oswald trudged across campus with his medical boot and his cumbersome trench coat, he couldn’t help but notice the ghostly faces of everyone around him. No doubt that trauma was tearing them apart from the inside. “Goddamn you, Antero,” the dwarf said to himself. Even he felt like a wraith haunting the college grounds. One minute he was a hero and the next he was a part of this graveyard-like background. These people couldn’t cheer for him because they didn’t have the psychological energy to. As much as depression tried to tell him otherwise, he wanted to be understanding rather than dismissive of their “ignorance”.

The glass door from Valerie’s classroom was still in shambles, but the inside had improved quite a bit since Oswald was last here playing the role of hero. New desks were brought in. Wheeled chairs from the computer lab were also part of the furniture. There was even one lucky lady who got to sit in a fuzzy recliner chair. That lucky lady was none other than Nikita Johnson, whose black eye healed quite nicely over the past few days. She still had golden patches here and there and she tucked her chin to show her psychological frustration, but she was otherwise okay. Oswald wanted to take a seat next to her and tell her it would be alright, but ultimately left well enough alone when he sat in the back like he always did.

Valerie Sand stood at the head of the classroom also with her chin tucked, but was the only one brave enough to speak first. “Good morning, class. I know I don’t say this often enough, but thank you all for being here today. It’s been a bad few weeks as you can tell from the smashed door and whatnot. Some of our classmates couldn’t make it here today, either because of their traumatic experiences or because they’re no longer among the living. For those of you who were fortunate enough to live through these terrorist attacks, I have three words for you: life goes on.”

She wrote those words on the chalkboard and underlined them for extra emphasis. “It never ceases to amaze me what kinds of events bring people together. It could be music. It could be comedy. It could be theater. But in this case, as sad as it may seem, it took a war to bring us together. It’s because of our collective strength that we can truly say life goes on. We give each other the strength to push forward. We cannot divide each other at a time like this. Yes, Antero Magnus is finally behind bars. Yes, this is the first terrorist attack we’ve had on campus and we were wildly unprepared for it. But life goes on. It went on after 9/11. It went on after the various school shootings that took place around the country. Life goes on because we refuse to let negativity reign supreme. We are here for each other.”

Pointing her finger around the classroom, she said, “Each and every one of you.” She then looked Oswald dead in the eyes, “You included, Mr. Crow…you are all loved. If you have to find that love in the comfort of strangers, so be it. But it is there if you look for it. Help awaits you if you want it. It’s never too late to take care of yourself and each other. Look around you, ladies and gentlemen. These people are your friends. They’re your secondary family. Antero Magnus and the rest of Incelbordination failed to see that and they paid the price for it. Could they have been helped? It’s a debatable point, but I’d like to think we’re all capable of being helped at one point or another. I want to see the good in everyone. I want to believe that Antero wasn’t always a psychotic murderer. Something inside him snapped and he became this monster we know today. Don’t ever stray from the path of love. It’s never worth the pain.”

The entire classroom’s eyes, Valerie’s included, welled up with tears, but no sobbing took place. She thanked her students and they all applauded for her, including Oswald even though he still had sore hands. Making sure his teacher’s words were appreciated was more important than minor physical pain.

Once the clapping died down, Valerie said, “And because life goes on, it just so happens that I have your papers graded. I see a lot of improvements among you, some more than others, but then again, this is not a contest where the best grade wins. All that matters to me is that you’ve learned something from being in my class. I don’t care what grades you get after college is over. I’m more concerned with what kind of people you all will become. And that, my friends, is the biggest improvement of all.”

Oswald couldn’t help but give a sad smile at that sentiment. There was hope for him after all. There was hope for this world. There was hope for the future. The difficulty of believing his elders had finally been lifted from the dwarf’s shoulders. Valerie passed the corrected papers back to all of her students and of course, because Oswald sat in the back, he got his last. His anxiety bubbled up just a little bit, but it was more like a cup of tea rather than a raging lava pit. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of tea right at this moment. Such a relaxing thing to drink on a ghostly day like today. Maybe it would help his mental illnesses if only for a little bit.

The good news for Oswald was that upon receiving his paper, he was no longer a bastardized C- student. Instead that minus sign had a slash through the middle and his sad smile turned into a look of despair. He went from a C- to a C+ after Valerie just gave a speech about how everybody improved so much. Oswald’s inner voices told him to just tear the paper in half and toss it in the garbage, maybe spit some mucous onto it first…or piss on it right in front of the rest of the class.

But he did none of those things because he knew such reactions would prove nothing to a teacher who already made up her mind about him. Oswald felt no need to alienate himself further from his peers, so he quietly tucked the C+ paper into his backpack and maintained a stoic expression. If what Valerie said was true, then the C+ would be nothing compared to the feeling of becoming a new person. But was it true? Did Oswald really learn anything from being wrapped around Antero’s finger this whole time?

While Oswald’s mind didn’t race nearly as hard is it normally did after receiving a bad grade, he did find it hard to concentrate on that day’s lecture. He still didn’t participate in the conversation, but then again, not a lot of students did that day. This wasn’t just candles burning at both ends. This terrorist attack truly did take its toll on the student body. But life goes on as Valerie wisely said. Life goes on…

By the time Oswald could gather his wits together, Valerie was already dismissing her class. One-by-one they filed out of the room, but the dwarf just sat in his desk in silence. The teacher said his name several times, but didn’t get his attention with a sharp tone this time around. Instead she told him, “It’s good to have you back, Mr. Crow. This place isn’t the same without you.”

All the dwarf could do about that was nod like a bobble-head and gingerly leave the classroom. The garbage bin was right there. He could rebel against the system once again if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He walked right passed the teacher and her bin and gazed into the pink clouds, which looked lovely in an environment where the student body were paranoid and peaceful at the same time.

Incelbordination, Chapter 9

When the Monday morning sunshine burst through his window, Oswald Crow contemplated taking the day off. He could tell Valerie Sand that he had come down with food poisoning or something. Then again, if he pulled that sneaky trick, the C- would become a D+ in no time at all. He wasn’t sick, but he’d have to take his medicine anyways. He pounded his fists into the pillow as he dragged himself out of bed to get ready for class. Why did Monday mornings have to exist in the first place, especially when Sunday mornings were days when Incelbordination “went to war”. The thought of their hate speech made Oswald feel as though he had worms crawling in his stomach.

What would be on his MP3 player today? Something to relax him? Something to hype him up? A band to share his sadness with? Nah, he didn’t feel like music today. He just put on his trench coat and fucked off to English class. With Incelbordination clouding every corner of his mind, he didn’t feel like he could concentrate on music. If that was the case, what made him think he could concentrate on schoolwork? Maybe he should have taken the day off and smoked a shit ton of weed. Eh, maybe not.

Oswald’s posture drooped over as he headed to class, barely paying attention to the sets of shoes around him. Some of the “Stacys” had worn sandals and shorts on this fine spring day, but he didn’t give a damn anymore, not after Valerie gave him shit about it this past Friday. Oh crap, he actually had to see her and had very little time to get there. He kept telling himself to turn around and take a personal day, but his zombie body pushed him forward nonetheless.

The only thing bombastic enough to awaken him was the sound of an explosion followed by van engines and young men screaming incoherent slogans about not getting laid. Oswald had just unknowingly stumbled upon a terrorist attack and watched in horror as masked men went around beating the shit out of other students. Some of them whipped “Stacys” with belts. Some of them punched “Chads” with brass knuckles. Those who were driving the vans mowed down both “Chads” and “Stacys” like human bowling pins, though the terrorists would clearly dispute the human part of that analogy.

“Oh no…Oh my fucking lord…” Oswald said to himself as he knelt down and held his head in his hands. He believed he was powerless to stop this madness even with his superior boxing skills. So many masked men…so many weapons…so many vans…and here was this dwarf just waiting to get his ass kicked or even worse. He believed wholeheartedly that he brought this upon himself. He should have told Detective Barry about this when he had the chance.

“Help!” shouted a terrified feminine voice muffled by a glass door. Oswald collected himself and noticed his one true crush Nikita Johnson banging on the glass door of his English class begging for a rescue. “Someone help me! Please!” she shouted over and over again.

One more dead Stacy doesn’t matter, an intrusive inner voice told Oswald. No. It does matter. It has to matter. This madness had to stop. Cracking his knuckles and both sides of his neck, Oswald bolted towards the glass door and shouted, “Nikita, hang on!” He rolled up his trench coat sleeves and started punching the shit out of the glass door. This was no doubt tough material that left his knuckles bleeding and his hands calloused. But one crack in the glass turned into two. Two turned into four. Just a few more pain wracking punches that sent shockwaves through his numbed out arm. And then the glass door shattered and Nikita was free.

Before she could taste freedom, a heavyset man wearing a black mask hand-gagged her  and pulled her backwards kicking and screaming. “Get your fucking mitts off of her, you sick prick!” shouted Oswald before punching the terrorist in the knee and buckling him. The dwarf ignored the pain now shooting up to his shoulders as he threw a few more heavy rights and lefts until the terrorist’s knee was completely blown out. Letting go of Nikita, the fat man collapsed to the ground crying like a bitch while Oswald’s hands bled some more.

Nikita leaned down and quickly examined the dwarf’s knuckles. She said, “Come on, let’s get you out of here! My car’s in the parking lot. Let’s go!” She gave Oswald a piggy-back ride and bolted out of the classroom, zig-zagging between various masked men pummeling their prey. Even in Birkenstocks, Nikita ran with the coordination of an athlete. Oswald had little time to admire her physicality as his knuckles bled all over her blue T-shirt. There were probably pieces of glass stuck in them.

Another heavyweight terrorist grabbed Nikita by her arm as she trashed and yelled, “Get your hands off of me, you pervert!” Not wanting to further injure his hands, Oswald leapt onto the jerk and head-butted him until blood soaked the man’s mask. The world around the dwarf seemed to spin like an amusement park ride after so many head strikes. Nikita had to pull him off the thug and piggy-back him some more.

The duo finally made it to Nikita’s car, though the angry voices behind them grew even more vicious the more she fumbled with her keys. She eventually found the right one, but was so jittery that she had trouble fitting it in the door. Another thug had jumped on top of the car wielding a crowbar and that was enough to knock both Nikita and Oswald backwards in fright. The thug chanted over and over again, “Love is black!” while raising his weapon in the air.

“Don’t hurt us! Leave us alone, you coward!” begged Nikita as she curled into the fetal position. The thug jumped down from the roof and raised his weapon like he was going to strike any second. Oswald was still fading in and out of clarity, but even with minimal equilibrium, he kicked the thug in the ankle and had him hopping up and down. After he dropped the crowbar, Oswald grabbed his other ankle and with one hard tug tripped him to the ground, making sure he hit his head on the roof.

Once the thug was KO’ed, Oswald struggled so much to help Nikita to her feet that he nearly blacked out. She hurried and fit the key in the door successfully this time before situating the dwarf in the passenger seat. He was so out of it that he didn’t bother to fasten his seatbelt. Nikita wasted no time in getting in the driver’s seat and getting the engine going, peeling out of there like a bat out of hell. She had to run over another thug in order to obtain a clear path to freedom, but she did and kept going.

“I need to take you to a hospital, you’re hurt!” sobbed Nikita.

“No! The hospital’s going to be backed up. Take me back to my dorm room. I’ve got medical shit we can use there. I just hope the cops can come in time to stop this BS.”

Oswald started to drift into darkness, but Nikita kept shaking his shoulder and saying, “Stay with me, little guy! This isn’t over yet! I’ll get you back to your dorm in no time at all!”

The dwarf’s speech began to slur as he talked nonsense for the rest of the ride to the dorm. “That C- is going to kill humanity…she’s going to steal the world’s pot and…”

“Oswald, what the hell are you talking about?!” No response. “Oswald, please wake up!” Still no response. “Oswald! No!” Nikita shook him harder and harder, but he still wouldn’t snap out of his concussion wonderland, if a concussion was what he indeed had. A psychiatrist might lean towards PTSD, a disease which got thrown around a lot on campus, but was completely justified this time around. What the dwarf would give for some pot right at that moment. Beautiful, mind-numbing, pain-dulling pot that made mundane clouds look like vanilla ice cream.

Nah, he couldn’t very well pull a ready roll out in this strange woman’s car. Come to think of it, even in his head-butt induced darkness, he seemed to remember her sharing an English assignment with the class about her straightedge beliefs. Maybe inviting her back to the dorm was a bad idea since that was where all of the magic medicine was kept. Then again, Oswald had nowhere else to go to, both to escape Incelbordination and to find permanence in life.

At this moment, Nikita Johnson was the closest thing to a godsend he had. Even though he was perfectly capable of sprinting long distances, she gave him a piggyback ride to safety after seeing his hands bleeding. Bloody hands weren’t unusual for a boxer at Oswald’s level, but never had it warranted a piggyback ride. Maybe the massive blood loss was making his mind go berserk. Then again, maybe it was the general loveliness of Nikita even though she was in hysterics. Before he finally drifted into the subconscious theater, Oswald had a tiny smile on his face knowing the two of them would finally be alone together.

Incelbordination, Chapter 8

“Every Sunday, when America goes to church, Incelbordination goes to war!” Oswald was pretty sure Antero stole that line from an NFL videogame commercial, but it was effective word porn nonetheless. Oswald dragged his ass out of bed and signed onto the Incelbordination chat room where that church slogan came from. Upon receiving the URL to that chat room, Antero told him that they never had physical meeting places because of Mia Barry’s investigation against him. They also didn’t use the same URL every time, also for the same purpose. The clandestine nature of these Sunday meetings made Oswald feel like a rebel, like he actually could bring a shock to the system.

When he signed in under the username LittleFury21, he whistled in awe of how many people were part of this chat room. So many young men on campus like him who felt betrayed by their peers. So much potential crushed by the world around them. So many dreams turned into permanent nightmares. This was definitely Oswald’s true territory, not a classroom of judgmental eyes or a home he couldn’t go to anymore.

BLACK_PILL_KING (Antero’s Username): Good morning, everyone! Welcome to our weekly Incelbordination meeting. You all know who I am by now. But I’m sure none of you know who LittleFury21 is. He’s our newest acquisition and quite possibly our saving grace in this wretched life. Everyone say hello!

Sure enough, the entire chat room did so and that alone made Oswald feel welcome, unlike any other school environment he was in.

BLACK_PILL_KING: The floor is yours, little guy. Introduce yourself to our Supreme Gentlemen!

LITTLEFURY21: Hello, everyone. I was told not to use real names prior to this meeting, so I won’t give away mine. But as many of you guessed by now, Little Fury isn’t just some catchy title. I really am three feet tall and south of a hundred pounds. Men and women alike go out of their way to avoid me and those who do pay attention only want to disparage me before getting the chance to know who I am.

RAGE_GOD31: Ever thought about punching them in the dick?

LITTLEFURY21: All the time, Rage God. I actually did have to learn how to box when I was young. If I didn’t throw those heavy punches, I’d probably be deader than a doornail right now. Hell, I’m probably going to be dead in a few years anyways. Dying of a lonely heart isn’t at all unheard of.

DEATH_MASTER2000: You know, you can do something about this. Ever thought about going out in a blaze of glory? That’s probably the only way any of us will ever be noticed. Look at what happened to Eliot Rodger.

LITTLEFURY21: I think about it more often than you think, Death Master. The problem is…I just don’t have it in me to go through with it.

MCDONALDS_PIMP69: If you ever need coaxing along, just remember that there are no innocent victims. The whole world is guilty for pushing you aside. If nobody else will be the judge, jury, and executioner, then you take those roles yourself. Don’t puss out on us now!

LITTLEFURY21: That’s all well and good, but I don’t exactly have a warehouse full of bazookas and machetes readily available. My legs are also too short to operate the pedals on a German tank. LOL!

BLACK_PILL_KING: Heavy artillery is overrated, Little Fury. It’s expensive, it’s hard to smuggle, and it’s more obvious than the hard-on those tank cannons look like. If you need the tools to get the job done and can’t rely on your boxing skills alone…we can help you with that!

LITTLEFURY21: Wait a minute…you guys actually have…guns?!

BLACK_PILL_KING: Not just guns, my friend. Chainsaws, knives, baseball bats covered in razor wire, and even a few vans to turn Chads and Stacys into pretty little pancakes. Then after we flatten them, we can put our special whipped cream all over them while they bleed out strawberries. It’ll be like having breakfast at IHOP.

The constant barrage of LOL’s and LMAO’s from the other incels sent chills up Oswald’s spine and made his fingers go numb. Thank god there was a waste bucket next to his computer desk in case he needed something to barf into. The thought of speaking up put nervous energy in his stomach, but he knew he had to do it.

LITTLEFURY21: Guys, this shit isn’t funny.

BIG_DADDY_G: Are you kidding me? This is fucking hilarious! Besides, if your legs were long enough to drive a van, you’d want to splatter everything in sight too!

BLACK_PILL_KING: I agree 100%. Seriously, why the change of heart?

LITTLEFURY21: Look, I can appreciate the fact that you guys hate the world and want to watch it burn and all, but this is ridiculous. You’re making jokes about murdering people and I’m actually afraid you guys might do it someday.

SUPER_FREAK72: Dude, take your skirt off and be a man for once. You know the only chance you’d get laid is if you killed the chick yourself. Even then, I think it’s a long shot since your legs aren’t the only short thing about you.

LITTLEFURY21: How about instead of hiding behind a computer screen, you say that shit to my face? Yeah, and I’M the one walking around in a skirt.

SUPER_FREAK72: If you and I were to fight, I’d win every single time. Now fall in line before I make you eat your meals through a straw!

BLACK_PILL_KING: Okay, children, that’s enough. We’re supposed to be unified by this shit, not tearing each other apart. We’ve got big plans and I will not have them scrapped by a bunch of infighting!

LITTLEFURY21: What do you mean “big plans”? You’re not actually talking about…you know…

BLACK_PILL_KING: I don’t know, maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Maybe I’ll have to rethink my whole strategy if you’re not fully committed to Incelbordination. I understand you’re new to this group, but everybody has to pay their dues.

LITTLEFURY21: And by “paying my dues”, you mean going out and committing murder and necrophilia. If that’s the case, then your Uncle Tuomas won’t have to worry about not getting laid anymore.

The swear words, epithets, and death threats from the other members flooded the chat room to where the system almost crashed. Antero tried to restore order, but the messages of hate came so frequently that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Oswald did what most immature computer users did and argued back against Incelbordination’s finest. The slurs came more frequently and nearly send him spiraling into insanity. The dwarf even held his head and rocked back and forth before leaving the chat room and taking deep breaths.

Oswald had enough venom for the world to fill two chemical factories and a biological weapons carrier. Yet even he was disgusted by what he saw in that chat room. His heart raced, his stomach ached, and his mind swirled with words like “faggot”, “pussy”, and “prison bitch”. Images of him being stabbed, shot, stomped, or even raped in the asshole made him wish he had forgotten Incelbordination even existed. No woman was worth this much poison. In fact, he would even welcome hugs from Valerie Sand, Nikita Johnson, and Mia Barry of they were offered.

Tomorrow was Monday, which meant another round of criticism from his English teacher. Oswald held his pain-wracked stomach at the thought of having to choose between being criticized by Valerie and being cyber-bullied by a bunch of virgin terrorists. It was the classic case of Death or  Unga-Bunga all over again. If he was going to be laughed at for the thousandth time, he might as well have put his best foot forward.

“Okay, Oswald, you can do this. Just breathe…just concentrate…” He pulled the C- covered paper out of his backpack and tried to focus on correcting his many mistakes. He had a whole Sunday to get the job done and he had completed his homework assignments from his other classes. If there was ever time to puff the magic dragon…

Incelbordination, Chapter 2

The morning sun blasted through Oswald’s window like a Martian heat ray. His eyes squinted tightly as he struggled to pull himself out of bed for English class. Valerie Sand was a cute teacher and Nikita Johnson was sweet to a fault, but neither of them were worth washing the smell of marijuana out of his hair and beard. Oswald was the most invisible person in that room most of the time, so he supposed it didn’t matter anyways. No shower, no dental hygiene, just a child’s trench coat and “Volcanic” by Death Angel to sooth his tired mind.

During the slow and bone-creaking trek to class, all Oswald could think about was Antero Magnus’s perverse words from the night before. According to the dwarf, the only thing he and Antero had in common was that they were both unloved by the world at large due to their physical appearances and social awkwardness. What was Oswald supposed to do, walk around on stilts? How about Dutch cloggers? How about platform disco shoes? Oswald thought about this so much that he almost smacked his head against the glass door leading into his English lecture for the day. Though exhausted and smelly he was, he made it to class on time as he normally did. At least he did something right.

Oswald took his seat in the back of the classroom like he always did and got a bird’s eye view of the other occupants, namely Valerie the teacher and Nikita the student. He loved how Nikita’s long blond hair flowed so freely across her shoulders. He loved Valerie’s striking blue eyes underneath her thick-rimmed glasses (much prettier than Antero’s cyan eyes by a country mile). And because this was spring quarter and the sun was constantly out, there was always Oswald’s favorite outfit combination on any woman: shorts and sandals. The best part about this? Exposing legs and feet wasn’t considered legally indecent. It was like free porn to him.

Though it was hard to take in his two favorite girls’ beauty when anxiety was the dominant emotion. If only Oswald could smoke a ready roll right here and then. Why did class have to be so long and drawn out? Why couldn’t Valerie Sand give back their short stories now? Did she delight in watching stomachs turn into heavy knots? Did she enjoy the collective feeling of throats drying up? Oswald needed to know his grade now, damn it! The lecture was just extracurricular BS since he never spoke up during conversations anyways (too shy and too introverted). He kept glancing at the digital clock and the numbers kept laughing in his face as they moved slowly.

An hour later and all was right with the world again. The lackluster lecture was over and Valerie began passing back assignments with red ink adorning the pages. Some pages had more of it than others and Oswald hoped and prayed his wasn’t drooling with it like a bloody wound. As students (Nikita included) received their papers back, they exited the classroom with a little more pep in their step. And wouldn’t you know it, Oswald received his last. Scrambling through the pages to see what his grade was, his world went blacker than Antero’s Matrix pills.

There it was in cherry red ink staring him in the face like a pair of angry eyes: a C- for his shy guy romance story. Oswald didn’t even bother reading the critiques. All he saw was the third letter of the alphabet glaring at him, mocking him, laughing at him, daring him to crack under pressure and cry like a bitch. That wasn’t a minus sign next to the C; that was a middle finger. Or a gun barrel, which would have looked completely natural in the dwarf’s slack-jawed mouth.

“Mr. Crow?” said Valerie. No response. “Mr. Crow?” she said again. “Oswald!” That last spark finally jolted the dwarf awake from his living educational nightmare. Adjusting her glasses, the teacher kindly said, “Class is over. You’re free to go.”

Not knowing what the hell to say, Oswald hopped out of his seat and trudged towards the glass door, tossing his paper in the garbage on the way there.

“What are you doing?!” asked Valerie before fishing the paper out of the receptacle. Dusting the corn chip dust off of it, she said, “No, no, no, no, no! You’re not throwing this away. You’ve got notes here that you need to read. That’s how you improve in my class: by accepting criticism gracefully.” No response from Oswald, just a painful glare. “Look, I know you’re frustrated and all, but if you want to put an end to the frustration, you have to improve your writing. This C- isn’t going to go away just because you’re not happy about it. I’d be upset too, but throwing away your homework isn’t the answer.”

She attempted to hand the paper back to Oswald, but the dwarf shook his head and tried to leave once again, only to have a hand on his shoulder stop him from doing so. “Oswald, please just take the paper.”

After a while of hesitation, the dwarf snatched the paper and skimmed over the critiques. He could have sworn he edited the hell out of this story before handing it in. But the one comment staring him dead in the eye tensed his muscles: the implication that he didn’t have enough experience in the subject of romance to write a story about it. “Thanks for reminding me, Valerie. I wasn’t sure I would have remembered that otherwise.”

“Hey! Look at me!” retorted Valerie. “That’s basic storytelling, Mr. Crow: if you’re going to write about something, you have to know what you’re talking about. If you don’t have firsthand experience with the subject, you should at least research it. A simple trip to Google would have raised this grade to your liking.”

“I don’t drink, but that doesn’t mean I can’t spot a drunk when I see one.”

“Oh please, I’ve heard that excuse time and time again, Mr. Crow. Even the best authors have to do research every now and then. And just so there’s no confusion, when you’re writing sex scenes, Porn Hub doesn’t count as research.”

Oswald tossed his paper to the ground like the proverbial gauntlet and said, “Oh, so you’re a comedian now? You think my loneliness is fucking hilarious? You want to talk about having experience, that’s it, man. They don’t get more experienced than me when it comes to being fucked off.”

Valerie knelt down and cupped her student’s upper arms in her hands. “Listen to me…I don’t like the way you’re talking to me right now. You made a few mistakes in this paper and you have to pay for them. I’m not going to give you straight A’s just because you can’t take a little criticism. The purpose of college isn’t to feed your ego. It’s to help you grow into a better person. You have the syllabus from this class handy somewhere, I’m sure. I grade my students based not on their overall ability, but on their willingness to improve. Right now, you think you’re the hottest thing since Stephen King. You need to bring it down a notch.”

No response from Oswald, just his chin tucked to his chest. Valerie said, “You can be angry all you want and part of me doesn’t blame you for it. But the way you’re talking to me right now? You’re giving me the impression that you’re owed something in life. You think you’re owed A+’s. You think you’re owed compliments. I bet you even think you’re owed romance.”

That last comment caused Oswald to shrug his shoulders out of Valerie’s grasp. “You know what? Give me the paper. Give me the goddamn paper. If I stuff it in my backpack, will that make you happy?”

Handing it back, the teacher said, “That depends. Are you going to actually read the comments and take them to heart or are you just going to take it to the incinerator and turn all of your hard work to ashes? Yeah, I said it: you worked hard on that paper; nobody’s doubting that. I’m not saying you’re lazy. I’m saying your hard work is misguided. You need to listen to me. You need to listen to your fellow students. The knock on your romantic skills isn’t that you have scraggly hair or are three feet tall. It’s that you push everybody away. That’s the vibe I got from your main character. Please, Oswald…listen to reason.”

Oswald reluctantly stuffed the essay in his backpack and tried once again to head out the door. “Just one more thing,” Valerie called out to him. “It would help your future grades handsomely if you spoke up in class discussions rather than stare at my legs and feet.”

The dwarf’s face glowed bright red as he slowly closed the glass door behind him. He frantically checked down at his crotch to see if he had an involuntary boner. Though he didn’t, he pulled his trench coat over his body anyways and speed walked as far away from the classroom as he could. Speed walking turned into jogging. Jogging turned into running. He needed a safe space from this never-ending embarrassment, which should have been a no-brainer considering colleges these days were full of them.

The gym! That was it! He could just throw a few punches at the sand bag for an hour or so. Heh, sand bag. Valerie’s last name was Sand. How poetically appropriate. At least Oswald’s boxing punches couldn’t be marked with a C-. For a little guy, he sure had dynamite in his fists. He had to, especially if his old high school bully Wacey Judge was anywhere nearby.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 11

A clear mind was all Scott George ever wanted. Clear of Mr. Simpson’s condescension. Clear of Alan Young’s brand of “humor”. Clear of worms that had no business being there in the first place. While his brainwaves weren’t a complete heavenly paradise, he was able to dry his eyes long enough to get through art class in one piece. The whispers of his classmates weren’t obtrusive enough to hold his attention. Instead his focus was pinpointed on a drawing he had been working on since the opening buzzer.

Rainbow colored flowers decorated the borders of Scott’s drawing. Pink clouds filled the negative spaces in between with a crisp golden sunshine lingering in the background. In the center of this latest masterpiece was heaven’s most beautiful angel. Instead of a radiating golden light, she brightened the picture with green flames and a purple haze. Rather than looking at the subject, her face turned slightly away with shyness, her hair down to her chest and her face a brilliant shade of red.

Unfortunately for the cloud nine-residing Scott, his one true love wouldn’t be in English class to see this marvelous masterpiece he created. Her desk remained empty throughout the entire hour and that brought a disappointed frown to his face. Where could she be? Did somebody figure out that she and Scott were dating? He hid his face as much as he could that day, fearing the absolute worst. It could have been a simple case of her coming down with a fever, but Scott’s mind wasn’t a place where rational adult thinking took place.

By the time lunch period rolled around, Scott still tried looking for Adrienne, even going back to the spot they sat at yesterday. He even visited the salad bar, which was slightly better than the spongy chicken nuggets, but not by much. He wanted to follow her advice as much as humanly possible and not worry about some stupid worms crawling in his meal. He took his Caesar dressing-covered greenery and sat at the same empty spot he took yesterday, hoping Adrienne would miraculously show up.

A few nibbles of spinach later, nothing. A few more nibbles, still nothing. A half hour of rabbit bites and Adrienne still hadn’t shown up. With nobody coming to save him this time, Scott’s stomach began to ache and flare up as he felt funny little creatures crawling around in his intestines. He felt as though an alien was going to pop out of his body and latch onto his face at any moment. And then an oddly comforting hand touched his shoulders and he was back to reality. When he saw who the hand belonged to, Scott’s comfort died down like a wounded animal.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

“Long enough to see you writhe around in pain for whatever reason. My history class isn’t that bad, you know,” said Mr. Simpson with an unfunny smirk. “Mind if I sit here? Of course you don’t. We have much to discuss.” The history teacher took a seat across from Scott and folded his hands across the table. “I’m assuming that the reason you didn’t show up to my class today was because Miss Williams had a little chat with you.”

“Where’s Adrienne?” asked Scott pointblank before covering his mouth quickly.

“That’s none of your business,” said Mr. Simpson. “Besides, I wouldn’t know her whereabouts anyways. We haven’t talked in such a long time. Kind of like the way you and I never talk anymore except to breathe fire down each other’s necks. Actually, you’re the one who insists on not talking, which is why your grade is currently standing at a C- when it could be much higher.”

“if you came here to make fun of my introversion, then I’m going to go sit somewhere else,” said Scott, who tried to stand up only to have Mr. Simpson grab him by the wrist and sit him down again.

“Trust me, Scott, I didn’t come here for amateur comedy night. We really do have a lot to talk about, especially as it pertains to your punishment for not showing up to after-school detention. You didn’t think there’d be an easy way out, did you? There never is, my little silent warrior. But you should at least be thankful that this wasn’t a court appearance instead. If it had been, you’d be in jail. At least with school, some of the harsh punishment is easy to serve.”

Scott leaned his face closer to his teacher’s as a way to suppress his deepest fears. “Principal Williams basically told me that my fate was in your hands. If that’s the case, then stop wasting my goddamn time and tell me what’s going on.”

“I had no idea your ‘goddamn’ time was so valuable to you, Mr. George. You certainly didn’t feel that way about me when you left me hanging for thirty minutes straight. Isn’t my time valuable as well? Considering I’m several decades older than you, I’d say that’s the case. Well, you’re not going to waste my time anymore, buddy-boy. You want to learn your fate? Here it is. If you have any plans this weekend, cancel them. You’re going to serve an hour of detention bright and early Saturday morning.”

“What?!”

Cleaning his glasses with the waist of his shirt, Mr. Simpson said, “I believe I made myself abundantly clear. Since we’re spending an hour of quality time together, I’ll have to think of something for you to do other than clean off the desks, thought that can be pretty time consuming. Students love to leave unspeakable objects underneath the desks whether it’s chewed bubblegum, nose goblins, graffiti, god knows what else. One time I caught a student sticking gummy worms underneath the desk.”

The gummy worm trigger caused Scott to gag and lurch as he fought desperately to hold his salad down. He could feel the adrenaline sewage bubble up in his stomach…then to his chest…then to the back of his throat where he could taste it. He swallowed a massive tidal wave of saliva to keep the burst of bile down. He breathed heavily with his tongue hanging out, like a dog locked in a hot car.

“Listen,” said Mr. Simpson while holding his hands up in mock defense. “I know cleaning off dirty desks isn’t the most pleasant way to spend an hour of detention, but for the first time in your young life, it isn’t your fault, Scott. Kids today have no respect for public property. They think a desk is their own personal toilet.”

Scott’s violent breathing muffled most of his words when he said, “F…fuck this shit…I’m not coming.”

Mr. Simpson let out a sarcastic laugh and leaned in closer so that his diabolic eyes could shoot straight fire into Scott’s already burning pupils. “Oh, you’re going to show up alright. You’re not getting away with anything this time around. Eight o’clock in the morning sharp, not a second late. If you even think about bailing on me again, you might as well stay at home for the rest of your life, because you won’t be allowed back on school grounds. I’ll have you expelled from this place so fast your head will spin. And then what’ll you do with your life? Treat sewage? Clean toilets? Dig ditches? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be a lot more fun than taking another history class from me. Compared to those disgusting jobs, cleaning off desks doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”

The teacher stood up and allowed Scott to keep choking down whatever was boiling in his throat. Mr. Simpson pointed a finger at his student and said, “Remember: eight o’clock on the dot. I’ll be waiting with a fresh cup of coffee, though you’ll probably won’t want to put anything in your mouth after the grungy work you’ll have to do. See you soon!” He gave a two finger salute and walked out of sight.

Scott’s mind raced with schizophrenic banter and a crippling headache. His stomach felt as though he had endured gyroscopic torture. His throat, eyes, and face burned worse than if he stuck his head in the same deep fryer the kitchen used to make those awful nuggets. Not being able to fight the good fight against his own body much longer, he rushed towards a garbage can and unleashed a waterfall of vomit that stunk to high hell. He could hear the other students backing away in a hurry. Some of them laughed. Some of them made disgusted “eww” sounds. A few of the girls gave off a shriek of horror. Scott didn’t care. He unloaded his weapon of mass disgust all over the inside of the garbage can.

He then slid down on the floor on his ass and breathed so heavily that the remaining students held their noses at his oral stench. If he had taken a diarrhea dump in that garbage can, it would have smelled like a bed of roses compared to this mess. Speaking of roses…

“Are you done, Mr. George?” asked Mr. Simpson while holding a piece of paper. “I wanted to give this to you before you forgot it. Nice work, if I do say so myself. It’s no history essay, but it’s still pretty good. You should be proud of yourself.” He handed Scott the drawing he made from art class and patted him on the shoulder before attempting once more to walk out of sight.

Scott gazed deeply into the drawing and wiped off a stream of chunky spittle that hit the page. He banged his own head backwards into the soft garbage can repeatedly while the buzzer for the next class echoed throughout his agonizing head. It might as well have been a room full of babies crying instead of a buzzer. He felt like he could be one of those babies right now. How simple life would have been at that moment.

Believe

Believe in the beauty of rock bottom failure

Believe you can cross rough waters like a sailor

Believe this world is yours for the taking

Believe in the beauty of the art you’re making

Believe your heart is made of pure gold

Believe you can crush the lies you are told

Believe your soul can never be sold

Believe the fire inside can never go cold

Believe in your own battle-tested story

Believe normalcy is so damn boring

Believe conformity is never the answer

Believe indifference is the ultimate cancer

Believe passion is more powerful than a pistol

Believe true love is stronger than a missile

If you know something in your heart to be true

Sitting back and watching isn’t the thing to do

You have a voice; it’s time to make your choice

Make a bold statement or just make some noise

Believe in your power to shake the landscape

Look beyond the train wrecks and bad days

Believe in your power to never give up

Despite the many days that just might suck

Believe the end is only the beginning

Believe this is truly a life worth living

Shadow Hawk

VERSE 1

Shadow Hawk! Let your soul fly free!

Become the destroyer you were meant to be!

Shadow Hawk! Bring darkness to this land!

Bury those fuckers beneath the dirt and sand!

Shadow Hawk! Take back what’s yours!

Even if you have to fight a thousand wars!

Shadow Hawk! Set the world on fire!

Make them call you their immortal messiah!

CHORUS 1

With dirty blankets and loaded guns

They slaughtered daughters and murdered sons

Smothered mothers with dirt, enslaved the fathers

Shadow Hawk! You’re our only author!

VERSE 2

Conquerors! Your day has finally arrived!

To be shot with arrows and butchered with knives!

Conquerors! Run while you still have a chance!

Never mind the rotten smell running down your pants!

Conquerors! You’ve already lost this war!

Shadow Hawk can smell the fear oozing from your pores!

Conquerors! Open season has begun!

We could show you mercy, but where’s the fucking fun?

CHORUS 2

With dirty blankets and loaded guns

You slaughtered daughters and murdered sons

Smothered mothers with dirt, enslaved the fathers

Conquerors! You shouldn’t have crossed the waters!

BRIDGE

Sacrifice!

Pay the price!

Shadow Hawk!

It’s time to rock!

Conquerors!

Slaughterers!

Vengeance is ours!

Take back the power!

CHORUS 3

With dirty blankets and loaded guns

History’s lessons rotted in the sun

Smothered graves with dirt, enslaved the sheep

But the Shadow Hawk will never sleep!

Open a book before you open your lips

This is bigger than the .45’s on your hips

This is bigger than what you see on TV

Because staying comfortable is too easy!

Revenge Porn

Liz Ronaldson wondered how badly her body would be broken after jumping off of the suspension bridge into the icy waters below. Would her legs snap in two? Would her neck crack in different directions? Would it be over in an instant? Regardless of the two-hundred foot drop, shattered bones and punctured organs couldn’t compare to the pain she felt in her heart and soul. As she gazed hypnotically into the waters below, tears cascaded from her eyes. She tried wiping them away with the only puffy coat she had, but the tears kept coming. No matter how many times she snorted and sniffed, the loose snot wouldn’t stay up her nose. She was ready to jump. One…two…

“Hey, loser, you got five dollars on you? Gimme that shit!” She saw the incident take place only a few feet from where she planned to jump. The three bullies pushed around the smaller kid like a torturous game of volleyball, all while making wisecracks about how he was allegedly on welfare and food stamps. The smaller kid hauled back and slapped one of the bullies across the cheek. The shoving match ended with the bullies staring at the kid in shock. They swore at him with whip-cracking voices while punching him relentlessly, causing the little guy to huddle on the ground and cover.

Liz’s suicidal sorrow turned into fiery rage. Her tears became hotter. Her stomach was burning with homicidal tendencies. Her fists were clenched tightly. Reaching around for the nearest weapon she could find, she picked up a lead pipe and shouted to the bullies, “Hey! Knock that shit off! He’s just a kid, you fucking idiots!”

The bullies ended the beat down like they were told, but only to laugh and point at Liz. “Hey, look! Miss Ronaldson’s got something big in her hands! Hell, I got something big too after seeing those naked pictures!” taunted one of the bullies, resulting in even more obnoxious laughter.

Liz chucked the lead pipe at the bullies and caused them to cover up with their arms as they ran off like little bitches. The former teacher continued to throw rocks, rusty nails, glass bottles, and anything else she could get her hands on until the older kids were out of sight. Some of her projectiles hit their marks, but only did enough damage to elicit an “Ouch!” and nothing more.

“That’s right, you pussies! You’d better run like the goddamn wind! If I ever see you fuckers again, I’ll kill you all!” shouted Liz while flailing her fists in the air. Even more tears poured from her eyes and stained her tattered jeans and newspaper shoes. The little kid, which she now recognized as one of her former students, was tearing up as well. Bloody gashes covered his arms and face, but being homeless didn’t afford Liz access to proper healthcare supplies.

Liz approached the banged up kid and ripped off pieces of her fluffy jacket to use as bandages for his wounds. Neither teacher nor student could stop crying, but Liz wiped her own tears away long enough to form coherent sentences. “Hi there, Seth! You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” murmured Seth Luke. He wiped his eyes with his bloodied arm and recognized the angelic face of his recently fired English teacher. “Miss Ronaldson? Are you homeless too?”

“Please, call me Liz. I don’t deserve to be called Miss Ronaldson after what happened with those pictures. So many of my friends and family saw those.” Liz smiled sadly and shrugged before changing the topic. “What am I saying? You’re the one who got beat up. They got you pretty good. I think there’s a hospital around here somewhere. Are you well enough to walk with me?”

“Thanks for helping me, Miss Ro, I mean, Liz,” sniffled Seth. He shivered in this chilly afternoon air due to him only wearing a short sleeved shirt.

Liz gazed upon him sympathetically and took off her own jacket to wrap him up. “There you go, Seth. You’ll be all warm and toasty in no time at all.”

“Thanks, Liz, but don’t you need a jacket too? You’ll freeze out here,” stammered Seth.

“I’m not going to need a jacket for where I’m going,” said Liz while gesturing towards the edge of the bridge with a nudge of her head.

“No! No, you can’t do that!” argued Seth as he wrapped his bloodied arms around Liz. “I’m not letting you jump! I don’t care if I have to hold onto you for the rest of my life!” Even more hot tears drained the homeless teenager’s eyeballs to the point of redness. “You were my favorite teacher before they fired you! You taught me about being creative and making the most of life! And now you’re just going to jump off the bridge over some naked pictures online?!”

Liz wrapped her arms around Seth and said solemnly, “There’s more to it than that, Seth. It’s not just the naked pictures that became my scandalous secret. It’s about my career. It’s about my social and family lives. I made a bad decision when I let my bastard of a boyfriend take those pictures of me. I’ve lost everything and I can’t get it back. Once something is on the internet, it’s there forever. All I have left are the clothes on my body and a beating heart. I don’t want the latter of those two things if it just keeps hurting like this.”

Seth gave Liz his best puppy dog expression when he sobbed, “But I can help you get those things back! It’s not over until I say it’s over! You’re going to be okay again! I promise you!”

“Seth, that is so sweet,” sniffed Liz. “But you’re in the same boat as I am. We’re both alone out here with nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. What can we do for each other now? Where do we go from here?”

“There’s always another way, Liz,” said Seth. “We have each other. We can be a team and take on the streets together. Just you and me! No jack-off bullies, no bastard boyfriends, no judgment at all. You taught me all about this, Liz! You taught me how important it is to care about each other and be there when we’re down. If you jump off that bridge, you’re going to be nothing more than a hypocrite! Maybe I’ll join you afterwards, who knows!”

Liz shoved Seth away from the embrace and transformed back into rage mode. “Oh yeah?! A hypocrite?! And what do you suppose I do about this?! I haven’t eaten in days and I’ve got frostbite on my fucking fingers! Nobody wants to give me the time of day let alone give me my life back, all because of some stupid fucking naked pictures! What am I supposed to do, just pick up a beer bottle off the ground and pretend there’s actually liquor in it?! Tell me how you’d solve my problems if suicide doesn’t fix everything, asshole! What would the great and wonderful Seth Luke do if he was half the master of his destiny that I’m supposed to be?!”

While giving his former teacher the gorgon death stare, Seth pulled a wallet out of his pocket with his school’s logo on it. It looked stuffed with dollar bills. “You see this? I plucked it out of one of the bullies’ pockets while those three bastards were beating on me! I was going to eat at McDonald’s or Denny’s with this kind of money! I was going to take you out for something to eat! But I guess you’d prefer suicide over a good meal! See you around, toots! Thanks for the life lessons! I really appreciate them!”

Seth turned heel and began stomping away. Watching him leave twisted a knot in Liz’s stomach. No matter how much she tried to deny it, Seth was right all along. Dying would solve nothing. Liz had just unloaded on the one person in this world who still cared about her. He probably didn’t even have an internet connection to see those pictures. He took to her lessons of not judging each other like a bee to honey. Liz’s heart shattered into a million pieces after realizing what she had done.

“Seth, wait!” said Liz as she ran after him. He turned to face her with his arms folded and an angry stare formed on his bloody visage. “You’re right. You’ve been right all along. Look at you. You’re in the same boat as me and you’d never consider suicide. You’re an A+ student in the truest sense. Don’t let anybody tell you differently. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Let’s take on the world together. I’d love to eat a decent meal with you. How about a hug?”

Liz and Seth bawled some more while coming in for a tight embrace. Two of the loneliest people in the world versus an uncaring, inherently evil society. The odds were stacked against them, but they liked those odds anyways. Death was not the answer. Fighting like a passionate warrior was closer to being the topic of an A+ paper, written by A+ students and teachers alike.