I Don't "Shoot My Shot" Because I Don't Want to Give Women the Ick

 

Cat R. Scott vs. Garrison's Autism, a Common Opponent These Days

 

Olimpia DeJesus, World-Class Wrestler and Murder Suspect from "Seven Star Reads"

 

It's a Punderful World and The Joker Agrees

 

Perry Saturn vs. Dr. Dre

 

Dolores Mackey, Daniel Rush's Live-In Girlfriend from "Be a Good Duck"

 

Beverlie LaPain, Shawnita's High School Sweetheart from "The Accusers"

 

Lap Pillow: A Fantasy Story

My head cradled on her velveteen lap
Her fingers in my hair, heavenly nap
Stuck in zombie mode forever and a day
I lay in silence, but to this goddess I pray

Vampire fangs and gentle fingernails
Elven hair and flesh so milky pale
Faerie figure and the wings of an angel
Eye-to-eye contact for this fair female

She tells me everything I need to know
That it’s okay if I want to take things slow
It’s okay if I’m sad every once and a while
There will be other days for my artistic style

I believe everything she tells me and more
I believe in her kisses and what they stand for
Imagination is a powerful thing, after all
When you’re stuck behind plain white walls

I know she’s not real when I’m wide awake
I know there’s poison running through the lake
I know the sunshine is covered in smoke
I know my feelings were all just a joke

I know it’s my duty to keep her alive
Pages to preserve an imaginary wife
What good are the pages if nobody reads?
What good are the images if nobody sees?

I’m invisible in the eyes of everyone else
I could never grace their vast bookshelves
I don’t have the ability to save myself
Loneliness is mine and I wear it well

Chains of Codependence

***CHAINS OF CODEPENDENCE***

I’d like to preface this blog entry by saying that I’m by no means an expert when it comes to matters of the heart. Shocking, right? But it’s true. I’ve only been in two relationships my whole life and they’re over now, so any experience and wisdom I do have is incredibly limited. So when I write a piece of nonfiction about romance, I’m doing so from the point of view of a maladaptive daydreamer and a serial crusher. I’ve got a gazillion crushes going on in my head right now, mostly You Tubers and internet friends. Who are these crushes? Well, on that front, I’ll have to zip it, lock it, and put it in my pocket. Wouldn’t want to weird anybody out and make these lovely ladies keep their distance from me forever, Corona Virus aside. That’s always been a fear of mine whenever I open up and talk about romance or sex: that people will think I’m being creepy. I’m going to word this blog entry as carefully as possible, which is something I should have done with my entry about bastardizing fan fiction characters, but didn’t, and now it’s scrubbed from the internet. Ready? Here we go.

Serial crushing can be lots of fun as long as you’re doing it for entertainment purposes only. You can daydream about holding hands together. You can fantasize about your crush giving you a hug after a particularly draining cry spell. Me? I like to pretend I’m resting my head on my crush’s lap while she strokes my hair. By then I will have already showered and my hair will be softer than a Humane Society kitty baby. These kinds of fantasies can bring a smile to your face…until you start to bemoan the idea of never being able to attain a relationship with said crushes. I’ve done this before as you can tell. And the more you bemoan this idea, the more depressed you become. This is what I like to call the “Chains of Codependence”. Imagine that: being codependent on somebody who not only barely knows you, but also wouldn’t want a relationship anyways. Usually when people are codependent, it’s with someone who’s physically there. But if it’s a long distance stranger…my god, does that shit hurt.

But if you talk yourself through this logically, it doesn’t have to hurt anymore. You’re crushing on someone whom you have limited knowledge of, whether it’s a You Tuber, a celebrity, an athlete, or whatever. You only see the best version of that person unless they voluntarily become vulnerable, which is rare in and of itself. And because you’ve only seen their best side, you don’t often see them at their darkest. They may have views that you strongly disagree with. They may be drama queens when the cameras aren’t rolling. They could have a criminal secret that you won’t be aware of until it’s too late. This is information you can obtain if you’re in a solid relationship with someone. What you do with that information could negate your schoolboy crush from so long ago. You see memes floating around social media that say, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.” While this might set off a few red flags, there’s actually a lot of truth in it should you decide to commit to a relationship.

As long as you’re aware of the illusion in front of you and as long as your chains of codependence are broken, you can have a lot of fun serial crushing on long distance targets. Fill your mind with happy thoughts of you and your crush together. Play your favorite romantic song while you’re zoning out. Write a poem or short story about the experience (without using the person’s real name, of course). I wrote a poem not too long ago called Hand Massage and it’s about, you guessed it, smearing lotion over my crush’s hands as a way not only to heal her cracked skin, but also to relax her and earn her trust. Hand Massage ended up being a favorite poem of mine in recent memory, in a sea of marginally acceptable ones. I was open, honest, unafraid, and most importantly, I didn’t sound like a total creep. That’s a small victory in my book. Even the smallest victories will be vital in the never ending war against your own mind.

In March alone, I’ve had so many days of autistic and schizophrenic burnout that my writing output has been minimal at best. During these boring days of lying in bed and doing jack shit until the tiredness passes, I like to keep my imagination fresh by daydreaming of…whatever comes to mind. I’ve had thoughts about my own stories, I’ve had positive thoughts, evil ones, and yes, romantic ones. With the current Corona Virus spreading like wildfire all over the goddamn planet, my fantasies will be more important now than they’ve ever been. Movie theaters are closed, rock concerts are being canceled, public life in general has screeched to a grinding halt. As long as I’m staying home waiting for both the virus and my burnout to subside, I’m going to have my thoughts to keep me busy for the time being. Whoever said, “Thinking is the best way to travel” was probably living in my hometown of Port Orchard and had nothing to do whether the virus was spreading or not.

By all means, daydream until you’re ready to face this maddening world yet again. You can get attached to your crushes, but don’t get so attached that your happiness depends entirely on them. Have fun with your downtime. The world will come back to life soon enough. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

The last time I wrote a chapter of Beautiful Monster was either March 1^st or 2^nd and I spent so long getting it pumped out that I began to doubt my abilities as a writer. I began to question whether or not I was being too cautious in my approach. Even now I’m debating with myself about whether the next chapter, number ten, will be written with caution and slowness or reckless abandon and quickness. No matter which style I choose, I hope I can remember all of my talking points this time. I’m going to need them. In this chapter, Windham and Tarja venture into Devon Bay, one of the Atwood Queendom’s major cities, so that they can keep warm in a hotel room during the freezing weather. If you’re going to make “Get a room!” jokes, get them out of your system, because there will be nothing sexy about what Windham does in this chapter with a Smoke Wagon XT, the medieval equivalent of a handgun. Good thing Ordell Robbie from Jackie Brown isn’t giving him access to firearms. Otherwise, he just might have to “absolutely, positively kill every last motherfucker in the room”.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Walking home with you last night, you said the world is beautiful and how things look that way when you’re in love. I love this world. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I opened up the letter that the postman gave to me this morning. Had to stop myself from shouting out, “I love this world!” When you’re in my arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. I want to be there when the age of love has come again. Tell me all about yourself and how you came to me like in a dream. And every night I dream of you. I dream of you. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. Don’t ask me where or when the time for us will come again. I sit and watch the sun go down. And in the darkness there’s no sound while in the sky tonight the stars all cry, “I love you!” Are they crying out over you? ‘Cause you’re in my arms. Is this heaven? ‘Cause the story starts and ends with you.”

-The Moody Blues singing “Is This Heaven?”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

You could totally use the above song as fodder for one of your romantic daydreams with your gazillion crushes. I know I do.

Head Over Heels

I can’t ignore you any longer

My attraction to you is stronger

Lord knows I’ve tried to run

Lord knows I was all but done

To say my crush never happened

Doesn’t give me satisfaction

Doesn’t bring me mental peace

Cure my sadness in the least

By being honest with myself

I’m taking control of my health

Isn’t that what love is all about?

Why plant the seeds of doubt?

Because it feels so damn wrong?

It doesn’t make a good song?

People can’t stop laughing?

It’s a sin to just be happy?

I’m sick of lying to myself

Pretending to be someone else

I’m allowed to say, “I love you”

I know these words to be true

Head over heels and unashamed

Nothing can ever be the same

Broken heart can always restart

Even when ripped clean apart

One of these days I’ll say it to you

I’ve got nothing left inside to lose

Yes or no? Please think about it

Even if your answer is to shout it

Only then will I figure it out

Was it right of me to doubt?

Were my feelings valid all along?

Or have I always been so wrong?

Balls to the Wall

Shane Herman’s sweat-covered T-shirt was glued to his body. His basketball shorts were drenched in ball soup. His Nikes and socks were probably going to smell worse than a skunk’s asshole once he finally got them off at home. His thinning brown hair stuck up everywhere like porcupine needles. His heartbeats were deafening. His mouth reeked of acid. His lungs burned. All Shane wanted to do was collapse on the floor mat and sleep the rest of the day into oblivion.

The roar of the crowd nor the lovely TV hostess’s bombastic voice could keep him more than semi-conscious. He didn’t even look her in the eye, just doubled over and sucked on air-conditioned TV studio oxygen.

The blond, cocktail dress-wearing hostess enthusiastically said into the hard camera, “Welcome back, everyone, to the toughest athletic competition on television…”

“Balls to the Wall!” shouted the audience.

“I said the toughest athletic competition on television!”

“BALLS TO THE WALL!”

“Much better! I’m Morgan Burch and thank you all for joining us this half-hour. Our guest this afternoon, Shane Herman, made history today, but not in the way he would have liked.”

“Oh, fuck off,” said Shane before spitting onto the mat.

Ignoring him, Morgan said, “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen: Mr. Herman has officially taken the longest time to complete our obstacle courses at eight minutes a piece. That means he has only two minutes remaining to complete the final challenge…or else!”

Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his equally soaked arm, Shane stood up straight and said, “Listen, you crazy bitch…” He took a few more deep breaths. “I’m done with this shit. I’m fucking exhausted. I just want to go home and fall asleep on my bed with my girlfriend.”

“Well, it’s funny you should mention that, because…well…you’re not competing for five thousand dollars anymore,” said Morgan with a passive-aggressive tone and a wink to the hard camera. “We here at Balls to the Wall decided to give you a little more…incentive. Direct your attention over to the far corner of the studio, Shane.”

Slowly the wall flipped horizontally and the secrets it revealed to the audience had them gasping in hokey outrage. On the left side of the revolving platform was Ambrose Kaider, an intergalactic bounty hunter with his own TV show on the Pursuit network, a spiked Mohawk, more metal armor than he knew how to carry, and a big fucking plasma rifle with an itchy trigger finger. On the right side of the platform? The love of Shane’s life Georgia Cushing, shackled, ball gagged, and wearing Princess Leia’s metal bikini from Return of the Jedi.

Ambrose’s menacing stare as he smoked a cigar along with Georgia’s muffled pleas had Shane’s adrenaline pumping and his eyes bulging. “Let her go! You can’t do this! This shit’s illegal!”

“Correction, Mr. Herman: it WAS illegal until you signed a Hold Harmless agreement as a condition of competing on Balls to the Wall,” explained Morgan. She placed a hand on Shane’s shoulder and seductively scratched his back. “Remember, Mr. Herman: you have only two minutes to complete the final obstacle course. And if you don’t, Ambrose is going to turn your girlfriend’s head into a blood bomb. But…there’s always a but…the silver lining to all of this is…” She leaned into his ear. “You’ll have one extra hole to fuck! Are you ready, Mr. Herman?” She punctuated that last sentence by grabbing Shane’s ass.

Despite the obvious sexual harassment, Shane’s newly acquired sniper sight was locked onto Ambrose’s ugly mug. He had that mile-long stare that said, “Don’t fuck with my woman” without actually using words. Without giving Morgan the benefit of eye contact, he said, “You’re damn right I’m ready.” He then clocked Morgan in the face and sent her into darkness.

With the overhead Jumbo Tron counting down the obligatory two minutes and the audience booing him for his knockout punch, Shane’s nerves went into overdrive. He ignored all of his aches and sweats as he blitzed down the track on his way to the final obstacle course.

He flew off the diving board and grabbed a hold of the trapeze. His hands were so sweaty that he instantly let go and landed into a pool of scalding red water. The screams pouring out of Shane’s mouth had the audience laughing, Ambrose grinning, and Georgia screaming through her gag as she struggled in her chains. The fake bubbling lava had lit a fire under his ass, almost quite literally. He high-kneed it out of the pool and dashed towards the next obstacle.

Shane’s wobbly legs did a piss-poor job of balancing his body across a high beam, which was suspended above a pit full of scorpion-like alien creatures. As soon as he hit his nuts on the metal beam, the scorpions scrambled underneath him, clicked their claws, and came green liquid out of their tails. Shane held on for dear life while simultaneously doubling over in agonizing pain. Slowly he pulled himself across the metal beam. When he finally made it to the other side, he didn’t have the strength to pick himself up and hung upside down over the pit. The Martian scorpions drooled and came some more.

The overhead clock reached the one minute mark and Georgia’s screams overpowered those of the ravenous audience. Ambrose snapped, “Shut up, bitch!” before smacking her ass.

Another burst of adrenaline rushed through Shane Herman’s veins. He clenched his teeth, reached down for a handful of scorpions, and sat up before throwing the creatures out into the audience. He flipped them off and spit on the ground before continuing the course.

His balls were aching so badly that Shane coughed up some blood during his last hoorah. Black visions took over his mind and he was ready to fall asleep right there. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that Snickers bar before the show, he said in his mind. His blood coughs turned into a full-on vomiting session while the overhead clock reached the thirty second mark. He had one more obstacle to clear: a platform jump. He wanted to get up and rescue his girlfriend from a cruel and arguably illegal fate. “How far will I go for the girl of my dreams?” he mumbled to nobody. And then…”Clearly, I have my limits.”

Shane spun around and landed flat on his back in a puddle of sickness. Not even Georgia’s banshee screams could snap him out of his laziness. Not even the booing crowd could awaken him from this living nightmare. Not even the buzzer sounding could jolt him into action. Not even the sound of a plasma rifle discharging could…wait a minute…

Georgia emitted one final scream that caused Shane to tightly close his eyes and the audience to gasp in mock horror. He failed her. He wasn’t the superman he professed to be when he signed up for this reality show. He simply just gave up when it got too inconvenient. However…

“Today’s your lucky day, you dumb bitch. You’re free to go,” said Ambrose before the sounds of chains snapping echoed in Shane’s ears. “Go on back to your man…if you can call him that.”

It was illegal after all. The whole thing was a sick and twisted motivation technique. Even when the pressure mounted, Shane gave up and the audience couldn’t love him for it. Neither could Georgia as she stood over Shane’s prone body with angry tears in her eyes.

“How could you?” she asked while wiping her eyes with her arm. “That monster could have killed me! That woman grabbed you! And you just…let it happen?! How could you just quit like that?!”

Spitting out a small chunk of blood-covered vomit, Shane said, “Fuck this superman shit. I’m not a goddamn athlete. I never was. If you hadn’t spent all of our money on trips to the beauty salon, I wouldn’t have to torture myself for five thousand dollars. No woman is worth the pain I went through today.”

“The pain YOU went through?! Excuse me?! I’m in a metal bikini! I had a ball gag in my mouth, you idiot! I could have died today!”

“I could have died too!”

Shane and Georgia gazed at each other with sad, puffy eyes. They set the bar too high for each other. They both fucked up. And now it was time to part ways.

“I’m sorry, Shane…it’s over.” Georgia wiped away snot with her fingers and took off from the scene, leaving her now ex-boyfriend to fend for himself.

He held his hands over his face to unleash tears of his own when suddenly, Ambrose came over with his plasma rifle and said, “Cheer up, quitter. You haven’t given up on life completely. You probably should considering how high the hospital bill will be. Plus, I’m sure Morgan Burch is going to sue your ass for punching her in the face. With a beaten up body like yours, that’s a debt you’ll never work off. You still want to quit? I’ve got one in the chamber for you, for real this time. What do you say?”

Staring down the barrel of the plasma rifle, Shane nodded at Ambrose and said, “Go for it.” It wasn’t even a hard decision at this point. He would have welcomed it even before beginning the final obstacle course. So tired…so exhausted…Whoever said, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” obviously had Shane Herman in mind.

Not Worth the Pain

CHORUS

You’re not worth the pain

I’ve got nothing to gain

From watching you walk away

You’re not worth the trauma

You’re not worth the drama

Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 1

What makes you worthy of my crowded mind?

What makes you worthy of my precious time?

Anybody can wear the shortest of dresses

Anybody can rock the hottest of messes

But only you can break another man down

Get your entertainment from watching me drown

Goodbye, my friend, for now and forever

I wish you the best in your future endeavors

CHORUS

You’re not worth the pain

I’ve got nothing to gain

From watching you walk away

You’re not worth the trauma

You’re not worth the drama

Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 2

I’ve got enough pain in my oversized heart

And you were hardly the end or the start

I’m a sucker for only the tightest of hugs

It’s kind of like being high on opium drugs

Fool me once and the shame goes on you

Fool me twice and it’s really nothing new

I’ve got to kick this habit sometime soon

Before I get locked up like a loony toon

CHORUS

You’re not worth the pain

I’ve got nothing to gain

From watching you walk away

You’re not worth the trauma

You’re not worth the drama

Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 3

Why do I keep on doing this to myself?

Why do I keep on compromising my health?

Why do I form these unhealthy crushes?

Why do I use friendship as my crutches?

Why do you keep coming back in my life?

Why do you keep on twisting the knife?

Why do you keep on breaking my heart?

Why do you like to tear my life apart?

BRIDGE

Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!

You’re not worth the pain!

Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!

You’re not worth the shame!

Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!

You’re not worth the sadness!

Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!

You’re not worth the madness!

Goddamn Dog

As Tim Coleman laid half asleep in bed on a rainy afternoon, he kept wondering why his girlfriend Jade Quinn had “One More Light” by Linkin Park playing on repeat before she left for work in the morning. She wasn’t her usual peppy self. No smiles. No kisses. Not even a hug. Just cold, empty eyes as she left Tim in charge of dogsitting duty. The pouring rain coupled with the dour mood made him curl up against his pillow even more. A pillow was no substitute for Jade, however. He would have settled for Millie crawling up under the blankets. But then…

Something assaulted Tim’s nose like a wrecking ball to the face and had just about as much knockout power. He pulled his nostrils under the blanket, but he could still smell that rancid, god-awful odor coming from the living room. “Oh no…no, no, no…please tell me she didn’t do it…no…no…NO!”

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped out to the living room wearing just his athletic shorts. The harder he stomped, the more rage pumped through his ogre-like body. The odor set his nostrils nearly ablaze as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. And then he made it to the living room and saw that Jade’s hardwood floors had become a battlefield of landmines. Gigantic, steaming brown landmines with the general herself laying on the ground in guilt. Millie the salt n’ pepper colored Labrador mooed like a cow before unleashing a cloud of toxic gas from her already putrid bunghole.

“Goddamn it, Millie! You stupid fucking goddamn dog!” shouted Tim from the top of his lungs. “I am so sick and tired of cleaning up your fucking messes! You goddamn dog!” Fury and venom poured from the fat man’s lips with every swearing scream. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid dog!” Though he would never go through on such a threat, Millie wouldn’t have known as she guiltily tucked her head.

Tim stomped to the bathroom and fetched the necessary cleaning supplies for a job this disgusting: paper towels, a mop, and a bucket he filled with soapy water. In between retrieving these necessary items, he kept on roaring like the pissed off lion he was. “You goddamn dog! Quit shitting all over the fucking floor, asshole!”

His first course of action was to scoop up all of the dog turds with god knows how many paper towels before flushing them down the toilet separately. Every time he bent over, the odor triggered his gag reflex to where he wanted to vomit himself inside out. While that would be an instant relief to his aching and tired body, it would also mean more messes to clean up. “Goddamn stupid ass fucking dog!” he screamed.

After flushing the turds down the drain, he sat on the toilet seat for a while and wiped the sweat from his body, which poured like the rainy weather outside. Tim took several deep breaths not only to recover his lost energy, but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “Stupid dog…stupid goddamn dog!” he screamed, completely destroying his ambitions of nirvana.

Step two of this ultimate cleaning job was to mop the floors as vigorously as he could. A few strokes in and he was already sucking wind. Wind, by the way, that was broken by a sixteen-year-old dog huddling in the corner. “Stupid dog!” Tim screamed again as he scrubbed the wooden floor. No matter how hard he mopped, the air thickened like he was in a burning building. At this point he was genuinely surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off during this job. “You stupid motherfucking dog! Quit making me clean up after you, you little shithead!”

Once he was certain the shit was completely cleaned up off the floor, he death-marched to the bathroom to flush the mop water down the toilet. His head ached worse than if he had been beaten with hammers. His heart pounded as if a Mortal Kombat character was trying to rip it out. His lower back flared with pain like he had taken a body slam over a pile of razorblades. Tim sat on the toilet and sucked some more wind, confident that his job was finally over.

He had recovered a modicum of his energy before he put the cleaning supplies back in the bathroom closet. Slowly and languidly, he waddled out to the living room and took care not to slip on the wet surface. The only wet surface he had to deal with it that moment was the one on Jade Quinn’s horrified face, an intensification of what she felt when she left for work this morning.

There she was in her business skirt, high heels, and wrinkled dress shirt. She dropped her purse by her feet and stared down Tim’s guilty soul with wetness in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a sentence. “T…Tim…did I just…hear you…yelling at Millie?” No response, only a saggy frown to match his guilt. “Answer me!” she cried.

Tim’s own face quivered as he too tried to muster up the words he needed. “Jade, I’m sorry. She…she shit all over the floor and…I panicked…I would never do anything to hurt Millie, you know that, right?”

Pointing her manicured finger at Tim, Jade fought back the rest of her tears in vain as she mumbled, “You…would never…hurt Millie?” Silence hung between the two lovers like a yawning, fiery chasm. “You just did, you insensitive asshole!” Jade dropped to her knees and held her long blond hair in her hands, emptying her eyes of emotional fluids. Millie slowly edged towards her and got a scratch behind the ears from her one true master.

Tim gingerly approached his girlfriend and knelt down to put his massive hand on her shoulder. Jade swatted him away instantly. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “You’ve done enough damage today!” She hugged Millie around her neck and cried into her salt and pepper fur. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m sorry he yelled at you like that.”

Tim stood back up not knowing what else to say. Apologizing didn’t work. Explaining his actions didn’t work. Not even a gentle touch of the shoulder could bring his girlfriend out of her sorrowful abyss. He knew he fucked up badly and could do nothing but sit on the leather couch with his pudgy face in his hands.

“You can’t sit there anymore, Tim,” blubbered Jade. “Not after what you did. This was supposed to be Millie’s special day. I was going to take her to the park and get her ice cream after I got off work. And now…all she’s going to remember is you yelling at her…How could you, Tim?”

“Wha…What do you mean all she’s going to remember? Is that why you played that Linkin Park song this morning? Jade, you can tell me what’s going on.”

Wiping away tears even though they wouldn’t stop coming, Jade lifted her face from her hug with the dog and said, “Millie has stomach cancer. That’s why she’s been going to the bathroom on the floor a lot. And you react to this mild inconvenience by yelling those awful things at her?!”

Tim didn’t notice it when he was cleaning, but now that he thought about it, there were small traces of red in Millie’s stool. The guilt choked him up like a noose around the neck. His eyes grew sore, but he did a better job of hiding his sadness than his girlfriend. Even during this dark time he was too proud to fall apart in front of her. But he couldn’t help it. One tear rolled down his cheek while many more cascaded from Jade’s eyes.

“You know, Jade…there’s no reason…why we can’t still get Millie ice cream.” His voice trembled as he etched out those words.

“Yes, there is!” shouted Jade as she stood back up. “She’ll just shit all over the floor and you’ll scream like a little child again as you clean it up! The only reason why you’re sorry is because you got caught! You don’t care about my dog! You don’t care about my emotions! In fact, get your fat ass off my couch and get dressed! I don’t want you here anymore!”

Tim didn’t get up. He sat there and let another tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jade.”

“No, you’re not!” cried Jade as she grabbed Tim’s arm and tried in vain to jerk him to a standing position. When he wouldn’t budge, she just crumpled to a pile on the floor and cried some more, prompting Millie to lick her face dry.

“Jade…if you give me the keys to your car…I will go to the supermarket and buy vanilla ice cream for Millie. She loves vanilla, right?”

“Go to hell, Tim!”

“Listen to me!” urged Tim as he cupped Jade’s shoulders in his hands. “If you still want me gone from here, I’ll go. But please let me get the ice cream for Millie. She deserves that much. Right, old lady?” Tim petted Millie’s head and talked cutely to her about what a good dog she was, even planting a kiss on her wet nose. Millie returned a puppy kiss for his efforts.

Tim then held Jade’s hand in his own and begged, “Please…let me get the ice cream. You can even come with me if you want and we’ll listen to One More Light for as long as you want. I love that song too. And Millie can come ride with us. She can stick her head out the window and…”

“Tim, enough,” said Jade while a holding a hand in front of her boyfriend. She wiped away a tear and sniffed snot up her nose. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s just going to shit in the car again and you’ll go on another yelling spree. If anybody’s going to get the ice cream, it’s me.”

With that said, Jade and Millie walked out of the house together for a ride in the car while Tim sat on the couch in his shorts sulking it up. A few tears escaped his eyes and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. It was over. It was all over. Not just for him, but for Millie as well. The puppy kiss didn’t even feel like true forgiveness. Knowing his hands were unclean (in more ways than one), Tim Coleman pulled himself off the couch and trudged back to the bedroom, presumably to get his things and go.

And then…he walked past the kitchen and saw something magnetized to the refrigerator door. He pulled down a familiar sheet of glossy paper and studied it for a while before making his final attempt at goodwill towards Jade and Millie. Wasting no more time, he picked up the phone and dialed a number on the sheet of paper. A few rings later, he was patched in.

“Thank you for choosing Pizza Hut. How can I help you tonight?”

“Yes, I’d like an extra large meat lover’s pizza with stuffed crust.” Tim couldn’t contain his sorrow over the phone and it was noticeable.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Not really. But I’m sure my dog will be happy to see you once you get here with that pizza.”

2019

My intentions for the brand new year

Have never been so crystalline clear

Drop a hundred pounds as I walk this town

While listening to favorite heavy metal sounds

Publish a new book full of action and drama

Edit that bitch down to the very last comma

Find a girl who loves me for my soul

Who’ll pull me out of my blackest hole

Read more books and clear my shelves

I’ll review them all, but read for yourselves

Learn how to drive some clunky machinery

Eat less junk food and eat more greenery

See Tarja Turunen perform at a show

Even if the destination is one I don’t know

Buy a T-shirt that says Ego Kills Talent

Vote for justice on the November ballot

Glide my fingers across the piano again

Play some funky music that never ends

Be the best kitty father I can possibly be

Emilio the snuggle buddy sleeping with me

Write more often while being wide awake

Write every day if that’s what it takes

If these dreams and goals sound unrealistic

You’re obviously part of this division

You might as well stand right in my path

Can’t guarantee your safety in the aftermath

You say I can’t do it, I tell you to screw it

You’ve got too much attitude; lose it

This year is mine to grab by the horns

This life is mine, it shall never be torn

New Years Goals 2019

***NEW YEARS GOALS 2019***

I’m fully aware of how useless New Years resolutions can be. You make one promise and break it a day later. It’s almost a universal certainty that fucking up a New Years resolution will be paramount to 2019 and every year for the rest of our lives. But just for the sake of being in the holiday spirit, I’m going to make my own personal list of New Years goals for 2019. I have no idea how I’m going to tackle them or how long it’ll be before I eventually get sidetracked. All I know is that I have goals and they’ll be on display for all of my readers to see. Starting with…

***LOSING ONE HUNDRED POUNDS***

No, I’m not talking about British money, I’m talking about the units of fat weighing me down and keeping me from achieving full cardio potential. Truth is, I have no idea how much I weigh and I’m not eager to find out. Looking at the numbers on a weight scale has always been intimidating for me. I think I’m doing great and suddenly the scale says I’m three hundred fucking pounds. Not very encouraging. So in order to shed some of those pounds, I’m going on longer outdoor walks and I’m going to increase my distance once my current distance gets too easy to do, which won’t be for a while I assume. I might also have to stop eating at the restaurants in the Fred Meyer plaza even though it’s technically lunch hour by the time I get to where I’m going. Little Caesar’s, Quizno’s, a Mexican restaurant I can’t remember the name of, and the Fred Meyer deli are all very tempting during my calorie burning walks. Maybe I can just get a drink from Fred Meyer and eat something nutritious at home. Maybe…

***PUBLISH BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Even though I have an entire year to rewrite and edit this novel again and again, something tells me that I’ll need more than a year. I don’t want Beautiful Monster to become a flop like Occupy Wrestling is turning out to be. I want Beautiful Monster to be the novel that recharges my career. I want it to be something that can be loved by a wider audience, trigger warnings aside. I want Book Tubers to discuss it at length and not accuse me of having flat characters or too-fast of a pace or whatnot. Thankfully, I have the services of Hollow Hills Books by my side. I’ll pay them whatever they want to help me iron the kinks out of it. I’ll gladly put in the work if it means this novel will save my career. Does it even need saving? I’m not sure.

***FIND A GIRLFRIEND***

…Yeah…um…about that…how do I…I mean…yeah, I’ve got nothing. No solutions, no tactics, no nothing. Maybe if I watch enough flirty Psych 2 Go videos, a girlfriend will magically appear. But if not…well, there’s always next year…and the year after that…and the year after that.

***CURE MY CHRONIC TIREDNESS***

This is another tough one, but I have more to say about it. Truth is, there’s no one cause that’s making my sleepy almost all of the time. It’s a bunch of different factors congregating together at once. Being overweight, being schizophrenic, being autistic, quite possibly being depressed, not having enough of a social life, not getting enough good nutrition, I could go on forever. I currently use a CPAP machine to help me breathe at night and it has done wonders for my constant sleepiness, but it’s not an end-all solution. There’s a lot I could be doing for myself, but even then there’s no guarantee that I’ll be the 24/7 or 48/14 workhorse that I was in college and high school. If I told my professors that I was too tired to do homework, they wouldn’t sympathize with me; they’d give me an F. Not that I’d want to go back to school for any reason, but you get what I’m saying. If sleepiness is unacceptable in my early 20’s, it’s unacceptable in my early 30’s.

***SEE TARJA TURUNEN IN CONCERT***

There are a lot of bands I like that I haven’t seen perform live yet and Tarja Turunen is at the top of my list. She’s been my college crush from 2007 to 2009 and making a trip to see her in concert would be like a religious pilgrimage to Mecca. I know she doesn’t come to the US very often, let alone anywhere in Washington State, but if she played in a foreign country and I had a plane ticket to see her, I’ll gladly take that. I know nobody asked and it wouldn’t be wise to anyways, but no, I have no plans to flirt with Tarja if she does a fan meet-and-greet. She’s a happily married woman with a beautiful little daughter. Besides, I don’t flirt with anybody these days no matter who they are. It’s creepy if you’re like me and you have no idea what you’re doing.

***CONCLUSION***

I have a bunch of smaller goals too such as reading certain books and owning a T-shirt that says “Ego Kills Talent”, but why delve into those when I don’t have much to say about them? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I know that you’re hiding things, using gentle words to shelter me. Your words were like a dream, but dreams could never fool me, not that easily. I acted so distant then. Didn’t say goodbye before you left. But I was listening. You’ll fight your battles far from me, far too easily. “Save your tears, ‘cause I’ll come back,” I could hear that you whispered as you walked through that door. But still I swore to hide the pain when I turn back the pages. Shouting might’ve been the answer. What if I cried my eyes out and begged you not to depart? But now I’m not afraid to say what’s in my heart. Though a thousand words have never been spoken. They’ll fly to you even though you can’t see. I know they’re reaching you, suspended on silver wings. Oh, a thousand words, one thousand embraces will cradle you, making all of your weary days seem far away. They’ll hold you forever.”

-“1,000 Words” from Final Fantasy X-2-

You Hate Me 'Cause I Love You

VERSE 1

If I put this out into the universe

Will you be the one who hurts?

If I say this to your lovely face

Would it invade your personal space?

If I told you I loved you until the end

Would you cease to be my best friend?

Is it worth taking the biggest chance

Or will I fumble and fall on my ass?

CHORUS 1

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to walk out of sight

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to call it a night

VERSE 2

I’m sorry if I’ve offended you

But everything I said was true

I don’t take any of my words back

I’ll take them deep into the black

CHORUS 2

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to end the whole thing

You hate me ‘cause I love you

My broken heart forever sings

VERSE 3

My eyes are open, yet full of tears

Planned this confession for many years

Went against my instincts and worst fears

I see it all, it’s now so vivid and clear

I should have kept this to myself

Loneliness is no good for my health

Got desperate and made a mistake

Watched you cry, watched your heart break

CHORUS 3

You hate me ‘cause I love you

I’ll pack my bags and fuck off

You hate me ‘cause I love you

How could I be so damn soft?

You hate me ‘cause I love you

I’ll get my ass on an airplane

You hate me ‘cause I love you

Anything to keep you sane

Uncomfortable

VERSE 1

All this time I was dating a stranger

Thinking she was my queen and savior

Couldn’t get comfortable for a second

I couldn’t form a wisecrack sentence

Stutter, stutter, stutter, stutter

Iron courage melts like a stick of butter

The keys to her heart, far out of reach

Infinite charisma, could never teach

CHORUS

Uncomfortable on her couch

Uncomfortable kissing sounds

Uncomfortable silence so loud

Uncomfortable! Uncomfortable!

VERSE 2

They say I’m too shy, too out of place

Too much sadness written on my face

Too much anger building up inside

Not enough zeal, too much pride

Could never open up, make the first move

For fear of having everything to lose

Couldn’t get comfortable for a minute

The kiss goodbye never tasted so vicious

CHORUS

Uncomfortable on her couch

Uncomfortable kissing sounds

Uncomfortable silence so loud

Uncomfortable! Uncomfortable!

VERSE 3

A new friend, a new song of silence

Cower away from the seductive siren

She takes my hand, she tries to dance

Another way to try to get in my pants

Discomfort became seen as weakness

My broken heart shattered into pieces

I swear it’ll be different the next time

Except there won’t be another next time

EXTENDED CHORUS

Uncomfortable on her couch

Uncomfortable kissing sounds

Uncomfortable silence so loud

Uncomfortable! Uncomfortable!

Uncomfortable in my head

Uncomfortable is what I said

Should I try to say it again?

Or will this loneliness never end?

Everybody's Rock

The corny commercials on TV rotted Clark Hall’s brain into mush and froze his heart into an arctic glacier. The sounds of his girlfriend Sydney Farrow sobbing only a few feet away from him did nothing to bring him out of his trance. Even when Sydney took a few seconds to blow her nose or sob even louder, she couldn’t get her boyfriend’s undivided attention. She wiped away her tears with a napkin and finally asked, “Are we going to talk about this?”

“Nope,” said Clark without even thinking about his answer. Instead he just flipped through channels in a vain attempt to find something that will rejuvenate his porridge mind.

“Say something!” shrieked Sydney.

“Something.”

After one last wipe of her drenched face and smeared makeup, the pajama pants and tank top-wearing Sydney ripped the remote control out of Clark’s hand and turned the TV off. All he could do was stare her down with a frosty expression, not even a little burst of energy. With her hands animated, Sydney freaked out when she said, “Clark, why won’t you talk to me?! Just once I’d like to have a real conversation with you! For god’s sake, do something! Sing! Dance! Anything! Do anything at all!”

“Anything?”

“Yes, anything at all!”

Taking her words literally, Clark moseyed on over to the kitchen table and sprinkled salt n his own head. “There, I did something.”

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Sydney asked, “What the hell’s wrong with you?! Are you fucking insane?! You knew damn well what I meant! You’re taking a serious situation and ripping the piss!”

“Serious? You want to talk about seriousness? How am I supposed to take you seriously when you keep crying every damn day?! Every fucking day, it’s the same thing! More tears! More drama! More bullshit! You know why I watch so much television? Because it’s the only thing that can take me away from your horseshit!”

Holding Clark’s hand in hers, Sydney wept, “Please, stop talking like that! You’re scaring me!” In typical Clark Hall fashion, the stone cold lover dropped to his knees and rattled off in devilish tongues. Sydney finally snapped, “You’re scaring me!”

Seemingly taking this conversation seriously, Clark stood back up and gazed into his girlfriend’s damp eyes. “You’re scared, huh? That’s okay, baby girl. I’m scared too. I’m scared of where this dramatic diarrhea will take us. I’m scared of never being able to feel happy again. Your sadness is making me sad! The only difference between you and me is that I’m not allowed to cry, seeing as how I’m a man and all.”

“Nobody said you couldn’t cry, Clark!”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit! I hear people say that shit everyday! I’m always the one who has to be the strong superman for everybody! I’m the one who has to be everybody’s rock! I remember being a kid when I rode my bike and landed on my ass! Did anybody let me cry? No! Not one fucking person! Not my dad! Not my mom! They both wanted me to be a so-called real man! Well, congratulations, fuckers! I’m a real fucking man now!”

Taking her boyfriend’s hands once again, Sydney delicately said, “You can cry in front of me if you want, Clark. I won’t judge you. I’d never judge you for something like that.”

“Yeah right! If I start sobbing, who are you going to have left for comfort? Huh? Who’s going to be there for emotional support? I don’t even know how to fall to pieces! Twenty fucking years of pissed off feelings, Sydney, and I ain’t done a damn thing with all that rage! Now what?!”

Eyebrows furrowed, teeth clenched, skin pink, and muscles tensed, Sydney’s rage boiled over when she whispered, “You want to cry? Go ahead, Clark. Do it. Do it! Cry, damn it! Show some emotion for the first time in your fucking life! Be the man I fell in love with so many years ago! The one who wrote me all that poetry! The one who didn’t give a shit what anybody else thought of him! Come on, damn it, cry! Cry!” Her last few words were punctuated with shoves to Clark’s chest.

He brushed his hand through his thick brown hair and used his Pink Floyd the Wall T-shirt to air himself out, but no tears came. Not one drop. Just clenched teeth and a pointed finger. “You can’t do this to me, Sydney. You’re not going to break me. Not tonight, not ever!”

Sydney brought Clark’s face over and planted a wet kiss on his lips, get a few teardrops on his shoulders in the process. The boyfriend’s eyes widened at the gesture while the girlfriend remained pissed off and intense. “Now cry, damn it. Cry! You have my permission even though you never needed it. Open those floodgates!”

Clark’s breathing intensified while he tried in vain to hide his face from his girlfriend. His muscles tightened, then relaxed, then tightened, then relaxed again. His face was concentrated on his black socks and teal sweatpants. Twenty years of being pissed off. Twenty years of nothingness. Twenty years of emptiness. It all resulted in a primal scream of the F-word followed by several punches to the couch cushions. It didn’t matter how hard he punched, because no amount of toughness could prepare him for what came next.

The first tear dropped on the couch pillow. Then the second. Then the third. And then they swarmed and multiplied until the emotional dam finally exploded. For the first time in Clark’s life, he felt absolution from being “everybody’s rock”. He tried hard to suck back his tears, but it was too late: the floodgates had permanently opened. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered. “This isn’t fair!”

As Clark sobbed some more, he felt Sydney’s fingernails gently scraping down his back while the softness of her other hand petted his hair like a kitty. She whispered in his ear, “Of course it’s fair, honey. Don’t fight it. Let them come.”

“How? How could I let this happen?”

“It’s okay, Clark. I love you. I always will. Scoot over, I want to lay next to you.” The two of them snuggled together on the couch sobbing silently into each other’s arms. It was as Clark prophesized: more drama. More tears. More bullshit. More awkwardness. But it felt right. It felt as though this was where the conversation was meant to go all along. Twenty years of bitterness could never have become twenty-one no matter how hard Clark tried. He didn’t remember much from that night, but only because he fell asleep on the couch shortly after, taking Sydney’s cherry kisses with him into dreamland.

By the time the butt crack of dawn came shining through the apartment window, Clark Hall was so drained that he didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes, which were still damp, salty, and fiery from the night before. The only difference was that Sydney wasn’t in his arms anymore. Clark slowly picked his head up off the pillow and saw that she was drinking coffee at the kitchen table, still in her tank top and pajama pants.

The psychologically emancipated boyfriend peeled his body off of the leather couch and stumbled towards the table to join his equally drained girlfriend. A cup of coffee was already there waiting for him. He took several sips of the sugar and cream-drenched stimulant, but still couldn’t wake up. If he spent eternity on that couch, it would be alright with him.

Breaking the awkward silence, Clark asked, “Did you want to talk about last night?”

“Did you?”

“No, not really,” said Clark as he stretched his arms out. “I have to be at work in an hour. All that crying drained me the fuck out.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I don’t even want to go today, but it is what it is. Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow?”

“…Yeah…tomorrow…”

The two of them absentmindedly sipped their coffee while the lessons of the previous night struggled to sink in. Would tomorrow be another dramatic spell? Would Clark spend more time in front of the TV? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep and maybe take a sick day. But just like with all things in life, it was back to the grind again. Just another day, just another lousy paycheck. “Tomorrow…tomorrow…I love you…tomorrow…” Clark sang in his head.

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!”

Die Purring

On a gray winter afternoon, nothing was more relaxing for Shayna Jorgenson than cozying up on the couch with her bare feet up on the ottoman and shopping for Christmas presents online with her laptop. This was much easier than going to a department store, especially since wearing pink fleece pajama pants and a white tank top was perfectly acceptable attire for internet shopping. No customers fighting among themselves for the best deals on shit they didn’t need, and no lengthy ass lines so that people would have to put up with each other for that much longer. The beauty of comfort brought a smile to Shayna’s face as she pulled the tie out of her soft chocolate hair.

Although, she had to admit that shopping for her boyfriend Edward Christian was a mystery wrapped in a riddle most of the time. They had been seeing each other for a whole year, yet Shayna didn’t have much of a grasp on what it was he truly liked. And then she saw his laptop sitting on the couch next to her and got a sneaky idea. She folded up her own laptop and logged onto his, which was easier than shopping for him since the computer wasn’t password protected. Perhaps she could get an idea of what he wanted for Christmas from poking around on his computer.

And then she had yet another naughty idea: sneaking around on his laptop to see his...pictures. Photography was one of Edward’s favorite hobbies and Shayna had to admit that he took some damn good pictures of her, maybe even professional grade (in case his gig at the library didn’t work out for him). And then she ventured into more dangerous territory: the porn collection.

Shayna rolled over onto her side as she surfed Edward’s porn collection with a kinky grin on her face. He definitely had some imaginative tastes. Wonder Woman in a lesbian make-out session with Princess Leia (in her golden bikini). Harley Quinn tying and gagging Lois Lane with duct tape. There was even a screenshot of Crazy K from Tales from the Hood in his black underwear being strapped to the spinning torture table, which made Shayna giggle and shake her head.

The next picture she saw erased the smile from her face and added tremor effects to her lips. She even held her stomach as she tried to keep her coffee down. There was nothing wrong with the fact that these women (and/or girls) were bare naked. It was what they were wearing on their crotches that made Shayna’s insides twist and pulsate with horror. She tried heavily breathing to calm herself down, but no matter what kind of whirlwind she sucked into her lungs, her blood continued to feel like a frigid tsunami running through her veins.

She peeked up momentarily to see her boyfriend standing in the living room with groceries in his hands and a confused expression on his face. Shayna never heard the door open, which was even creepier than what she saw on his computer. Edward asked, “Is there something you’re not telling me? What’s wrong, babe?”

Shayna closed the laptop and set it aside with shivers in her bare arms. “You know, Edward…I never had a problem with you keeping porn on your computer. But tell me…why did I just see a picture…of women wearing…diapers?!” That last word was punctuated with tears welling up in her eyes.

Edward dropped the bags of groceries at his sides and placed his hands on his hips. “Really?” he said. “You’re mad because I have a diaper fetish? So what? What’s the big deal?”

Shayna jumped up from the couch and shouted, “Children wear diapers! Old people wear diapers! You like that stuff?! You actually think that women in diapers are sexy?! What is wrong with you?!” Another wave of nausea hit her like a wrecking ball to the gut. “Oh my god…how old are those women? How old are they?!”

The blond haired, gray sweater vest wearing Edward approached his girlfriend with his arms spread out with the intention of hugging her. “Come on, baby, it’s not like that. You know me better than that.”

When he got a little too close for comfort, Shanya batted his arms away and shouted, “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me! You’re sick! You’re a sick goddamn pervert! I mean, why would anybody think that diapers are sexy?! Is that what you want me to do for you?! Huh?! You want me to dress up in a child’s diaper and pretend that I’m a big fucking baby?! Maybe you should be a Catholic priest or some shit like that!”

Edward ran his hands through his fuzzy hair and looked down at his brown dress shoes and gray slacks. Shayna plopped back down on the couch and bawled her eyes out. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now, Edward,” she said. “This is sick. This is absolutely sick.”

The boyfriend’s expression changed from crippling guilt to trembling anger as he marched over to the bookcase and pulled out a copy of “Fifty Shades of Grey” by EL James. “You see this? Look at me, damn it!” Edward shouted. “Anybody who reads crap like this has no right to judge other people for having weird fetishes! I have no illusions about diaper sex being normal. But at least I would never make you sign your life away in a fucking contract, which the main character in this disgusting book does to his girlfriend! You’re a hypocrite, Shayna! I’d rather be a crazy diaper fetishist that a flip-flopping bitch like you!”

Shayna shot right back up again and shouted, “There are no diapers in Fifty Shades of Grey! The main character specifically says that nothing he and his girlfriend will do involves children! And as I just told you, in case you didn’t fucking know, children wear diapers! I’m not going to satisfy your little NAMBLA fetish just for the sake of keeping our sex life fresh! If you want to have diaper sex so badly, run a daycare center!”

The girlfriend shuffled around looking for her shoes and socks while Edward shouted, “Yeah, that’s right! Judge me! Label me! It’s not like people don’t do that enough already! You think you’re the first one to give me shit because of my tastes?! Yes, I’m weird! I know that! And you know what?! I’m proud of that shit! Being normal is boring as hell! And if you want me to conform for you, you’re just as boring as any other faceless bastard walking the streets!”

Once Shayna got her shoes and socks on, she began to stomp her way out the front door. Before she could, Edward had one last cannonball to fire. “That’s right, walk away! Throw away an entire year of romance just because of one weird ass fetish! I’m not the freak around here! You are, bitch!”

Shayna glared at her boyfriend one more time and flipped him off before slamming the door behind her and walking away. Edward was proud of standing his ground, but even he couldn’t resist the urge to plop down on the ottoman and stroke his hair while tears were forming in his eyes. He had been in several arguments with Shayna before, but none of them have ended without resolution. All of those pedophile remarks could very well mean the end of their relationship. They were serious accusations, possibly serious enough to involve the police if things get heated.

That night, Edward Christian laid in bed with the blankets barely covering his blue shorts-wearing body. He hugged his pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Shayna would ever come home to him. It was a stupid thing to fight over and a shitty way for one year of love to end. Christmas was coming up soon and if word got out that he had a diaper fetish, he would have nobody to celebrate this special holiday with. The more he thought about this, the longer he stayed up. He had stayed awake for two hours without getting one wink of sleep. When the sandman eventually came for him, he was going to sleep alone. Having that much bed space didn’t feel any more comfortable than sleeping on a park bench in the frigid weather.

“Hey, baby,” said a familiar voice in the doorway. It was the lovely Shayna Jorgenson, still dressed in PJ pants and a tank top. She also wore a look of sadness on her face, like she had spent most of the day crying as she cleared her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry about everything. At the end of the day, we all have our weird tastes, even me. You’re right. It would be a boring world if everyone was normal. But I also know that you would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I know you don’t either.”

Edward spread his hand across the other side of the bed, signaling for his girlfriend to come lay beside him and end this silly feud once and for all. Shayna took off her tank top and revealed a white bra underneath. She breathed a deep sigh and looked down at her toes for a moment before pulling her pajama pants down and revealing a thick white diaper underneath.

Edward didn’t know whether to feel turned on and passionate or confused as hell. Shayna said, “I’m willing to try this just one time. If I don’t like it, then we won’t do it again. I feel absolutely ridiculous wearing this thing…but at the same time,” she smiled her sweet smile yet again and said, “It feels pretty soft against me.”

The boyfriend had a sexy grin on his own face as well. “I never actually had diaper sex before. I hope it’ll be as fun for you as it is for me. If it isn’t…I won’t make you sign a contract or any shit like that.”

Shayna giggled as she turned out the light and swayed her diapered hips back and forth on her way to beddy-bye with her handsome stud. One night was all they needed. One night of the strangest sex they’d ever had.