Handing Out 51/50 Orders Like It's Christmas

 

Revenge Against the Innocent

VERSE 1

Getting laid off at work makes you go berserk

And then a minor inconvenience turns you into a jerk

A tender voice says, “Daddy?”, you scream, “WHAT?!”

Call your daughter every slur from bitch to slut

She runs to bed crying while your self-esteem is dying

Nobody’s on your side, they had no choice but to hide

A raging ball of fire launched from the depths of hell

Leaves your heart seizing up and no one to wish you well

 

CHORUS

Revenge against the innocent, it sounds so ignorant

They committed no crimes, yet they’re on borrowed time

Before a nervous breakdown or a violent takedown

Revenge against the innocent, you’re absurd and insolent

 

VERSE 2

Your nuclear family had a nuclear explosion

Of every single tearful and screaming emotion

Hey, don’t complain, you’re the one who pressed the button

You always had the launch codes, so keep on truckin’

Couldn’t pay for therapy with a bleeding bank account

Inflation raised the price to a ridiculous amount

Credit cards can’t help, lenders hand you the shovel

And you can’t say, “I’m sorry” with an invisible muzzle

 

CHORUS

Revenge against the innocent, it sounds so ignorant

They committed no crimes, yet they’re on borrowed time

Before a nervous breakdown or a violent takedown

Revenge against the innocent, you’re absurd and insolent

 

VERSE 3

Fifty-one-fifty, free room and board

And all the cigarettes you could possibly hoard

I’m making this place sound just like a prison

But you know damn well they’ve got the same system

Seventy-two hours without a warm shower

Piss and moan all you want, but there’s no people-power

Your daughter’s grown up and got her own wedding flowers

She broke the cycle, her love is stronger than a tower

 

OUTRO

This could have been avoided, nulled, and voided

If you didn’t let your anger turn into a Big Banger

Cosmic explosion that pissed off the universe

Now you’ve got no ride home except the back of a hearse

Due Process

“Savages. Fucking savages,” said McKenzie Youngblood under her breath as she power-walked through the halls of Aspire Mental Hospital. Every jacked up orderly and nurse made her skin crawl. Every image of “crazies” suffering in silence on their padded cells made her stomach turn. The walls and floors probably hadn’t seen a sponge and bucket since the Reagan Administration. If they did, it was most likely off the backs of these patients.

The closer she stomped toward Dr. Oliver Killian’s office, the hotter McKenzie’s blood boiled. Her flat shoes were the most audible part of the hallway. Her chubby scowl and gray business suit indicated she meant…well…business. Deep inside, a wildfire began to grow as these white orderlies scowled at her black skin. Nonetheless, she was a professional first and foremost. Just deliver the papers to Dr. Killian, get in, and get out. A pepper spray bottle in her leather briefcase would only be used as a last resort.

McKenzie adjusted her suit and skirt and gave a hard series of knocks on Dr. Killian’s office door. “Come in!” he commanded and she did just that.

The first thing she noticed was the pristine condition of his office. Bookshelves with infinite wisdom, wooden plaques containing various college degrees, a marble office table with the latest computer technology sitting on it, and not one speck of dirt or dust unless one were to count Dr. Oliver Killian sitting with his hands behind his white fluffy hair. He adjusted his glasses and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”

“My name isn’t young lady. It’s McKenzie Youngblood and I’m a process server. The Paulson City Courthouse sent me here.” She pulled a thick manila envelope out of her briefcase and dropped it unceremoniously on the marble table. “You’re being sued by your former patients. Rough treatment, suppression of rights, unnecessary procedures, lengthy incarceration with no due process of any kind…you’re in deep trouble, Dr. Killian. It’s your right and your responsibility to contact the courthouse within a week of receiving these papers. Otherwise, the case will go on without you. Any questions?”

Dr. Killian’s sarcastically pleasant demeanor turned to silent rage as he rifled through the papers and read them hurriedly. “Psychiatric patients don’t have rights. This case will never stick.”

“Well, then I guess you have nothing to worry about, Doctor.” McKenzie leaned forward and said, “And I use that term loosely.”

Slamming the papers on the table, Dr. Killian, without raising his voice, seethed as he said, “Our facility is one of the best in the country. We are the good guys. We’re not the ones committing heinous acts on the street. We’re not the ones making life difficult for our loved ones. These patients are here because they deserve to be here. They’re a threat to society. How dare you question my methods!”

“Technically, I don’t have to stand here and have a debate with you. I could just walk out of this hospital and tell the judges you were served. But I’ve got to know something before I head out. When was the last time these patients have seen the summer sun? When was the last time they’ve had visitors? When was the last time they’ve had love or kindness of any sort? I know how this place works. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Day after day, every hour on the hour. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a death camp, especially for minorities and women, which make up eighty percent of your patient roster.”

Dr. Killian stood up and slammed his palms on the table, still maintaining his silent anger. “We use those methods because they work. They’re the only thing that will. Crazy people don’t learn any other way. They don’t listen to reason. They don’t comprehend order and decency. They don’t live in our reality. If we don’t do this to them, the world will. These patients should be thankful for the lessons we teach them. Instead, they want to make a few bucks off of us and complain about us to the liberal media. If anybody should feel oppressed right now, it’s me and my staff!”

McKenzie leaned in closer until she was almost touching noses with Dr. Killian. She did her best to contain her own anger as she told him, “You’d better hope the judges and jury buy into your twisted propaganda. If not, then you’ve got a shit storm on your hands, buster. Who knows? Maybe this dump will be closed once and for all. Good luck with your trial.” Just as she was turning around, Dr. Killian grabbed hold of her wrist, his bony fingers barely making a dent in her thick skin. “You have three seconds to pull your hand away and then I’m whipping out the pepper spray.”

“Okay, Miss Youngblood. You win. You can have a tighter grip if you prefer that.” Upon releasing his clasp, Dr. Killian pointed his elongated, creepy finger at the door to his office.

McKenzie turned around and saw two beefy orderlies standing there with their arms folded and their faces fixed in death stares. “Great idea, Dr. Killian,” she said. “You can have yet another lawsuit on your hands and hemorrhage money like no tomorrow. You tell these orderlies to back off or I’m taking your ass to court.”

Dr. Killian whispered into her ear, “What good is a lawsuit…if you can’t even make it to the courthouse? You think you’re the only one to serve me papers lately? You think you’re the only one who’s trying to sue me? We’re not just doctors and nurses. We’re magicians. We make lawsuits…disappear.” He licked her ear hole to punctuate his last point.

She turned around to try and slap him, but he ducked out of the way and allows his orderlies to grab her tightly by both arms. McKenzie struggled and fought while screaming curses at her captors, but their grips would only serve to leave purple bruises on her arms later on. They bent her over the table and yanked her hair so that she was facing Dr. Killian, who glared at her with ophidian eyes.

“Nobody’s taking my money away,” snarled Dr. Killian. “We’re making enough of it as it is. Turns out locking people up is quite the lucrative business. The more patients we’ve got, the richer we all are. It’s basic economics.” He leaned his face close to McKenzie’s. “You’d have to be crazy to stand up to capitalism. So crazy, in fact…you’d need your own padded cell.” With the orderlies’ hands firmly behind McKenzie’s neck, Dr. Killian planted a sloppy tongue kiss on her lips and slammed her forehead against the table.

McKenzie’s head swam as she was roughly dropped to the ground. Sparkling stars and colorful clouds filled her vision as darkness threatened to overtake her. She tried to stand up on her own two feet, but her legs and arms felt like rubber. Any last chance of rebellion was snuffed away when an orderly kicked her in the skull and sent her on a one-way ticket to dreamland.

It felt like an eternity since she slipped into unconscious hell. Waking up from it proved to be an even bigger drain on her body. She tried to wiggle around yet again, but leather straps held her horizontally against a metal table. She tried to yell for help, but her lips were held together with what appeared to be medical tape. Despite being in bondage, she never stopped struggling, especially when Dr. Killian’s hazy image swirled into view.

“Fighting isn’t going to make things better, Miss Youngblood. Or should I say, Patient #855341. Why fight something you have absolutely no control over? Why keep fighting and expecting different results? That is the true definition of insanity. You’ll eventually leave this place like any other patient of mine. How soon depends on your ability to conform to my rules.

From this point going forward, you will do what I say. You will think the way I tell you to think. You will be cured of your insanity. Your brain is mine to play with. Your body is mine to puppeteer. It’s crazy to rebel against basic human order. It’s crazy to think you’re capable of winning. It’s crazy to bring a can of pepper spray to a gunfight.”

As soon as Dr. Killian dangled the can of pepper spray in front of McKenzie’s face, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and ripped the tape off that way. She spit in Dr. Killian’s face before taking deep breaths and trying to relax for the horror she would have to endure.

He smiled, wiped the spit off with his finger, and sucked it down like maple syrup. McKenzie shivered in disgust before Dr. Killian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.

As she gagged, wheezed, and struggled for oxygen, Dr. Killian held the spray bottle to her eyes and laughed maniacally as he pulled the trigger. Except instead of a blizzard of hot chemicals, he got a beeping noise. He slowly let go of the chokehold and allowed McKenzie to cough violently and regain her breath.

Dr. Killian studied the device even further, his face growing more and more confused. He glared at the bottle before peeling the label off and seeing that the pepper spray was actually a beacon.

“What? You thought the courthouse wasn’t going to investigate their own process servers going missing? In about five minutes, the cops are coming to tear this place apart. You could have taken your blood money and paid off your patients like a good corporate stooge. You could have kept this quiet. But you made this shit personal and it’s going to get as loud as a motherfucker up in here!” McKenzie smiled as the words and rage dripped from her mouth.

It didn’t take five minutes. Sirens blasting off in the distance echoed throughout the room and Dr. Killian paced back and forth in nervousness. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be the good guy in this story! I’m doing God’s work!”

“Sorry, Dr. Killian…but it’s crazy to rebel against the system,” said McKenzie with a wink.

“Okay, Mrs. Black Lives Matter! Okay, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! You want to be a martyr?! I’ll make you a martyr!” Dr. Killian pulled shock pads from the sides of the table and electrocuted McKenzie’s brain. She could feel her insides droop. She could feel her face fall off. She could feel her brain melting like butter on mashed potatoes. Her eyes popped out of her skull at one point. But she never lost that smile no matter how many volts of electricity she was subjected to. Why would she? It was hard to frown at the prospect of justice being served. She was a process server, after all.

Tristan Jealous

VERSE 1

Dr. Jealous, what has become of me?

Can you give me something to set me free?

A shot of horse to keep me cheery and bright?

A can of caffeine to keep me up all night?

Laziness and comfort, my two best friends

A friendship this close rarely ever ends

Can you scrape me out of my bed?

So I can meet my goals, keep my ego fed?

VERSE 2

Dr. Jealous, I have something to prove

I need my fix to keep me on the move

I came to the protest with my cardboard sign

And a pocket of pills to make me feel fine

I can face the world one demon at a time

But all at once? That’s the steepest climb

Here comes the circus, here come the clowns

Not one safe space in this crumbling town

VERSE 3

Dr. Jealous, do you think she likes me?

Is this dangerous risk even worth trying?

Pop a Xanax or two, maybe even three

Only then will she see the best of me

I sit in the park trying to remain calm

Another day’s dosage in my shaking palm

Maybe I should turn and walk away

Save my courage for yet another day

BRIDGE

Tristan Jealous, I’m overzealous

I’m feeling a little bit rebellious

Call a medic, yes, I said it

My chart is in need of an edit

I cannot take this, I cannot fake it

I’m not sure if I can even make it

Doctor, doctor, help me out now

‘Cause I’m not ready to bow down

VERSE 4

Dr. Jealous, I can’t reach the phone

I’m trapped in this white cell all alone

The nurses told me over and over again

That I’ll be free when eternity ends

Everyone here is blending together

Washed away like stormy weather

Dr. Jealous, I’m calling your name

Please tell them that I’m not to blame

The Legomancer

“When we find that bitch, she doesn’t get off the shock table,” Dr. Diana Gunn reminded her two orderlies. “Shit, I don’t care if I get the gas chamber; I’m killing that loony toon. We’re going to find her tonight. Not after breakfast, not after Wheel of Fortune, we’re going to find her NOW!”

“She always had a thing for Legos,” said RJ Maddox as he shined a flashlight throughout the parking lot of Toys R Us. The orderly towered over his boss by a shit load of inches, but his menacing scowl commanded fear more often than his brutish muscles.

“She likes to call herself the Legomancer, whatever the hell that is,” said Jimmy Lord as he filled his syringe with a viscous red fluid. Despite his hefty frame, he could easily keep up with his boss and his coworker. All of this walking and not one sign of huffing and puffing.

“Liz McKinnon better goddamn jolly well be in there or I’m having both of your nuts on a silver platter,” belted Dr. Gunn. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. I just want to get her ass back to the hospital and sleep easy tonight. That bitch will be lucky if she sleeps anywhere but a fucking cemetery tonight.”

Diana pulled her taser gun out of her lab coat and flashed some electricity to illuminate the psychotic expression on her face. Her pulsating bloodshot eyes and botched lipstick job would have anybody kneeling on the floor begging for mercy. RJ cracked his knuckles on both hands, every pop sounding like a machinegun bursting during a time of war. Jimmy grinned devilishly as he squirted a small sample of his needle fluid in the air. It was kill or be killed for these mental hospital employees and they were bringing a scorched earth into that darkened Toys R Us.

“Well, how do you like that?” hissed Diana. “She picked the goddamn locks. She always was a crafty little shit. I’ll bet that’s how she got out of her restraints. Not to worry: we’re going to fuck her up so badly she doesn’t even make it to the hospital tonight. That bitch is DOA!”

The scorched earth attitude of the doctor and her orderlies cooled off into a nervous freeze when they marched into the store to see what it had become. “What the fuck?” asked Jimmy Lord as RJ shined the club-sized flashlight around the store. Empty Lego boxes piled high in every corner. Lego sets built as instructed, but with oddly colored bricks. Pink and blue dinosaurs, green and red pirate ships, mismatched minifigures, and orange birds all decorated this playful palace.

“Don’t piss your pants just yet, boys,” warned Diana as she flashed some more electricity. “We’ve dealt with loonies like this before. This shit ain’t new to us.” She contradicted her own statements with a prolonged, “Oh my god!” once she and her boys made it to the middle of the store. Glowing brightly with red and orange plastic tubes, a life size merry-go-round with Lego horses and medieval knights twirled in circles while playing creepy organ music in the background.

“Woo-hoo! Yeah! This is the life!” yapped Liz McKinnon as she rode around on her own creation while waving her hands in the air. She remained in the shadows of the carrousel and then caused her assailants to nearly piss themselves when one of the light tubes revealed her Lego minifigure body in life-size form. The brick legs, the tube arms, the claw-like hands, and the smiling yellow face with wavy brown hair: she had it all.

“Don’t just stand there, guys! Let’s get her!” snapped Diana. Her three person team bum rushed the carrousel like a family of rhinos in a quaking stampede. Liz giggled at them and rode away on her horse towards the back of the store. By the time Diana, RJ, and Jimmy leapt onto the carrousel, the Lego pieces came crashing down on top of them, leaving them buried in plastic rubble. The studs and corners nicked their human victims to where the triple threat looked like they were mauled by street cats.

While Dr. Gunn and Jimmy wallowed in their wounds, RJ Maddox burst out of the pile with his muscled arms in the air and an ursine roar. He kicked his way through the shattered pieces and started picking up Lego sets left and right to smash them into even more pieces. He lifted spaceships in the air and threw them to the ground as hard as he could while screaming, “This is fucking bullshit! I’m going to kill that little bitch!”

During the tall black orderly’s rampage, a pirate ship flew by and crashed against his watermelon skull, opening a gash on the side of his head. He growled in pain and held his wound while glaring at the source of the pain: Liz McKinnon and her ability to levitate Lego sets in the air with her glowing blue hands.

“You people said I was crazy,” lectured Liz while sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Everyone told me that I was too old to play with Legos, that I had responsibilities, that I could never be a kid again. And now here they are sending a three-way sex circle at me in the form of you jack-offs!”

Dr. Diana Gunn shoved the Lego pieces off of herself and pulled Jimmy Lord to his feet before picking up her dropped taser gun and pointing it accusingly at Liz. “You think you’re the only one who misses her childhood?” Diana snapped. “That’s what life is all about, sweetheart! Everybody has to grow up at some point! Everybody has to venture out into the real world! It’s a part of the natural order! But you don’t want to be a normal member of society, so what do you do? You endanger your husband and children with your reckless behavior!”

“Look at you, Dr. Gunn,” mocked Liz. “Trying to debate with a so-called crazy person. Are you sure you’re not itching for a straightjacket yourself? Hell, maybe I can give you some of that shock treatment you gave me for, I don’t know, twenty fucking years!” She levitated one of her spaceships in the air and used its laser cannons to zap Diana’s taser, which sent an electrical storm of agony throughout her convulsing body before she crumpled to the floor.

While Jimmy tended to his boss’s wounds, RJ bolted towards Liz and the two of them gave chase throughout the store. Liz even did some back flips, summersaults, and made some “Hoo-hoo!” noises during her escape. RJ shrieked, “You better pray to god that I don’t catch up to you, you little hooker!” Liz kept up her tilt-a-whirl acrobatics and caused RJ’s blood to boil even further.

Their chase led the two of them through the various isles and into the back of the store, where Mr. Maddox stood in awe of the gigantic Lego castle that Liz crafted for herself. She blew him a kiss before storming past the gates and disappearing behind the shadows. This time RJ cracked his neck on both sides and stomped into the castle after her. He managed to tuck and roll out of the way of dragon statues breathing fire at him as well as knife traps trigged from the ceiling above.

“Is that all you got?!” RJ mocked with his hands spread out in a Jesus Christ pose. “This is what you left your family for?! I got you cornered, you little skank! It won’t be long before I punch the shit out of you! Hell, your husband and kids don’t even miss you anyways! I bet they’ll dance all over your grave once I put your ass six feet under!”

As RJ trekked through the hallways of the castle, he could hear little children crying their eyes out at his remarks. “No…no, this is ridiculous.” He kicked down one of the doors and found Liz sitting at a dinner table with two tiny Lego minifigures in her arms as well as a life-sized Lego man sitting across from her. RJ rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things and indeed they were as real as the Christmas tree illuminating their features.

“How could you say those things about my family, RJ?” asked Liz with a sour frown. “They’ve been here the whole time. This is where I belong, not in an insane asylum. And guess what, Mr. Maddox? This family is only going to get bigger…and bigger…and bigger…and bigger…”

From underneath the table and underneath Liz’s belly, more Lego mini-figures emerged to repeat her “bigger and bigger” sentiments. These Lego babies grinned at RJ with razor-sharp teeth while some of them held plastic swords and guns. Even Mr. McKinnon had his own gigantic silver sword that he swung around in the air with the lightness of a feather.

“You people are fucked up! You hear me?! You’re all fucked up!” screamed RJ as he ran out of the castle with his arms flailing in the air like a lunatic. His childish screams turned to maniacal laughter while dragon statues, mini-figures, and Creator dinosaurs roared monstrously at him. The floor swirled underneath him while various light tubes flashed and nearly caused him to have a psychotic seizure.

When RJ spotted Jimmy giving chest compressions to Diana, the tall black orderly chuckled hysterically with his tongue hanging out to his chest while he yanked the hypodermic needle out of Jimmy’s belt. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Jimmy shouted. But it was too late. RJ jammed the needle into his jugular and injected himself full of psychotic drugs. The swirling floor constantly changed colors. The flashing lights exploded like fireworks. The dragons and dinosaurs laughed like serial killers as did the McKinnon family and their many “children”. RJ’s brain popped like popcorn as he crumpled to a relaxed heap on the floor, his tongue dissolving into a red pool of filth. He could finally close his eyes and forget that this all happened.

Hours passed since the time RJ closed his eyes. With the heaviness in his eyelids, the aching in his head, and the soreness in his ribcage, it felt like days, maybe even months went by. He couldn’t move his arms because they were trapped in a straightjacket. He couldn’t sit up because he was bound to a table with leather straps. He could turn his head slightly, but waited until his eyes adjusted to the florescent lights to see just where the hell he was. Strapped to the adjacent tables were a raving and drooling Jimmy Lord and a teeth-gnashing Diana Gunn.

“At least I can get some rest,” whispered RJ as he relaxed in his laying position.

“It’s five o’clock, Mr. Maddox. Time for your treatment!” squeaked a familiar voice.

RJ said, “Oh, no!” and screamed his head off when he saw Liz McKinnon decked out in hospital scrubs holding shock pads in either hands. And yes, she was still in Lego mini-figure form. No matter how hard RJ struggled and yelped, he couldn’t avoid the two lightning bolts surging through either side of his head, sending him into yet another relaxed state of mind. His world went black, but all he dreamed about was more Lego madness. More goddamn dragons. More goddamn fanged babies. More goddamn Liz McKinnon and her freaky family. “Just kill me already!” he drooled.

"Moon Knight, Vol. 1: Lunatic" by Jeff Lemire

BOOK TITLE: Moon Knight, Vol. 1: Lunatic

AUTHOR: Jeff Lemire

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Superhero

GRADE: Pass

Marc Specter wakes up in a corrupt mental hospital with no clue how he got there. He spent his previous life masquerading as vigilante superhero Moon Knight, but the abusive orderlies and condescending psychologist try to coerce him into believing he’s just a nut case who deserves to be locked up. With the help of several patients who believe his story, Moon Knight attempts to escape the hospital in order to complete a mission given to him by his head voices: to assassinate the Egyptian god Seth and bring his monstrous army to its knees.

The lines between reality and insanity are blurred so many times in this graphic novel that it’s hard to pick a side, which is a good way to challenge the reader and make him analyze what the hell is going on. On one hand, you want to believe that the Moon Knight is a real superhero and that he wants to do the right thing. On the other hand, there are times when the questions surrounding Moon Knight’s sanity are valid and reasonable. Even when this first volume comes to its end, the jury’s still out as to whether or not this is all madness. When you’re forced to draw your own conclusions, you’re officially engaged as a reader and you want to buy more volumes of this Moon Knight series to find out if your suspicions are correct. This first volume is the addictive bait and the proceeding chapters will lead you to bigger fish.

Whether you believe it’s insanity or not, you have to admit that the mental hospital staff are a bunch of corrupt bastards who have no business in the medical industry. The orderlies assault Moon Knight for no reason and strap him to the shock table whenever they damn well feel like it. The head psychologist is no better; the way she talks down to her patients breeds resistance to treatment rather than progression. This could be a political statement about how prisons and mental hospitals (which are really just prisons for crazy people) are all about profit and will do whatever they can to make more money by keeping their inmates locked up indefinitely. Being released into society does nothing, because the inmate will be so angry from his time under lockdown that he’ll commit more crimes and wind up back where he started. Imagine how refreshing it’ll be to see the orderlies and doctors get the stuffing beaten out of them and literally get a taste of their own medicine. Patience, my friends. Patience.

The final thing I have to admire about this graphic novel is that there’s a lot of creativity underneath the guise of insanity. When the orderlies, doctors, and other villains are portrayed as Egyptian monsters and the world portrayed as an apocalyptic desert, the reader can begin to understand why Moon Knight feels the way he does. People like to say that there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. If it means I can have all of this creative fuel for when I want to write a psychological fantasy story, then I don’t mind the insanity at all. I’d rather be crazy and wild than sedated and boring. The mental hospital represents all of the boring conformity the world has to offer. I wouldn’t mind watching that place burn to the ground in a future volume of Moon Knight. Creativity and artistic thinking are what make this world work. That’s why STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) should also include A (arts) to make it STEAM. So many statements in only a 124-page graphic novel.

Superhero fanatics will enjoy the action and fantasy elements of this beautifully crafted graphic novel. Psychology enthusiasts will also get a kick out of this despite their oozing hatred for the mental hospital staff. This isn’t just a nonstop ass-kicking rollercoaster; this is something to think long and hard about. I wouldn’t mind seeing this graphic novel as part of a college’s English curriculum. Lord knows there will be plenty of discussions surrounding that. A passing grade will go to this awesome piece of superhero fiction. A stunning debut for the Moon Knight franchise!

I Want Presents

Dr. Kate Spencer peered through the peephole of Glenn Robertson’s padded cell with pity and sympathy. He just sat there cross-legged with thinning brown hair, a gray T-shirt, and blue pajama pants, repeating the same line over and over again: “I want presents.” Dr. Spencer thought about how bureaucratic her mental hospital had become: sedate, lock up, repeat. No cures, no real treatments, just keeping these poor people under lock and key. A solitary tear smeared Kate’s makeup as she thought about Glenn sitting there with that goofy faraway look in his eyes. All of those drugs and all of those treatments, what for?

The head doctor knew in her heart that there had to be another way to get through to her patients. There had to be more to this hospital than just the business aspect of it. Why did everything have to be for profit? Wasn’t there just one instance where human dignity trumped the almighty dollar bill? Kate knew she was risking her career by trying this new approach, but seeing all of these depressed patients weighed too heavily on her conscience and she couldn’t take any more of it. She wiped the tear from her eye and told the two orderlies that they could leave. They nodded and did so.

Dr. Spencer took a deep breath and steadied herself before entering Glenn’s cell with no protection from the nurses and orderlies. The mental patient didn’t take his mile-long gaze off of the opposite wall. He just sat there like a dope long after Kate closed the cell door. She said in a motherly voice, “Hello? Hello? Is there anybody in there?”

It took a while, but Glenn turned to meet Kate’s eyes. He had a little bit of drool running down his chin as he said, “I want presents.”

“Yes, we all know you want presents, Mr. Robertson,” said Dr. Spencer. She sat next to Glenn in the same cross-legged position as her patient and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He blushed and looked down at his lap. “Guess what day it is?”

“I want presents.”

“That’s right, Glenn: it’s that time of year alright. It’s Christmas Eve! I know Christmas is your favorite holiday. But before I reveal my big surprise to you, you and I need to talk about something. It’s about your health,” said Kate.

“I want presents.”

“I know you do,” said Kate as she fluffed Glenn’s horseshoe hair. “But you need to listen to me for a few minutes. I can’t help you otherwise. Glenn, do you have any idea how much time has passed since you first came here?”

The patient shrugged his shoulders and allowed a spot of drool to splash his pajama pants. Kate’s answer was, “Fifteen years. You’ve been living in this hospital for fifteen long years. You were admitted here at the tender age of twenty-five when your parents died in a plane crash. You had a traumatic breakdown. You couldn’t find work. You couldn’t find anybody to take care of you. So fifteen years later, here you are. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but that’s only because we’ve kept you sedated and drugged throughout most of your stay. I know it’s wrong, trust me, I do. My hands were tied, even as the head doctor of this facility.”

Glenn tucked his head and sobbed softly while sniffing mucus up his nose. “I want presents! I want presents!”

“You see, that’s the thing,” said Kate while patting Glenn on the back. “Presents are not going to bring your parents back. They’re not going to help you find a place to live or a job to work at. But what they can do is bring you back to that sense of nostalgia you once had. You loved Christmas. Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you opened those presents. If I bring you back to that special moment, you have to promise that you’ll tell me everything. I want to hear more about your life than the fact that you want presents. Okay, big guy?”

“I want presents.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Dr. Spencer before planting a playful kiss on the top of his head. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Your cell has a PA system as you already know, which is what we use to wake you up and give you dinner or medicine. Well, today on Christmas Eve, your sound system is going to be used for something else entirely. Consider this your early Christmas present. You want presents? Here you go.”

Kate pulled a remote out of her lab coat pocket and aimed it at the speaker box in the high corner of the cell. One press of the button later and the sounds of rhythmic heart beats surrounded the cell. Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump. Glenn’s stupefied trance turned into a silly grin with drool running down his T-shirt.

The heart beats were accompanied by a glockenspiel recording of the Christmas classic “Silent Night”. Glenn’s smile grew wider and he crouched further in his sitting position. He nodded off for a few seconds and then jerked back to reality. He nodded off again and woke back up. This cycle repeated itself until the song was over, in which case he fell backwards and made snow angels when Dr. Spencer stood up to give him room.

“I want presents…I want pres…I wan pre…I wa…pre….I…I…” His nirvana ended in a flood of tears when he realized the moment was temporary.

Dr. Spencer knelt down and held his hand in hers while petting his arm hair with her other hand. “I’m sorry, Glenn. I really thought this would have helped you. I didn’t know it would bring you so much pain. I’m sorry. I really am.” She slowly stood back up and hung her head dejectedly as she trudged toward the cell door.

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home!” sobbed Glenn. His snow angel motions were quickening and began to resemble autistic arm flapping instead.

Dr. Spencer gave him a wide-eyed look of shock as she heard the first real words he said other than “I want presents”. Yes, Glenn was still sobbing like the small child he believed himself to be, but this was the only real progress that no bureaucratic drugging procedure could have ever made. She knelt beside him again and rubbed his belly like a rolled over puppy-duppy.

“Listen to me, Glenn,” she said in a soothing voice. “We can’t let you out on the streets just yet. You can’t go back home. Another family is already living there. Your family has been so far behind on the payments that the bank had no choice but to foreclose on them. If I let you out now, where will you go? Who will you turn to now that you have no family remaining?”

Glenn relaxed his body, smiled at Dr. Spencer, and said, “I’ll turn to you!”

Tears welled up in Dr. Spencer’s eyes as she smiled at her patient. She rubbed them away with her lab coat sleeve, placed her hand on her chest lovingly, and said, “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard from my patients. You really mean that, don’t you? You’re not mad at me for all of these years I’ve kept you here?”

Glenn’s smile faded and the tears returned. “You’re the closest thing to a mother I have, Dr. Spencer. I love you.”

Both doctor and patient’s eyes became excessively wet at the outpours of emotion. It took fifteen years to get through to Glenn Robertson. Fifteen years of sedatives. Fifteen years of untested drugs. Fifteen years of being locked up for simply being sad. In this moment, they were free. Glenn wasn’t out on the streets just yet, but he was there in spirit. Dr. Kate Spencer wasn’t out from behind her desk, but her chains were loosening with every tear and every loving gesture. The doctor and patient hugged each other and sobbed into their shoulders.

They didn’t want to let go, but a boisterous male voice from the now opened cell door shouted, “This is bullshit!” Kate and Glenn looked up to see two orderlies with an electric lance in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. One orderly bellowed, “Dr. Spencer, you know there’s a rule against this kind of treatment! Mr. Robertson is being treated for a serious condition and you’re just…”

“I’m just what?!” roared Kate while standing back up and acting as a border between the orderlies and Glenn. “Is it so crazy and insane to believe that people’s lives matter more than procedure? Isn’t there more to life than making billions of fucking dollars? You two don’t give a shit about these patients! You give a shit about cashing your paycheck and nothing more! If you want to get to this poor innocent boy behind me, you know exactly who you have to go through!”

The orderlies’ faces changed from authoritative rage to solemn contemplation. Everyone in this standoff was breathing heavily and anticipating the next move. “Okay, Dr. Spencer. I see exactly how it is. You’re absolutely right,” said one of the orderlies. “I do have to go through you!” In one swift motion, both orderlies zapped Dr. Spencer with their taser lances, sending her convulsing to the floor with blood trickling out of her nose.

Glenn shouted, “No!” and huddled over the fallen doctor, drenching her in tears and snot. The two buff orderlies grabbed him by the arms and roughly dragged him out of the cell screaming, “No!” and “I want presents!”

“Merry Christmas, asshole!” screamed one of the orderlies before Kate heard another zapping noise. The sounds of Glenn’s painful cries were drowned out by the doctor’s own fading into blackness. The last thing she heard was a weakened and raspy version of, “I want presents.” Her black vision was wet with waterfall tears once again. Where would she go from here? Would she get her own padded cell? Would she be fired? Was there a chance to sue this hospital? Whatever the case would have been, Kate knew even in unconsciousness that it was too late to save Glenn Robertson.

“I want presents….I want presents…I want presents….” she said to herself.

Multiple Works-In-Progress

***MULTIPLE WORKS-IN-PROGRESS***

A few months ago, I saw a meme challenge on Face Book where my author friends post the first few lines from three of their works-in-progress. Judging from how many people were doing this challenge, it made me wonder if authors really do like to write three different novels at once (or more). By the time it became my turn to do the challenge, I confessed that I wasn’t working on a novel of any kind, so I just posted the first lines of three Poison Tongue Tales short stories. Seeing so many of my author friends writing novels and getting them done in a timely fashion motivated me to start working on Demon Axe, which I’m halfway done with.

I have Demon Axe planned out from beginning to end, so it’s all a matter of finding the energy to get shit done. American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 are both anthologies with WSS contest entries as part of the collections, so those are pretty much on a weekly basis. Prophecy is a collection of poems, which will eventually amount to one-hundred since they’re only one page long at best, but I only write poetry when I truly feel like it, no sooner, no later. That leaves me with Demon Axe being the only true WIP I write independently. If I was to do this Face Book meme challenge again, I would only have one paragraph to post (or first seven lines, I forget which one).

I’ve thought about tacking on another novel to work on. I often run the scenarios of each novel idea through my head as if they’re actual WIP’s. I for instance have a college romance idea called “Is This Weird?” where I incorporate my strange sexual fetishes into the main relationship of the story. I also have a pro-introvert high school drama called “The Silent Warrior”, which will have to go through a complete overhaul in order to make the main character less angry and more reasonable. If I was to work on a secondary novel alongside Demon Axe, I would want it to be a contemporary drama instead of a sci-fi, fantasy, or horror. I would want it to be the American Darkness to Demon Axe’s Poison Tongue Tales. For some reason contemporary dramas are easier to write.

That leaves me with a novel idea I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. It’s inspired by the movie Clerks as well as my experiences with going to rock concerts and being around drunken idiots. It’s called “Chicken and Fries” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Maxine Bennett, Concessions Clerk
2. Belle Anthony, Slacker
3. Evan Olson, Maxine’s Bouncer Boyfriend
4. Sean Steiner, Straightedge Rocker
5. Nameless Concertgoers
6. Nameless Boss

SYNOPSIS: Maxine started working at the Brown River Arena in order to save up for college. Since being hired, she has been yelled at, sexually harassed, and assaulted by intoxicated customers. When Sean Steiner and his touring band are the main attraction, beer and cigarettes are not for sale, which upsets the already wild fans. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Maxine begins fighting back against the customers. On what she says is her last day on the job, she burns customers with pizza, splashes soda against them, dips their heads in the deep fryer, and even shoves chicken tenders down a customer’s shorts and burns his crotch. Evan tries to calm Maxine down on several occasions, but she’s unresponsive to his pleas. Things go from bad to worse when Maxine notices Belle, who called in sick earlier that day, partying in the audience and enjoying the music instead of taking her shift like she was supposed to. At the end of this deliciously violent day, the only one with common sense is Sean Steiner, who is the last customer to order chicken and fries for dinner. Sean helps Maxine realize just how much trouble she’s in by telling her a story of a time he smashed up a hotel room in an act of rage.

FUN FACT: The novel is called “Chicken and Fries” because that’s the most common thing the patrons order, just like cigarettes were the most common thing Clerks customers bought.

Nothing is permanent yet. I still don’t even know if writing a second novel alongside Demon Axe is a good idea. Yes, other authors are capable of doing it, but I’m not other authors. I’m not the kind of writer who pours everything onto a page and because of that I only write when I’m mentally and physically one-hundred percent. If I’m taking such a long time writing Demon Axe, I’ll probably take just as long to write Chicken and Fries. This is something I really have to think about before I dive into it. Until I make my decision, I’d like to know everyone else’s take on the subject of working on multiple novels at once. Is it a welcome side project or is it too much work at once? We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

The new week started this past Wednesday and the theme is appropriately going to be “Christmas Eve”. After today, I have three more days to write my story before the submission deadline. I probably won’t do it tomorrow since it’s going to be Christmas and I’d rather spend time with my family. That leaves me with Monday or Tuesday to get shit done. My story will be called “I Want Presents” and is based on a disturbing dream I once had. Here’s the synopsis:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Glenn Robertson, Mental Patient

2.      Kate Spencer, Head Doctor

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Christmas is getting closer as Glenn’s mental state worsens.

SYNOPSIS: After losing his parents in a plane crash, Glenn regresses into childlike behavior and eventually has to be institutionalized. It’s getting close Christmas and he refuses to say anything else but, “I want presents.” Kate and her staff of nurses and doctors have tried everything in their power to medicate Glenn into a normal state, but he seems to be getting worse every day. In a last ditch effort to make progress, Kate assumes the unlikely role of Glenn’s mother-figure and does something special for the holidays.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

This will be the second drawing in a row that features a character from my latest WSS entry “The Theomancer”. It will be of Yeti, a gigantic mummy who serves as the gatekeeper between Krimson and Seven. Yeti is really just a direct copy of the WCW wrestler of the same name, but he’s different enough to avoid a lawsuit. Besides, Yeti gets a better push in “The Theomancer” than he ever did in WCW. After all, it’s hard to push a gigantic mummy when he’s best known for spooning Hulk Hogan and humping him from behind. I’m not kidding, that actually happened. What Culture jokes about it all the time.

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you take all of the vowels out of Reince Priebus’s name, it says RNC PR BS.”

-Jim Cornette-

Vex Ed

Jennifer McHenry couldn’t get the images out of her mind: her own burly step-father pushing into her as hard as he could every night for god knows how many nights. Then there was the judge who only gave him a ninety-day jail sentence because of his “service to the community”? Ninety days could only last so long, but the psychological trauma was forever. Jennifer’s eyes were lifeless, her frown was saggy, her posture was hunched, and her emotions were dulled. She might as well have walked through this life as a zombie.

She paid no mind to the other high school students around her nor did she immediately wake up from her robotic trance when Martin Hitch, the sex ed teacher, entered the room with a handful of books. Everything around Jennifer was a blurry haze in her numbed out mind. Not even Mr. Hitch’s booming voice saying, “Alright, class, listen up!” could startle her like it did the other students.

The tall, middle-aged, crew-cut having teacher placed his palms on his desk and drummed his fingertips while everyone in the class was slowly quieting down. The fire in his eyes made him look like a hellfire and brimstone preacher. Just one word could send electricity through the bodies of those who disobeyed him.

“Now that I have your attention,” said Mr. Hitch. “I’d like to begin by welcoming you all to sex education. You may think this is going to be a fun-filled ride with plenty of pornographic thrills. But trust me when I say this, there’s nothing fun about STD’s and pregnancies. Genital warts, gonorrhea, HIV, there are so many nasty things that can come from sexual contact. And don’t give me that unholy garbage about how condoms will save you. They won’t. There’s only one thing that will save you in the end: just saying no.”

Jennifer’s droning haze turned into a sniper sight of anger. Her breathing sounded like soft growling and her eyebrows were tightly furrowed. Oh, how many times she wished she could have said no to her disgusting step-father. Two letters, one word, one syllable: no. Who was this teacher to say that a simple word solves everything? Her fists clinched as she heard his offensive oratory.

“That’s right, children,” said Mr. Hitch as he stood up and started pacing sternly back and forth. “All you have to do is say no and it’ll all be over. For those of you who say no, you can spare yourself from green paste and a fishy discharge coming out of your genitals. Those who continually give in? You’re just a piece of chewed up gum. And the more you chew gum, the less flavor it has.”

The fist clinching became even tighter than before and Jennifer’s head felt like it was going to burst like a bomb. Her heartbeat sounded like someone smashing a bass drum. The fiery sensation running through her body could turn this whole school into a matchstick, which lost its color after one strike.

“You don’t want to be a chewed up piece of bubblegum, right? You don’t want to be one of these fools who think that condoms and contraceptives are the panacea of sexual diseases, right? All you have to do is say no! Keep your pants on and never remove them!”

As the images of her step-father assaulted her mind like kicks to the skull, Jennifer let out a thunderous scream before jumping on her desk, running across the other students’ desks, and landing a flying knee right against Martin Hitch’s temple. While the teacher fell to the ground and tried to gain his wits about him, other students flocked to restrain Jennifer’s arms and legs while she screamed every obscenity in the book. Those who dared get in her way were met with vampire bites, soccer kicks, and boxer punches.

The other students began to back away when Martin stood back up and yelled, “Quiet! Shut up!” The frightened pupils backed away even further while Jennifer McHenry’s breathing intensified. Martin pointed an accusatory finger at her and yelled, “You are out of control, young lady! Do you realize what you just did?! You assaulted a teacher and now you’re in huge trouble, my friend!”

“Trouble? Trouble?” said Jennifer in a trembling whisper.

“Yeah, that’s right! Trouble! Big trouble, at that! You’re going to the Principal’s Office right now! You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops on you!” shouted Mr. Hitch.

“Who’s going to call the cops on my rapist?!” screamed Jennifer, turning her teacher’s authoritative anger into a somber frown. “I never wanted that secret to get out. I know how the kids at this school treat rape victims. You like to call us sluts and whores. You like to say we deserved what we got. You blame us for the crime because of what we wore that day. Does saying no solve everything, Mr. Hitch? I don’t think so! So I guess that makes me a chewed up piece of gum!”

The suddenly defensive Mr. Hitch held his arms out to control the distance between him and Jennifer. “Take it easy, Miss McHenry. It’ll be okay. I seriously didn’t know you were the victim of sexual assault.”

“It’s not the kind of thing I go around advertising on a daily basis, you sick bastard!” shouted Jennifer.

“Hey, hey,” said Mr. Hitch in a calm voice. “You’re going to be alright. You obviously need to see a counselor. We can hook you up with one after class is over.”

“I’m already seeing one,” said Jennifer with tears cascading from her eyes. “No matter how many times I talk about it, no matter how many treatments we do, no matter how many pills I take, it’s not going to make it all go away! I still see his face every night! I’m going to see him a lot more once he gets out of prison!”

A depressing hush fell over the classroom with neither Jennifer nor Martin knowing what to do. The two of them just stared at each other with bloodshot eyes. And then one by one, students quietly shuffled toward the door and exited the classroom. In a matter of seconds, the only two left in the room were Jennifer and Martin, still staring each other down, still at a Mexican standoff.

The tension was cut when Martin inched closer to his pupil and said in his softest voice, “Truth be told, I didn’t choose this curriculum. You see those books over there? They were given to me by the board of education. They were the ones who thought teaching abstinence was a good idea. As far as what I said goes…” Martin drew a deep breath. “I, uh….I was told to do that. I’m following orders. If I don’t follow them, I could lose my job and then I’d have no way to feed my family.”

“Bullshit! You’re a liar!” sobbed Jennifer.

“Jennifer, you need to trust me on this one. I’m being honest with you. If you don’t believe me, you can look in the text book on the top of that pile.”

The shaken student dragged her feet to her teacher’s desk and picked up said book. It was a hardcover book. It was heavy. It felt natural in her hands. She turned around and smacked Martin over the head with it, knocking him unconscious. She then assaulted her teacher’s desk by slamming the text book against it.

Only then did campus security storm into the classroom and try to hold her still. No matter how big and strong they were, Jennifer still bit down hard, she still kicked like a warrior, and she still punched like her fists were made with granite. All of the rage and all of the pain was accompanied by images of her step-father pushing inside her over and over again. The wet ending made her feel like butcher’s meat. And then her vision blackened as the last of her violent energy surged out of her body.

She could have stayed asleep forever if she wanted to. A dreamless state of mind was better than the fucked up nightmare she lived every day, now made worse by Martin Hitch’s speech about chewed bubblegum. Jennifer purposely kept her eyes closed for as long as she could before slowly opening them to a world of whiteness.

She awakened to find herself in beige pajamas while laying on a comfy bed surrounded by white walls. “Excellent. You’re awake,” said an elderly Indian woman in a white lab coat.

“Where…where am I?” asked a weary Jennifer McHenry.

“You’re in a safe place, Miss McHenry. The Principal was adamant about taking you to juvenile hall, but your sex ed teacher waved him off. He told me everything that happened today. You caused a lot of injuries in your rage. But there’s something more to this than a simple attack. You have something on your mind that won’t let go of you.”

Tears welled in the teenager’s eyes as she said, “What the hell’s going on with my brain, Doctor? I can’t do my homework, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t pay attention in class…I can’t do anything!”

The doctor placed a sympathetic hand on her patient’s and said in the softest tone, “I know how hard it is for you. But unless you allow us to help you, we can’t find out what’s going on aside from the rape story. It may not be as simple as Post-Traumatic Stress. It could very well be schizophrenia you’re experiencing. If that’s the case, then managing your symptoms will be much harder than anticipated. But the most important thing you remember is…it’s not impossible. It’ll take time, but we have all the time in the world. Get some rest, dear. Treatment starts tomorrow morning.”

Once the doctor stood up and left, the door was closed behind her and Jennifer was alone with her thoughts. Actually, she wasn’t completely alone since there were nurses standing guard in case she had a mental health emergency. But for the first time in a long time, she welcomed her aloneness. She used this opportunity to have conversations with herself. They appeared to be quick whispers to the nurse’s outside, but in her world, every word meant building towards the big day tomorrow. And the big day after that, and the big day after that, and the big day after that. The road to recovery would be long an exhausting, but it would be traveled nonetheless, even if she had to walk her way to the light at the end of the tunnel with blisters on her feet.

"January First" by Michael Schofield

BOOK TITLE: January First: A Child’s Descent into Madness and Her Father’s Struggle to Save Her
AUTHOR: Michael Schofield
YEAR: 2012
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Schizophrenia Memoir
GRADE: Extra Credit


In this tear-jerking memoir, Michael Schofield describes what life is like raising his schizophrenic daughter Jani, who was officially diagnosed with an acute version of the disease as a six-year-old. As a result of her psychosis, Jani would burst into violent tantrums where she would punch, kick, and head butt anybody who suggested that her hallucinations were fake. She has assaulted her own parents, her teachers, her nurses, and even her baby brother Bodhi and her dog Honey. Jani is highly resistant to any medication she is given as well as the harsh discipline her father tries to enforce. The violence, the sleepless nights, stressful days, and constantly playing the role of gatekeeper has psychologically exhausted both Mr. and Mrs. Schofield. And through it all, they learn to be strong and come together as a family.

As someone who teaches college-level writing classes, Michael Schofield has a tight command over the art of literature. His pacing is quick, his ability to show instead of tell is present, his innermost thoughts are compelling, and he does all of this with a no-BS style of writing. He doesn’t try to employ an overly flowery style of writing with poetic descriptions an incomprehensible words. He’s a no-nonsense, no cheap gimmick writer, which is probably why this book is a fast read to begin with. The pacing has to be fast because trying to control an unstable child like Jani is a fast paced business to begin with. It’s exciting, but at the same time it’s emotionally taxing because of the heartache the family goes through.

Speaking of emotionally taxing writing, I’m going to get straight to the point when it comes to this memoir’s extra credit (five-star) rating. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was only 17 years old. As a mentally ill person, I recognize a lot of the frustrations the parents and their child Jani have to go through. To see such a small, beautiful, intelligent child descend into darkness is devastating to me. Michael Schofield expressed these tearful thoughts in such a way that I was almost driven to tears myself. January deserves nothing but a bright future and just when it looks like nobody can help her, her parents keep on fighting for her despite having empty tanks. I haven’t cried since the year 2007, but came very close to doing so several times while reading this heartbreaking book.

And then you have Mr. Schofield’s criticisms of the hospitals that did a minimal job of trying to help January, which I believe to be accurate. Before eventually taking January to UCLA and getting the schizophrenia diagnosis, the Schofield family had to deal with uncaring nurses, incompetent doctors, predatory insurance companies, and none of those same people having a damn clue what the hell is going on with this child. If I had to deal with that much of a lackadaisical approach to medicine, I’d be pissed off and in tears too, just like the author was. The events of this book took place before Obamacare became the law of the land. But even after such a historic law was passed, we still have a lot of work to do when it comes to hospital reform. If you don’t believe me, read this book.

This book spoke to me in a way that no other text about schizophrenia could. I was actually able to feel the struggles that the Schofield family went through, not just as a schizophrenic myself, but also as a human being. But some people will never admit to that, because there’s all this buzz going on about how Michael was abusive to his wife and children because of his hot temper. To those people who falsely slander Michael that way, I have only one thing to tell them: you show me a parent who isn’t going berserk after fighting for a mentally ill child and I’ll show you an abusive parent. Until then, keep your one-star ratings and your judgments to yourself.

Scarecrow Justice

Living out in the middle of nowhere had many benefits. For the Cobra Strike Militia and their top hit man Edward Bell, it meant freedom from federal agents. But even the motorcycle-riding assassin knew that such liberties were at risk. Something had to be done to make sure certain government officials didn’t make it to their elections. For such “urgent matters”, there was a pistol with a silencer at the end of it stowed in the duffel bag in the side car of the motorcycle, along with other kick-ass toys of destruction.

It was the perfect day for riding through the countryside. The sun was shining brightly upon the cornfields. The only thing breaking the silence for Edward Bell was his bike engine, which was purring like the machinegun he kept in his duffel bag. Unfortunately for him, it was also popping and banging like one. Soon enough, the motorcycle was slowing down and all Edward could say was, “Goddamn it!” when he pulled over to the side of the desolate road.

Such colorful language continued to pour from Edward’s mouth like a flood of obscenities. He loved his motorcycle and couldn’t stand to watch it break down, especially since the time window in between assassinations was getting thin. He ripped the duffel bag out of the side car with his muscular, tattooed hands and unzipped it before searching through its contents for repair tools.

A middle aged white guy with a gray ponytail and black paramilitary gear fixing his bike on the side of the road would have looked suspicious to a lot of people. Edward would have had the solitude he needed if it hadn’t been for the sounds of throaty whispering coming from the cornfields. He stopped turning the wrench on his engine and looked around with a “What the hell?” expression on his bearded face. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand and went back to work with the wrench.

And then the throaty whispers were getting louder. Edward was starting to think he was going insane. He stood up with his monkey wrench held like a weapon and looked around to see where the noise was coming from. He couldn’t find the source and his heart began to beat loudly in his chest. He wiped a cool sweat as it trickled down his forehead into his eyes. The anxiety continued to build as those angry whispers were tormenting him like an acute case of schizophrenia.

“Where the hell are you?! Show yourself! I’ve got enough guns in my bag to rip your ass to shreds! And I love shooting my guns! I don’t give a damn what the government says!” And yet when he was searching through his duffel bag to find his silencer pistol, he was fumbling with it even though it was in plain sight. When he finally had a good grip on it, he felt a hand made from straw grabbing his shoulder from within the cornfields.

Edward had nearly pissed himself as he screamed and crab-walked backwards in blood-chilling fear, leaving his guns to the mercy of whoever grabbed him. Instead of a “Yankee fed”, it was a living, breathing, gossamer and straw-covered scarecrow with a carved pumpkin for a head. His carved eyes were glowing bright orange and his elongated teeth were drooling with blood. He also had several large spiders crawling all over his body and he didn’t even care.

As Edward Bell’s heart beat even faster and his sweaty body rained with salty fluids, he tried to sound brave when he threatened the hideous monster before him when he said, “You stay away from my gun bag! I have the right to have those!”

“Relax. Take a deep breath. I don’t want your pathetic little guns,” said the scarecrow in a demonic whisper. He crept like a zombie across the road with Edward continuing to scoot backwards in underwear-shitting fear. “My name is Cackle-Puss. Laugh at my name if you want, but I’m not going anywhere until I get something from you. It’s something I’ve wanted since you began your career as a hit man.”

The militia assassin was able to calm down long enough to question the legitimacy of Cackle-Puss’s monster status. He stood up, dusted his flak vest and camouflage pants off, and said, “What a damn minute here! There ain’t no such thing as ghosts! This is all a bunch of hocus pocus bullshit! There ain’t nothing stopping me from sticking my boot up your straw ass right now, bitch!”

He marched up to the scarecrow to do just that before Cackle-Puss shape-shifted into someone Edward recognized right away. It was the politician he was sent to kill: John Merton, Democrat of Paulson City. “Do you really want to kill me, Mr. Bell? Is a 12% tax on cigarettes really going to limit your freedom that much? Would you really take me away from my wife and children over something as stupid as politics? I’ve been in this game many times, but you’re the first who wanted to kill me over it. I’m a father and a husband. You have no right to…”

Before the hallucination of John Merton could finish his sentence, Edward took a swing and clocked him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground with a puddle of blood in his wake. The hit man arrogantly chuckled to himself as he knelt down and pulled the politician’s hair to show his face. Except it wasn’t his face anymore. Cackle-Puss had morphed into a beautiful young blond woman and had a pregnant belly to go with the new form.

The woman said, “Why would you do this to me, Edward? I was your wife for ten long years. We were going to have a family together. You started getting drunk every night and then you killed me and our son. I wanted to leave you, but you wouldn’t let me. Why, Edward? After all these years, why?!”

The hit man was now terrified once again as he shakily released his grip on his ex-wife’s hair. He looked down at her pregnant belly and saw a bloody wound in place of their unborn son. Edward Bell backed up slowly on wobbly legs and breathed heavily. Soon that breathing became angry. His brows furrowed and his fists clenched when he said, “This is all a trick! This is bullshit! Magic doesn’t exist! Not in my world! You think you’ve got one over on me, Cackle-Puss?! Don’t insult me, you sick bastard!”

He was about to bring his combat boot down on the morphing scarecrow’s face, but stopped midway through when there was yet another transformation. It was a little Basset hound with a bruised body, bloody jowls, a slashed ear, and a shaky body. The little guy whined and pleaded with Edward, who in turn started trembling in fear as he dropped to his knees and allowed tears to form in his eyes.

“Hey there, little guy,” said the assassin with a quivering mouth. “I didn’t mean to do all that nasty stuff to you. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was never anything personal. You believe me, right?”

Edward reached his bloody hand out to try and pet the battered puppy, but then Cackle-Puss transformed back into his scarecrow form and the militia nitwit got a bite from the pumpkin-head’s bloody fangs instead. Edward backpedaled and howled in pain while clutching his chomped hand. He fell back on his ass while Cackle-Puss stalked him slowly with fiery eyes and a malicious smile.

“So that’s your answer to everybody you’ve killed. It’s never personal. It’s all part of the job, right?” said the scarecrow. “Because little doggies are a threat to your freedom. So is your wife. So is your unborn child. And so is a politician who also happens to be a family man. How many more must die before you’re satisfied with your ill-gotten constitutional rights? How many guns must you fire for the sake of freedom? How many more? How many more? How many more?!”

Cackle-Puss kept repeating that last question, but in the voices of everybody Edward Bell killed along his path to a free America. The paramilitary soldier clutched his skull and rocked back and forth in schizophrenic agony. He couldn’t stand these voices. He couldn’t stand the fact that Cackle-Puss was right. So he made yet another excuse for himself when he jumped to his feet and threw a flying kick at the scarecrow’s pumpkin head, knocking it off his shoulders.

The head was still screaming in pain, but the body was kneeling down while the spiders and gossamers were fading away. Still in berserk mode, Edward Bell finally pulled his silencer pistol out of his bag and fired several rounds into Cackle-Puss’s body. And then Edward pulled out an automatic rifle and peppered it in bullets. And then he pulled out a shotgun and blasted the hell out of the spiders and gossamers. He pulled out every gun in his bag and emptied it on the scarecrow while its pumpkin head pleaded for mercy using the voices of Edward’s victims.

In the mess of spider corpses, bloody straw, and broken cobwebs, Edward knelt down and raised his fists to the sky before letting out a barbaric war cry. Cackle-Puss’s head, which was still alive, was watching this scene in horror and still sobbing in the victims’ voices. The hit man picked up the pumpkin head and stared into its devilish eyes. “Where’s your bag of magic tricks now, you sick son of a bitch?! Where’s your necromancy?! Who are you going to change into now?! Huh?! You think you’re fucking tough?!”

The sounds of police sirens filled the air and Edward turned his head around to give an evil look at the red and blue flashing lights coming his way. Cackle-Puss laughed at him and said, “How many more, Edward? How many more?”

“How many more? I’ll take them all down in a blaze of glory! And you, Cackle-Puss…you’re just another casualty in the war on America!” said Edward before punching the pumpkin head and getting blood and brains all over his hand. He chucked the monster head aside and picked up another shotgun he kept in his bag. “Let’s do this shit!” He pumped the gun ready to go.

Except there would be no suicide by cop this afternoon. Those weren’t cop lights coming his way. Those were ambulance lights. All the guns in the world couldn’t keep Edward Bell from finding himself in a straightjacket in a padded cell while repeating the words of Cackle-Puss. No one believed his scarecrow story. They believed his antigovernment rhetoric even less.

A man of Edward’s insanity possessing that many guns would be even bigger campaign fuel for John Merton’s election. Edward Bell affected change alright, but not in the way he would have liked. Being in a mental institution for the rest of his life wasn’t exactly a desired outcome. The worst part about it? He gets visitation hours every night. His only visitor? Cackle-Puss, bringer of scarecrow justice!