The Sadness Olympics

Melanie Chappell’s legs rattled underneath her graduation robe while her mind bombarded her with traumatic images. Every gunshot. Every scream of death. Every splatter of blood. And then the coup-de-grace: one final bullet from the shooter’s gun aimed at his own head. Just like that it was all over, but in Melanie’s numbed out brain, it still went on.

How dare these students and faculty members carry on without her? How dare they leave her behind while she suffered silently? Her grades could get her into any school she wanted, but all the A+’s in the world couldn’t take away pain that would last forever…or at least until she deemed fit to use the undetected metal device in her pocket.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our valedictorian, Miss Melanie Chappell!”

The numbness wore off as she realized Principal Jeff Nygard’s voice summoning her to the podium. She just then remembered she was at a graduation ceremony. It took too long for the applause to register in her mind. Even the fancy purple and green colors of Principal Nygard’s wizard-like robe blended in with the rest of Melanie’s pitch black world.

High heels aside, Melanie’s legs nearly buckled underneath her as she staggered to the podium. Going back to bed was better than listening to these claps, which sounded too much for her comfort like repetitive gunfire from an AR-15. Instead of cycling through what she was supposed to say, she contemplated what the acronym AR stood for. Asshole Redneck? Aryan Race? Ammosexual Romance? She would have smiled at that last one if she didn’t nearly fall over the podium. Luckily, Principal Nygard’s hands were there to catch her.

“I’m okay,” she unconvincingly whispered to Nygard.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine…at least I think so.”

As Principal Nygard took his seat at the back of the stage, the concerned faces of graduating classmates washed over her war-like mind. While gunshots and blood splatters still smashed her mind into fragments, she believed the students’ reactions to be underwhelming for what had just happened a month ago. Had it really been a month? Or was it five seconds ago? Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over, she thought to herself.

Melanie attempted to adjust the microphone to her mouth and did so poorly. She stalled for time with a few halfhearted coughs. When time became a bigger enemy to her than the incel with the gun, she wiped away a singular tear and tried her damnedest to speak.

“Thank you all for coming out here today.” God, that sounded stupid, she thought. “I, uh…I know you all…this isn’t the end of…” Tears splashed around her eyeballs as she struggled to compose herself. Fuck it, I’ll go with it.

“A month ago, something awful happened at our school. I won’t go into the specifics of it since it’s fresh enough in everyone’s minds as it is. Many of our classmates died that day. Their families will never get to see them achieve greatness. Never see them smile again. Never erase those memories from their minds. And…while we can all agree to come together and give each other comfort and strength…not everyone on the internet sees it that way. In fact, there’s a…disgusting hashtag going around social media called The Sadness Olympics. It’s used by trolls who want to mock what we’ve been through, to protect their so-called second amendment rights, to…to…”

Melanie’s words became scrambled as silent tears dropped from her eyes like waterfalls. She could feel Principal Nygard’s hand on her shoulder, a sign of the comfort she spoke of before the most disgusting hashtag on the internet left her mouth. Jeff whispered, “If you need to leave the stage, you have my permission.”

“No! No…I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard. I’ve got this….”

Once he sat back down among all the other wizard-robe-wearing faculty members, rage bubbled from beneath Melanie’s skin like a murky, venomous swamp. Despite the tears rolling down her face, her expression said, “Do not fuck with me!” without those words actually coming off of her tongue.

“To whoever’s circulating that hashtag, I’ve got a message for you,” said Melanie. “You’re every bit as evil as the gunman who came to our school. You may not have pulled the trigger, but make no mistake about it, you’re a murderer!”

“Miss Chappell, please!” begged Principal Nygard.

“Shut up! I told you I’ve got this!” The whole auditorium along with the school Principal fell silent. “The fact that people think our suffering, my suffering is funny makes me sick to my stomach. People like that are the whole reason our country is going to shit.”

As the audience gasped at the swear word, Principal Nygard spoke up once again. “Miss Chappell, that’s enough! Please leave the stage, if not for us, then for your own benefit!”

“I told you I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard, now sit down and shut up! It’s what you do best!” His face grew red with embarrassment while his jaw nearly touched his lap. Melanie’s silver-tongued rhetoric continued. “The only thing that makes me sicker than that hashtag is the fact that it’s being used by some of our own students, many of whom are here today! I see you out there! You think this is comedy? Fine! You can laugh while your guts are spilling out of your body! You can literally laugh your head off as a bullet passes through it!

“And now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t be so mad that a shooter came to our school with a AR-15 or whatever the fuck it’s called! Hell, I would have come in with an army tank if I knew where to find one! I’d still be traumatized! I’d still wake up in the middle of the night trying to recover from a shitty dream! But you know what? If it means you hashtag warriors, you Sadness Olympics comedians, will get what’s coming to you, it’d be worth taking Xanax for the rest of my life! I can’t even afford it since it’s a controlled substance, but if Principal Nygard has taught me anything, it’s that it’s all in my head, a head which should be filled with ‘thoughts and prayers’, by the way!”

The students gasped once again as Nygard’s tone grew more serious. “One more outburst from you, Miss Chappell, and I’ll withhold your diploma! No more of this nonsense, you understand me?!”

Suddenly calming down, Melanie turned around to face her Principal with dewy eyes and a neon pink face. “Yeah…yeah, I understand, Mr. Nygard. I really shouldn’t have gotten off track like that. Sorry. I forgot we were supposed to be taking away each other’s pain, not shuffling it around.”

Facing the students again and adjusting the microphone nervously, Melanie’s streak of calmness continued. “Truth is, I don’t really have a solution to your traumas. I don’t even have a solution for my own. I don’t really know if we’re going to have another school shooting or not. I don’t know if we’re going to get more from our government than so-called ‘thoughts and prayers’.

“But one thing I do know…is that I don’t want any part of this. The graduation ceremony, the diploma, the college debt I’ll rack up…it’s all for nothing if my nightmares won’t leave me alone for even a few seconds. It’s all for nothing if internet trolls are just going to keep cracking jokes about us. So you know what I say? Before another horny incel has the chance to gun me down…I’ll strike first.”

In one swift motion, Melanie pulled a pistol out of her pocket and blew her own brains out, sending one final message to her fellow classmates. A message that hope is only an illusion, comedy isn’t fun anymore, and “thoughts and prayers” is just a phrase as empty as Melanie’s exploded skull. She could have sworn she heard screams everywhere around her, but only for a few seconds before her body went completely limp. What’s one more trauma to these people, right?

Silent Warrior, Chapter 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How come?”

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

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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