Shelly Atwood

=========================================

THE BASICS

=========================================

Name: Shelly Atwood

Nicknames: Sex Queen, Succubus, Sex Demon

Gender: Cisgender Female

Age: 40

Birth Date: 462 AM

Birth Place: The Atwood Queendom

Currently Living In: The Atwood Queendom

Species: Human

Ethnicity / Race: Caucasian

Citizenship: Honey Valley

Religion / Beliefs: Libertarian

=========================================

FAMILY

=========================================

Father: Rogan Atwood

Age: Dead

Relationship: Abusive

Mother: Emmanuelle Atwood

Age: Dead

Relationship: Manipulative

Step-Brother: Torger Manson

Age: 36

Relationship: Obedient

Sister: Kanodra Atwood

Age: 32

Relationship: Estranged

Step-Father: Dagger Manson

Age: Dead

Relationship: Neglect

=========================================

PHYSICAL FEATURES:

=========================================

Height: 5’9

Weight: 115 lbs.

Frame / Build: Curvy

Hair length: Shoulder blades

Hair color: Black

Eye shape: Round

Eye color: Hazel

Complexion: Smooth

Face size: Slender

Voice type: Sensual

Foot size: 9 Women’s

Tattoo(s): Snake on her back

Scar(s): None

Other notable accessories: Ankle pearls

Any other identifying mark(s): None

=========================================

SOCIO / ECONOMIC / POLITICAL

=========================================

Political Affiliation: Right-Leaning Libertarian

Economic Class: Rich Capitalist

Social Class: Nobility

Occupation: Queen

Income: Wealthy

Residence: Atwood Castle

Transportation: Carriage pulled by horses

=========================================

INTERESTS

=========================================

Favorite Food(s): Ice Cream and Fudge

Favorite Sport(s): Yoga

Favorite Book(s): Dark Romance and Dark Erotica

Favorite Show(s): TV isn’t a thing yet

Favorite Music: Choir vocals

Favorite Color(s): Black and purple

Clothing Style / Preferences: Royal dress, leather suits, leather boots or high heels

Hobbies: Reading, Ice cream making, card games, makeup and cosplay

Role Model(s): Her mother

Likes: Sex, control, soft-power, getting her way all the time

Dislikes: Rejection, physical ugliness, competition, losing control

=========================================

PERSONALITY

=========================================

Good Qualities / Trait(s): Leadership, good social skills, deal-maker

Vices / Negative Trait(s): Overspending, manipulative, narcissistic, rapist

Strengths: Seduction, soft-power authority, good speech-giving skills

Weaknesses: Lack of fighting skills, rumination, can’t deal with rejection or criticism

Habits / Idiosyncrasies / Quirks: Shoe-dangling, hair play, finger twirling

Phobia / Fears: Being cornered, being controlled, poverty, scorpions

Select one personality type below that best describes your character:

PROTECTORS

[X] Overseer (ESTJ) – Thrives on facts and details. Has a clear set of standards and beliefs. They are hardworking, responsible, and self-confident. They rely on experiences rather than speculation, and make decisions based on these. Very good at enforcing laws and rules. Loyal and hard-working. Like to be in charge. Very organized, tends to be a stickler for the rules.

Define your character’s personality based on the following aspects:

a. Physically: Easy on the eyes, easy to fall in love with, easy to listen to

b. Psychologically: Manipulative, cunning, intelligent

c. Spiritually: Disregard for the elven religion

d. Emotionally: Doesn’t handle rejection well and will always steer the conversation in her direction

e. Socially: Her citizens will bend over backwards for her if it means they have even a slight “chance” with her.

=========================================

HISTORY

=========================================

1. Describe the character’s childhood. She was groomed for her queen’s role from a very young age. She learned early on that manipulation and looking beautiful were more important than empathy and kindness.

2. Name the good incidents that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? She was rewarded with toys and ice cream whenever she did what her mother asked and taught her.

3. Name bad experiences that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? Her mother killed her biological father and remarried to a doormat. This was Shelly’s final lesson in getting what she wants at all costs.

4. What is the character doing when first introduced? What are her goals at this point? She’s sitting in her throne examining Windham to see if he’ll be good “husband material” instead of just another sex slave to sell. Her goals are just to sell sex slaves that she brainwashed herself and stay wealthy and powerful in the process.

4a. Do these goals change at any point in the story? She made the mistake of “falling in love” with Windham due to his royal elven pedigree and “strength that [she] can sap away”. This takes priority over her slave trading business.

=========================================

STORY DEVELOPMENT:

=========================================

CHARACTER ARCHETYPE: (Put an X on all applicable boxes)

[] Addict (Conspicuous Consumer, Glutton, Workaholic–see also Gambler)

[] Advocate (Attorney, Defender, Legislator, Lobbyist, Environmentalist)

[] Alchemist (Wizard, Magician, Scientist, Inventor–see also Visionary)

[] Angel (Fairy Godmother/Godfather)

[X] Antagonist (Opposing View, not necessarily the Evil Bad — see also Villain)

[] Anti-Hero

[] Artist (Artisan, Craftsperson, Sculptor, Weaver)

[] Athlete (Olympian)

[] Avenger (Avenging Angel, Savior, Messiah)

[] Beggar (Homeless person/ Indigent)

[X] Bully (Coward)

[] Catalyst

[] Child (Orphan, Wounded, Magical/Innocent, Nature, Divine, Puer/Puella Eternis, or Eternal Boy/Girl)

[] Clown (Court Jester, Fool, Dummling)

[] Companion (Friend, Sidekick, Right Arm, Consort)

[] Damsel (Princess)

[] Destroyer (Attila, Mad Scientist, Serial Killer, Spoiler)

[] Detective (Spy, Double Agent, Sleuth, Snoop, Sherlock Holmes, Private Investigator, Profiler–see also Warrior/Crime Fighter)

[] Dilettante (Amateur)

[] Don Juan (Casanova, Gigolo, Seducer, Sex Addict)

[] Engineer (Architect, Builder, Schemer)

[] Exorcist (Shaman)

[] Father (Patriarch, Progenitor)

[X] Femme Fatale (Black Widow, Flirt, Siren, Circe, Seductress, Enchantress)

[X] Gambler

[] God (Adonis, see also Hero)

[] Gossip (see also Networker)

[] Guide (Guru, Sage, Crone, Wise Woman, Spiritual Master, Evangelist, Preacher)

[] Healer (Wounded Healer, Intuitive Healer, Caregiver, Nurse, Therapist, Analyst, Counselor)

[] Hedonist (Bon Vivant, Chef, Gourmet, Gourmand, Sybarite–see also Mystic)

[] Hermit (see also Wise old Man)

[] Hero/Heroine (see also Knight, Warrior)

[] Judge (Critic, Examiner, Mediator, Arbitrator)

[] King (Emperor, Ruler, Leader, Chief — see also Politician)

[] Knight in Shining Armor

[] Liberator

[X] Lover

[] Martyr

[] Mediator (Ambassador, Diplomat, Go-Between)

[] Mentor (Master, Counselor, Tutor)

[] Messiah (Redeemer, Savior)

[] Midas/Miser

[] Monk/Nun (Celibate)

[] Mother (Matriarch, Mother Nature)

[] Mystic (Renunciate, Anchorite, Hermit)

[] Networker (Messenger, Herald, Courier, Journalist, Communicator)

[] Pioneer (Explorer, Settler, Pilgrim, Innovator)

[] Poet

[X] Politician (see also King)

[] Priest (Priestess, Minister, Rabbi, Evangelist)

[] Prince

[] Prostitute

[X] Queen (Empress)

[] Rebel (Anarchist, Revolutionary, Political Protester, Nonconformist, Pirate)

[] Rescuer

[] Saboteur

[] Samaritan

[] Scribe (Copyist, Secretary, Accountant–see also Journalist)

[] Seeker (Wanderer, Vagabond, Nomad)

[] Servant (Indentured Servant)

[] Shape-shifter (Spell-caster–see also Trickster)

[] Slave

[] Spectre (Ghost / Apparition with Unresolved issues)

[] Storyteller (Minstrel, Narrator)

[] Student / Scholar (Disciple, Devotee, Follower, Apprentice)

[X] Teacher (Instructor, see also Mentor)

[] Thief (Swindler, Con Artist, Pickpocket, Burglar, Robin Hood)

[] Threshold Guardian

[] Trickster (Puck, Provocateur)

[] Turncoat

[] Vampire

[] Victim

[X] Villain / Shadow (Big Bad of the story; see also Antagonist)

[] Virgin (see also Celibate)

[] Visionary (Dreamer, Prophet, Seer–see also Guide, Alchemist)

[] Warrior (Soldier, Crime Fighter, Amazon, Mercenary, Soldier of Fortune, Gunslinger, Samurai)

[] Wise old Man (see also Hermit)

1. What are the motivations for the character’s actions? Horniness and power

2. What are the character’s goals / ambition / dreams? To eventually retire from her duties and become a self-indulgent hedonist with a “husband” that will take care of her

3. What external conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? The Stonewall Kingdom and Xavier Village are actively resisting her.

3a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? They know how to fight despite the fact that their numbers are shrinking rapidly due to mysterious disappearances.

4. What inner conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? Insecurities about her beauty and seductiveness.

4a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? She’s not the only beautiful person in the world despite the fact that she wants to be. That’s why she makes her soldiers wear hooded robes.

=========================================

AUTHOR’S NOTES / MISCELLANY

=========================================

Character theme song: “You Love Me ‘Cause I Hate You” by Lacuna Coil

Celebrity / IRL lookalike: Sarah-Jane Redmond (as Lucy Butler from “Millennium”)

Simping for a Succubus

VERSE 1

It gets lonely in the middle of nowhere

My future plans include, “I don’t care”

Wouldn’t know where to start looking

For adult fun time that’s worth booking

I have dreams about being taken away

Though I wouldn’t know where to stay

Where, oh, where is the Promised Land?

Succubus lady, take me by the hand

CHORUS

Simping for a succubus

She’s the only one I trust

To be tender, to be sweet

Then discard me on the street

VERSE 2

I know it’s wrong, but what else is there?

It’s Valentine’s Day, love is in the air

Smells a lot like a perfume miasma

To mask the stench of a decaying Santa

Candies and chocolates to make me fat

Fall flat on my face, be a perfect doormat

You can call it depression or desperation

It’s better than a lifetime of masturbation

CHORUS

Simping for a succubus

She’s the only one I trust

To be tender, to be sweet

Then discard me on the street

VERSE 3

Doctor man, what is wrong with me?

Psychoanalyze every little fucking thing

Attachment issues because of autism?

Too much width in my social schism?

Too much trauma? Too much Taco Bell?

You can’t even tell? Got more pills to sell?

Being well-adjusted to a fucked up world

Can’t compare the love of a succubus girl

EXTENDED CHORUS

Simping for a succubus

She’s the only one I trust

To be tender, to be sweet

Then discard me on the street

Simping for a succubus

Though she’ll turn me into dust

Just like ashes, just like cocaine

Up the nose into another’s brain

Somewhere in the World

VERSE 1

Somewhere in the world, a wife is beaten

Her man calls it a crowning achievement

His woman covered in red, purple, blue

At least she’s someone you never knew

If she had a name, would you start to care?

Or is empathetic pain too much to share?

It didn’t happen in your US of A

So keep sipping your chardonnay

VERSE 2

Somewhere in the world, a woman loves you

Her smile can disarm, her eyes can hush you

Sooner or later, she’ll ask if she can touch you

To anyone with doubts, you say, “Fuck you!”

Hop on a plane and feel your butt go numb

Twelve hours of an engine’s obnoxious hum

When you finally land, you hold out your hand

Police cuff your wrists, fingerprints are scanned

BRIDGE

False realization, no lessons are learned

You simp for one while the other burned

Young, horny, and don’t give a fuck

The ones who need you most are shit out of luck

VERSE 3

Somewhere in the world, a dictator falls

Sledgehammers knock down the border walls

It’s closer to home, just check on your phone

Or you can open your ears to the angry tones

Do you feel your comfort zone getting smaller?

Do you want to be a Karen 9-1-1 caller?

Is it close enough when it happens to you?

Apathy still painted in red, white, and blue

FINAL VERSE

Somewhere in the world, kids are laughing

Somewhere in the world, kittens napping

Somewhere in the world, who knows where?

Do your fucking research if you deeply care

Life After Seduction

VERSE 1

When the only chicks who like you are femme fatales

When she separates you from your family and pals

When she won’t let you speak to any other gals

And then stabs you in the heart until you cry and howl

Just remember that the world doesn’t center on her

And that you did nothing at all to deserve being hurt

It’s toilet time for your expensive wedding ring

“We’re fucking divorced!” is the tune you sing

CHORUS

You can break the pattern, but it’ll only matter

If you cover your ears from the toxic chatter

Life after seduction comes with no instructions

But the light at the end needs no introduction

VERSE 2

You swear to yourself that you’ll never love again

It took so long to get back your family and friends

Single as a Pringle, no need to stay and mingle

Because the only thing that matters is how you feel

She calls you and leaves a thousand voicemails

Begging for forgiveness behind the walls of jail

But you put away your phone and go back to sleep

Because you earned your freedom, it’s yours to keep

CHORUS

You can break the pattern, but it’ll only matter

If you cover your ears from the toxic chatter

Life after seduction comes with no instructions

But the light at the end needs no introduction

VERSE 3

On the therapist’s couch, you’ve got lots to talk about

And then here come the tears and the need to shout

None of your pain will ever leave that cozy room

Don’t hold the detonation switch to your own doom

EXTENDED CHORUS

You can break the pattern, but it’ll only matter

If you cover your ears from the toxic chatter

Life after seduction comes with no instructions

But the light at the end needs no introduction

Life is beautiful and it’s still worth living

As long as you learn the limits of your giving

Takers have no limits to their narcissism

Now you see it all with twenty-twenty vision

We Love You, Alejandro Cherrystone

 Every last page of his love letter collection

Breathed new life into his bloody erection

“We love you, Alejandro Cherrystone!

We can do it in your cell or on the phone

We know you’ve skinned your victims raw

We know you broke a prostitute’s jaw

We know you mutilated neighborhood pets

It doesn’t make us lust for you any less”

Every last page of the dirtiest magazines

Is filled with beauty nobody’s ever seen

Long black locks and androgynous lips

Tight black Speedo clinging to his hips

A six-pack that he worked hard to sculpt

Smooth legs that could start his own sex cult

It’s easy to forget his towering body count

Even when formaldehyde assaults your snout

Every last page of the stenographer’s notes

Crushes every baby girl’s romantic hopes

A heart like his could never be warm

Neither could his corpses left out in the storm

A life behind bars is what he so deserves

Not to be sexed up by the youngest of pervs

Not to be a wet dream for teenage queens

There’d be no debate if he looked like a fiend

Every last page of his death certificate

Makes claims of innocence insignificant

Stabbed to death with a rusty shank

While making a deposit in the sperm bank

Shower water washed away his blood

And the mess left by his supermodel butt

Never mind leaving flowers on his grave

Unless it’s necrophilia which you crave

Every last page of his docudrama script

Now smolders in a pyromantic abyss

No glory for killers, no cinematic thrillers

But compensation for his victims’ tear-spillers

They don’t have to forgive for Jesus’ sake

If Alejandro was alive, he’d continue to take

Never giving back to the world he bloodied

Except for hybristophilia to his favorite honeys

Rest in piss and we’ll see you in hell

This is the only story we should tell

Until the next killer casts a horny spell

Until the next cult forms, oh fucking well

Mourning the Loss of Beauty

 My name is Garrison and I don’t think of myself as an attractive person. I held off on saying that for as long as I could. It’s not that I don’t think men’s beauty standards are an important idea to dissect and analyze, no, no, no. I was more afraid of potential responses I could get for saying such a thing in public. Some might be kind and say that I don’t look THAT bad. Some might accuse me of being shallow. Some might be realistic and say that every type of beauty fades away eventually. Some might be well-intentioned and say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder…which doesn’t sound promising if the beholders refuse to acknowledge me in any way.

But there’s one response I’ve always feared throughout my entire life. I don’t know the official name for this trope, but I call it the Disaster Porn Excuse. It’s where you talk about your problems with someone and that same ignoramus reminds you that others have it worse. Of course other people have it worse! What is this, the Sadness Olympics? Do I only get a bronze medal for believing myself to be physically ugly? The Disaster Porn Excuse goes something like this: “You know, Chud…there’s a Corona Virus pandemic going on…there’s police brutality all over the country…wildfires and other natural disasters are happening at an alarming rate…and you’re bitching and whining about your lack of good looks? Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk! Get a life!”

Not believing in my own physical beauty (or lack thereof) isn’t anywhere near as devastating as a Corona Virus pandemic. I get it. But that’s not what my brain said to me the other day. Just because someone has it worse, doesn’t invalidate your own problems. Does there have to be an earthquake and a volcanic eruption happening at the same time in Port Orchard for me to have a say in my own personal difficulties? It’s not right to compare and contrast problems. And yes, even having said all of this, not being physically attractive still sounds like small potatoes. It does sound shallow and whiny…until it’s not.

My senior year of high school was pretty much the only time in my life where I was confident in my sex appeal. I had a hairstyle that was parted down the middle and curled at the tips. I wore sunglasses even indoors. I wore a leather jacket that I had no business owning given my family’s income. I had a beard that made me look older than my teenaged years. I had and still have hazel eyes that could be stared into for hours. Judging from all the smiles, giggles, and flirting I got from other girls at my school, I think a few of them caught feelings for me. They didn’t come out and say they were in love with me, but I got hugs from a few of them, they petted my shoulders, one girl drummed on my back with her hands…and you know what? As shallow as it seems now, getting this kind of attention is addictive. It’s validating. It makes me feel like anything other than an outcast. After a freshman year where I was almost bullied into suicide, not feeling like an outcast was pretty fucking amazing.

That is until the voices in my head started getting louder and louder. The voices threatened to kick my legs and break them. They threatened to kick me in the ass and make me shit myself. They threatened to make me their bitch, this being the worst of my schizophrenic insults due to my strong sense of individuality at the time. The voices got so bad that for the second time in my life, I threatened to kill myself. Thank god I was able to get the medication I needed and start the long hard road to recovery. That should have been the end of my misery…until it wasn’t. The thing about schizophrenia medication is that it numbs your emotions and makes you gain weight. Remember the smoking hot sex god that I was all throughout my senior year of high school? He was replaced by a three-hundred pound zombie who couldn’t cut it in a college sociology class or even technical writing. Technical fucking writing! But if I didn’t take the medication, I’d either be dead or in a nuthouse, so being a three hundred pound invalid was the lesser of two evils. It’s a classic case of death or chi-chi.

Losing my beauty was going to happen eventually as it does with every person on the planet. I just would have liked to keep it for longer than my teenaged years. College is supposed to be a time when the real magic happens, when partying, sex, and love are the cornerstones of good education. I had my fair share of crushes, but I never acted on them. Not once. I didn’t believe I had the right to. Why? Because my good looks were stolen from me. I didn’t get my face bashed in with a baseball bat and needed reconstructive surgery. My looks were stolen from me by an invisible force that happened at random. It was complete and utter bad luck that the public ignored me and went out of their way to sidestep me. I had very few friends in college and I owe all of that…to bad fucking luck. Remember how addictive being sexually fawned over was? I was still addicted, but had some serious fucking withdrawal.

It wasn’t until after I graduated from college that I started my own personal education with You Tube videos and internet research. You know that feeling when people treat you differently because you may or may not look good to them? There’s a name for that: the beauty bias. It’s something we all have whether we want to admit it or not. When an employer has to choose between a pool of candidates, he’ll go for the sexiest one. When people decide what friends they’re going to connect with, they’ll choose the sexy ones. Even in celebrity culture, the sexier musicians, actors, and influencers are the ones who get the most opportunities. 

Would Nightwish have become a successful heavy metal band if Tarja Turunen had a bulge in her neck the size of a basketball? Would Evanescence be a worldwide phenomenon if Amy Lee’s face was disfigured by a wood chipper? Would In This Moment have been a smash hit if Maria Brink sharted herself onstage at every show? I hate saying this, but the answer to all of these questions is no. That’s not my answer. That’s the public’s answer. It’s sick, it’s wrong, it’s unfair, but it’s reality. While nobody would come out and tell me I was too ugly to fit in, I knew deep inside that’s what they were thinking.

So what do we do to curb this bias? Honestly, I don’t have the one true answer to that. Sure, we could share Body Positivity memes all day long. We could call out shallowness in magazines and TV shows. We could be more inclusive even if we’re not feeling it at first. But these are all surface-level solutions that can only work if everybody gets involved, which they won’t. That’s why I never watch You Tube videos from fitness influencers: they’re the biggest offenders when it comes to making fat and ugly people feel like shit. Many of those exercises are impossible for an obese person to do on a consistent basis. Food addiction is very real. But hey, it’s all our fault, right? We’ve got nobody to blame but ourselves according to these fitness influencers. We don’t lift enough weights. We don’t run far enough. We don’t eat enough rabbit food. But most importantly, we don’t inject enough steroids into our bloodstreams. You know what? Maybe I’d rather be fat and lazy than look like Hulk Hogan and The Ultimate Warrior. Come to think of it, if you do these super-intense exercises, you too can look like The Ultimate Warrior…in 2015…a year after he passed away from heart failure.

Since other people won’t fight our battles against poor self-esteem for us, we have to find ways to do it ourselves. We can surround ourselves with people who believe in Body Positivity. We can self-talk ourselves into feeling at least marginally good. During the days where we do feel good, we could hold onto that feeling for as long as we humanly can. Or if you’re schizophrenic like me, you can use your imagination to your advantage. When I came up with the idea for this essay, my mind was in the shitter. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I wanted to curse myself until I believed in my own bodily mediocrity. But I did something the other day to make myself sing a different tune. Will the feeling last forever? Probably not, but I take my little victories where I can get them.

I imagined a scenario where one of my online crushes confronted me in a hairdresser’s salon after I’ve spent the entire time doubting my own beauty. She said to me, “Your attractiveness doesn’t come from your soft hair…or your lovely eyes. That’s not where you draw your strength from. You draw your strength from your quietness. You’re an enigma in public. You have an air of mystery about you. You keep women at a distance because you’re considerate of them. And the more mysterious you are, the more they want to learn about you. And the more they can unlock from you…the more likely you are to trust them. Attraction has nothing to do with physical appearances. It’s about feeling comfortable and calm around whoever you’re with. If a woman can get you to be yourself around her without any filters…that’s when you know you’ve succeeded.”

Is any of this true? Maybe, maybe not, I couldn’t tell you firsthand. But does it make me feel good for the time being? You’re damn right it does. Being crushed on in high school made me feel good at the time. Now I have to find other ways to feel good. And when I find them, I want to hold onto my happiness for as long as I can. Finding temporary happiness may not always be attractive to the world around me. Then again, it doesn’t have to be. At the end of the day, the only one who gets to decide my worth is me. The sooner this is hammered into my brain, the better off I’ll be. Maybe happiness isn’t six-pack abs and a leather jacket. Maybe happiness is a bottle of Diet Coke and two pepperoni pizza Hot Pockets. I can do this…I have to do this…

If I can get one more jab in to solidify my TKO victory over poor self-esteem, Bill Maher has no business calling fat people ugly when he himself looks like a creature that crawled out of a mausoleum because a necromancer told him it was a good idea. He would know what a necromancer is if he didn’t thumb his nose at genre fiction. But even with his willful ignorance towards my generation, he knows deep down that he should be the one mourning his loss of beauty, not me. Oops! I guess the beauty bias is alive and well! Uh-oh!

Disillusionment

CHORUS
Disillusionment
Disappointment
Disenchantment
Disenfranchisement

VERSE 1
Never forget the platinum rule
Don’t be taken for a bloody fool
Pedestals weren’t meant to go that high
Same level as the angels in the sky
When they destroy what you love
When you’re theirs to push and shove
When you’re locked in an institution
Still don’t realize your own disillusion

CHORUS
Disillusionment
Disappointment
Disenchantment
Disenfranchisement

VERSE 2
Was it sex appeal that turned you on?
Was manipulation part of the con?
Money and fame that fucked your brain?
Word salad that made this seem so sane?
Should I slap your face to wake you up?
Should I scream about how much this sucks?
Your tragic tale has a deadly conclusion
Yet you can’t realize your own disillusion

CHORUS
Disillusionment
Disappointment
Disenchantment
Disenfranchisement

VERSE 3
The planet’s on fire, the air is poison
Shit goes beyond mere disappointment
No money in your bank, here come the tanks
Got a rifle in your hand like you’re in the ranks
Head in the sand like a number one fan
Idol cheats a system that fucks a lesser man
Wakey wakey, wakey! Eggs and bacey!
But you say to the reaper, “Come and take me!”

FINAL VERSE
You tried to hide!
Opened wide and lied!
You died for pride!
False god never cried!

A Little Bit Off

Dr. Esther Villalobos hoped that the downpour outside would be sufficient in calming down her next patient. If not that, then the pictures of fluffy felines mounted on her walls. And if not that, then the musty smell of old books sitting on her shelves. Then again, perhaps the little things about her cozy office were just that: little. She knew full well that she had to be as delicate as possible when handling her newest client.

She remembered watching the media circus unfold on TV like it was yesterday. Every news anchor seemed to have an obsessive fixation on the demonic serial killer Lucy Butler. How she seduced and brainwashed her brilliant-minded abductees into believing their own mediocrity. How she played “Love Is Blue” by Paul Mauriat over and over again to drive that point home.

But the biggest thing that made Esther squirm in her chair all those days ago was how the media and subsequent viewers sexualized the hell out of Lucy Butler, whether it was her natural beauty, her alluring methods, or just because hybristophilia was still a thing in this day and age. People said the exact same things about Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer, so maybe it shouldn’t have come as a big surprise. Still, Esther shivered at the thought of romanticizing such a brutal killer.

“I could definitely use a cigarette right now,” said Esther to nobody in particular as she sat in her swivel chair tapping her foot.

The nicotine would have to wait a little longer. There was a halfhearted knock on her door and she said, “Come in”, which the visitor did. Sure enough, the centerpiece of these Lucy Butler stories, Landon Bryce, skulked through the office door looking like hell. His blondish brown hair looked like it hadn’t been combed since god knows when. His Linkin Park T-shirt and blue jeans were covered in what looked like corn chip dust. Hopefully, that wasn’t all he was eating lately, but Esther wasn’t banking on any other answers. After all, the life in his once pretty eyes had been completely drained and his face sagged to show off his lack of zest for life.

Landon’s most noticeable feature, however, was the bruises and cuts all over his bony hands. Esther was no detective, but she had to assume those bloody scrapes had something to do with him getting in fights as recently as a few days ago. He didn’t seem to notice his own damage as he just stood in the doorway shivering lightly and staring at nothing like the zombie he was.

“Good morning,” said Esther in a soft, benign voice that didn’t betray the fact that she was a smoker. “You must be Landon. I’m Dr. Esther Villalobos. Please, make yourself at home. There’s a seat on the leather couch with your name on it.” He was in no hurry to lay down on the couch, but once he did, he found the comfort he needed to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm whatever chaos was going on his mind. He still trembled, though. “Before we begin, do you want some Vaseline for your hands? They look like they could use some TLC.”

“Huh?” Landon just now noticed the scars on his hand and languidly answered, “Sure, okay.”

Esther pulled a bottle of Vaseline out of her desk drawers and squirted a few drops into her patient’s palms. Landon hissed in pain as he rubbed the grease all over his wounds, but by the time he was finished massaging his hands, they already looked a little bit better than they did before. Any improvement was a victory in Esther’s mind.

As Landon laid on the couch allowing his anxiety to wash over him, Esther sat in her swivel chair with a clipboard in her lap and a look of concern on her middle-aged face. Her black hair showed a few streaks of white and her sweater and slacks attire showed off her advanced age even more, which hopefully translated into wisdom for Landon and therefore into somebody he could trust with his woes.

Esther adjusted her thin-rimmed glasses. “So, Landon…we talked on the phone before we made this appointment official. We bounced ideas back and forth about what we wanted to discuss. From what I can tell, you have no desire to relive your captivity, so that’s not a topic I’m going to dig too deeply into. Besides, anybody within the sound of the media’s voice knows everything they need to know about Lucy Butler’s disgusting behavior. I’m more interested in what life has been like after Agent Frank Black rescued you and the other boys. So…I guess my first question to you is…how are you feeling right now? Take as much time as you need to answer that question. Go into as much or as little detail as you’d like. This is your session, Landon. You make the rules.”

Silence hung between them with the exception of Landon’s deep breathing exercises, though comforting to anybody else, seemed to have very little effect in steadying his nerves. He had been through a lot, it seemed. “Well, Esther, I don’t think anybody really cares how I’m feeling right now…But to answer your question…I’m exhausted…I’m tired of fighting my own mind…But I know that if I fall asleep…I’m just going to have another nightmare about that woman…Every time she kissed me…Every time she felt me up…The same goddamn song over and over again…”

He sniffed a few times in between sentences and wiped a small tear from his eye before continuing. “You know…I haven’t told anybody this…But since we’re in therapy…Sometimes…after a really bad nightmare…where she gets to do whatever she wants with me…I lock the door to my bedroom…draw the curtains…take my pants off…and…and…” He wiped another tear from his eye.

Esther filled in the blanks of his statement right away and nodded. “I see.” She wrote down on her clipboard that in addition to PTSD, he appeared to be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, hence the masturbation.

He continued. “I know I shouldn’t be doing that to her…I hated being in her company…Every time I do it…I hate myself for it…I keep wondering…if the ceiling fan above my room will be enough to support my weight…”

“Landon…listen to me. I know suicide sounds tempting, but it’s not the solution to your problems. You came here today because you wanted relief from it all. You secretly want to live again. There’s not much life in your eyes right now…but I can see just enough that you care deeply about your recovery. Please reconsider.”

“I sometimes wish the kids and teachers at my school would feel the same way…When I was rescued…I went straight back to that…school…if you can call it that…I wasn’t ready…I never was…but I didn’t speak up…I was expected to just soldier on like nothing happened…I wasn’t allowed to ask the world to slow down for me…And right off the bat…everybody noticed…Everybody knew…and they teased me for it…Called me every homophobic slur in the book…said I should have liked being with such a sexy woman…”

“As if being beautiful excuses her appalling actions.”

“Exactly…You know…sometimes…I wish I was ugly…I wish I had a face full of pimples…a three hundred pound beer gut…not a hair on my head…That way…nobody would try to seduce me again…Nobody would tell me they loved me without really meaning it…”

“Landon, I’m going to stop you right there for a moment. There’s something you need to know about that.” Esther sighed and removed her glasses. “How attractive you are has nothing to do with whether or not you were molested. Do you understand? Seduction is just one of thousands of ways in which someone can hurt you. If someone wants to hurt you badly enough, they’ll find a way to do it. It’s not you…it’s them.”

Landon sniffled again. “Try telling that to my ex-girlfriend.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

“I’m not sure I’d call her that, but…after I was rescued…we went on one date together…When she asked me out…I was having a particularly shitty day…I leaned against my locker at school just waiting for the waterworks to come out…She could have greeted me any way she wanted to…She could have said hi…She could have smiled at me…You know what she did?...She ran her nails down my back…On one hand it felt like a nice massage…On the other…it reminded me too much of Lucy…and…I ended up saying yes to her….Like I had something to prove to all of my bullies…Like I wanted to dispel all of those times someone called me a faggot or a queer…She said she liked me for my…’experience’…I was disgusted with her saying that…and I said yes to her anyways…”

Esther took more notes on her clipboard after putting her glasses back on. “How did your date go?”

“About as well as you’d expect it to…I was all numbed out…I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying…or what the plot of the movie was…Hell, I couldn’t even concentrate in school…That’s why my grades look like shit…I couldn’t even tell if me and my girl had a good time…But when it was over…and she tried to kiss me goodnight…I freaked out…Her lips…they tasted like Lucy’s…All of the sudden…I wasn’t seeing a blond sweetheart anymore…I saw Lucy…I ran away from her screaming…”

“She doesn’t sound like a very considerate girlfriend to me.”

“That’s why we never saw each other again…But at school…the gay slurs…the rape jokes…the pushes…the shoves…they started getting worse…I was constantly throwing up in the bathroom…I was crying my eyes out when nobody would see me…I would sometimes try to leave school on my own…But it was never enough…You want to know why I have scars on my hands?...Because one day…after one of those kids caught me crying…they laughed at me…and laughed…and laughed…so I did the one thing I knew would get me kicked out of school forever…I beat their asses…I punched them so hard their noses broke…their teeth crunched…I kneed them in the balls…kicked them in the ribs…I just kept seeing red…and it was glorious…It gave me the relief I needed…So beautiful…” He punctuated that last line with a smile, giving Esther her own form of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

“Landon, I’m going to stop you right there for now. You look like you need to stop as well.” Esther took her glasses off again and folded her hands in her lap. “You sound like you’re going through some heavy mental trauma. The lack of concentration, the nightmares, the vomiting, the lack of eating…you can’t live like this any longer. Something has to be done about it. I’m not going to lie to you, Landon. The road to recovery is going to be a long one. It’s going to be tiring. And it’s also going to depend on how far you’re willing to go to achieve your healing. Tell me, Landon…” She leaned in closer. “What are you willing to do to make this pain go away?”

The tears came more frequently and Landon gave up on trying to stop them. “Anything…anything at all…”

“Anything?”

“Yes, damn it, anything!”

“Good…because what I’m about to suggest to you…is so illegal…that you can’t tell anybody about it. You can only do it while you’re in my office. If I get caught administering this to you, I could not only go to jail, but I’d never be able to practice medicine again, which you in turn won’t find your healing. Are you ready?”

“I’m sick of crying all the time…I want to eat food that doesn’t taste like my kidnapper…You’re damn right I’m ready…”

Esther pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked a bottom drawer before pulling out a vaping pen and handing it to Landon.

“Is this what I think it is?...You want me to smoke marijuana?...I can’t…No, I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I was already in one prison when Lucy kidnapped me…I don’t need to go to another for smoking pot…”

Esther leaned in closer. “Landon…you said you would do anything for relief. You’re not going to find that relief in Xanax or Sertraline. Marijuana has no side effects. It’s not a codependency. It actually does its job in a quick amount of time. Landon, you’re already in a prison. You’re a prisoner of your own mind. And that vaping pen? That’s the key to your cell.”

“Pfft…Yeah right…”

Esther shook her head. “What happened to you, Landon? Before you were kidnapped and molested, you raged against the machine. You told your teachers to shove those C+’s up their asses. Where’s that rebellious spirit?”

“It’s gone, Esther. Every time I rebel against the system, somebody gets hurt.”

“Doing nothing will get even more people hurt.”

“Maybe Lucy was right all along. Maybe mediocrity is all I’ve got left. Maybe those C+’s on my report card…”

“Enough!” Esther interrupted. “Those C+’s and D-‘s? They’re just letters on a piece of paper, no different from the other letters. They don’t determine your self worth. Demonic serial killers with a fetish for bad music don’t determine your self worth either. You do. You know you weren’t destined for a boring life. You know deep in your heart you want to save the world. The more you fight your rebellious urges, the stronger they become. You may not know it right now, but the world needs your voice.”

“Tell that to the bullies at my…”

“I’m telling you!” Esther snapped. After watching Landon jump out of his skin, she apologized and fixed her own clothing. “Landon…Lucy Butler doesn’t love you…and those kids at school? They don’t matter. You do. Only you get to define what love means to you. Kidnapping someone and sexually torturing someone isn’t love. Love is free and kind, not forceful and toxic. You know this in your heart. You still have a heart after all this time. That’s why you’re here, to help yourself realize it. Please, Landon…you are taking a big risk by smoking that pen…but no amount of greatness comes without danger…You…were destined for greatness…”

Judging from the singular tear drops running down Landon’s face, Esther had hope that she had gotten through to him. And then…he took a puff of the pen. But when he blew out the vapors, he coughed like he was losing a lung. Esther said, “Sorry. Takes some getting used to.”

But once the coughing was over, so was the trembling. The tears on his cheeks were replaced by gentle redness. His once glassy eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and relaxed instead of labored and intensive. He seemed to sink to the leather couch in an attempt to fall asleep and hopefully have a dream about something other than molestation.

Esther smiled. “I’m not going to ask you how you’re doing, Landon. I already have the answer.”

“I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Pfft…Who gives a shit?”

“My next patient won’t be here for a long time. You can take a quick nap if you’d like. I won’t mind.”

Landon was already one step ahead of her, breathing gently and allowing his head to roll over in relaxation. If he did give a response, it was jumbled and incoherent. Esther patted him on the head before sneaking out of her office and shushing her secretary.

By the time Esther went outside, the downpour had stopped and the sun was out. But for how long? Long enough for Esther to finally smoke that cigarette she earned. She pulled out a Camel and lit it with a match before taking a few drags. Like Landon with his vaping pen, Esther too relaxed as she leaned against the brick building. But at the same time, she looked at her cigarette with mild disgust.

“Don’t ever smoke these, Landon. We need that voice of yours to be as loud as possible…”

Schizophrenic Playboy

RJ Redmond folded his arms and curled into his seat as an army of screaming wrestling fans polluted the air with their fried chicken breath, open bottles of beer, and overly-buttered popcorn. Was being in the front row really worth it? Was being in the nosebleed section really worse when there was a video monitor hanging over the ring?

RJ breathed deeply in an attempt to quiet his schizophrenic mind, always racing with wild thoughts the more these fans screamed. It didn’t help matters that the Jabba the Hutt look-alike sitting next to him grabbed RJ by the sleeve of his System of a Down T-shirt and shook him. The piggish wrestling fan also ruffled Mr. Redmond’s spiky green hair. RJ could do nothing but sigh and ride out this wave of testosterone.

The ringside announcer in a tux belted into a microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring: ‘The Nation of Temptation’ Luna Kat!” Every drunken male in the crowd came to life and quite possibly came in their pants at the announcement. RJ shrunk in his chair and sighed again. Calm down, it’s just a stupid fucking woman, he thought to himself. He ignored his own mental command as did everyone else in the arena.

With a hard rock remix of “Love Is Blue” by Paul Mauriat blasting over the speakers, the aptly named Nation of Temptation strutted down the aisle swinging her hips from side to side. As part of her sexy gimmick, she came to the ring wearing a black leather bra, a black leather thong, and fishnet stockings. Her pale white skin, long red hair, and puffy blue lips also did their job in getting the horny male crowd to go berserk. Isn’t she supposed to be a heel?, thought RJ.

Luna did the splits on the ring apron and then wormed her torso underneath the bottom rope. The fans’ screams really set off fireworks in RJ Redmond’s mind. Why am I even here? I should just get up and go, he said to nobody in particular. He failed to heed his own advice by the time Luna picked up a microphone and licked it to get some extra crowd attention.

The music died down and Luna smiled seductively at her audience, which did nothing in getting them to shut up. In fact, they chanted her name over and over again despite the fact that RJ himself said she was a heel, or villain in plain English. Luna couldn’t hold the microphone to her lips without being whistled and catcalled by the audience. She held her land to her mouth and smiled, selling it like the champ she wanted to be.

“Okay, boys, settle down,” she said in her sweetest voice, which surprisingly worked. “I came here tonight for a one-on-one match. But to be honest, it probably won’t last five minutes. Or two. Or even ten seconds. My opponent tonight is a lot like all of you: lazy, out of shape, and probably eating government cheese with a plastic spork.” That got a boo from the entire arena, RJ included. “In fact, just to show you all how easy this is going to be, I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Oh dear god, why did she have to say that? I fucking hate these sacks of protoplasm around me, RJ thought. He had every right to say those words as the crowd roared to life once again, every horny male pointing at themselves and screaming to be chosen.

Luna giggled as she scoped the audience. RJ was secretly grateful that her pretty jade eyes scanned the upper tiers first. She shook her head and wagged her finger in disgust as she moved to the middle tier. And then…the front row. She tapped her chin in contemplation and finally found the one man she’d love to make an example out of. “You!” she said in a low, steamy voice while pointing at RJ.

His insides locked up on him while his skin vibrated in absolute crippling fear. He shook even harder when obnoxious fans pointed at him and messed with his hair again.

“Come on, don’t be shy, love bug,” said Luna as she sat on the middle rope with her thong-wearing butt pointed directly at him.

RJ’s blood turned cold and sweat glistened off of his goose bumps while rowdy fans chanted, “Don’t be shy!” over and over again. With one last wave of her hand, Luna invited RJ into the ring. One leg over the barricade and he nearly stumbled onto the floor, which earned a chuckle from everyone around him. At this point he was convulsing with terror as he slowly made his way up the stairs and into the ring. The crowd laughed again when he entered through the side that Luna wasn’t sitting on. She laughed too and shook her head before wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asked Luna before holding the microphone to her mark’s mouth. His lips quivered and the crowd laughed at him even more. “You speak English, honey?”

“…R…RJ. My name is RJ.”

“Give it up for RJ, everyone!” said Luna while clapping her hands. The crowd booed at her new boy toy, causing him to shrink inside of himself again. “So RJ, you’ve seen the show before, I’m sure. Do you know how this goes by now?” No answer, just trembles and stuttering, which earned even more boos from the audience. “Come on now, guys, be nice. He’s obviously proving my point as to how easy of a match I’ve got coming up. I’d be nervous around me too if I was a lonely, sweet little virgin. This isn’t a Magic: the Gathering tournament, honey. If you’ve got something to say to me, say it.”

The sea of laughter that swallowed RJ Redmond whole sent his panicked mind into overdrive. First the fans laughed…then his head voices laughed…then the fans called him vulgar names…then his head voices called him vulgar names. RJ’s knees got so weak that he crumpled to the ground to the amusement of others. On his hands and knees, his high anxiety morphed into schizophrenic anger. His mental illness often led him to be Incredible Hulk levels of angry at little things. But the big things in life…

“I can’t fucking take it anymore!” RJ shouted as he began pummeling the canvas with his fists. He shrieked and foamed at the mouth while raking his nails across the ring. Pounding. Raking. Pounding. Raking. All of his psychotic energy concentrated on the spot next to Luna Kat’s feet. She soon backed up from that spot in fear and threw her arms in the air in the shape of an X.

RJ’s strikes and claws grew so intense that he managed to pull out pieces of the canvas along with pieces of his fingernails. He didn’t care that his fingertips bled. In his racing mind, everybody in this arena should have been on the receiving end of his fury, not the mat. More energy was expended. And more. And more. When his tank was quickly emptying, the fans booing gave him more energy to work with. And then…his arms and legs ached with lactic acid buildup. His breathing intensified. And in his ultimate low, he dropped his forehead on the ground and bawled his eyes out in front of this hostile crowd.

He didn’t notice paramedics helping him to his feet. He didn’t notice Luna Kat breaking the code of fiction known as kayfabe to show concern for something that was essentially her fault. His mind was too destroyed to notice the crowd still mocking him with hateful chants. Or were they mocking Luna? Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over, he thought to himself.

RJ had been wide awake throughout this whole disaster, this shit show in a fuck factory, but when his mind calmed down for just a few seconds, he found himself laying on his back on a padded doctor’s bench in the trainer’s room. His body ached worse than any wrestler who worked a match that night. He felt like he had been body slammed off of a skyscraper. His legs felt like they were twisted off and sewn back on Frankenstein-style. His arms hung off the bench like wet beach towels. He kept repeating to himself in an exhausted raspy voice, “I’m so angry…I’m so angry…I’m so angry…”

The face that came into his blurry view wasn’t that of a villainous wrestler. The raised eyebrows and sorrowful frown painted a picture of concern and genuine heartbreak. RJ thought he was hallucinating again when he saw Luna Kat’s face, but she held his hand and there was no mistaking it anymore. Still, he repeated the silent, tearful phrase, “I’m so angry…I’m so angry…I’m so angry….”

“I know you are…and I’m sorry about what happened to you,” whispered Luna uncharacteristically. “I feel awful right now. I took my role too far. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m so angry…I’m so angry…I’m so angry…” RJ squeezed Luna’s hand for extra effect, but she only gave a minor wince of pain.

“You have every right to be angry, RJ,” she said while petting his shoulder. “Your ride to the hospital is going to be here any minute now. I just…thought I should let you know how sorry we are about the whole thing. You’re probably not in the mood to accept apologies right now, but…I thought I’d put that out there…”

“I’m not angry at you, Luna…I’m angry at those fat bastards out there who think my suffering is funny…It’s like…they’ve never seen a schizophrenic before…”

Kat’s face sank as her eyes got a little dewy. “I honestly didn’t know you were mentally disabled. I thought you were just shy…I’ve always liked being around shy guys, but…not like this…I’m so sorry, RJ…I really am…”

“Nobody knows I’m schizophrenic. They know there’s something wrong with me, but they probably didn’t guess that until tonight…” RJ sniffed and wiped away a single tear with his weak hand.

“Look, if you want a refund for your ticket, you can…”

“I don’t need a fucking refund…getting my money back isn’t going to mean much to me…it’s not even my money…it’s the government’s. If you wanted to do me a favor…nah, I shouldn’t ask….”

A sad smile formed on Luna’s face. “What do you mean you shouldn’t ask? Is it something…you know…derogatory?”

“No…it’s not…at least I hope it’s not…”

“Well, what is it?”

Swallowing a peach-sized lump in his throat, RJ asked in a slow and jittery voice, “Would it be alright with you…if I…if I…rested my head on your lap until the ambulance gets here? You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I promise…I won’t be pervy or anything, but…”

Luna shushed him and placed a finger on his drooling lips before wiping some of it away. “Of course you can. No problem. It’s hardly the worst thing someone’s asked me to do for them.” She smiled and sat on the padded bench, cradling RJ’s head on her lap and playing with his hair.

“Thank you…you…have no idea how much…this means to me…especially after tonight…I’m not trying to hit on you or anything, but…”

“It’s okay…I swear it’s okay,” whispered Luna. For the next few seconds, this was how they sat together. RJ would have smiled at this moment, but he was too weak to even curl his lips. So instead, Luna continued the conversation with, “You know…there’s already talk amongst the wrestling journalists. If it’s any comfort to you, what happened out there is being considered for a Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. I know you smarks like to read that stuff.”

“Yeah…and WWE’s like, ‘Hold my beer. We’re going to Saudi Arabia.’”

Luna laughed. For the first time that evening, RJ allowed himself to laugh too. It wasn’t a hearty one, but it was a good start.

Goose Eggs and Donuts

VERSE 1

How many disasters did you save me from?

How many apologies did you give more than once?

How many times did you mean that you loved me?

How many bad memories actually led to something?

CHORUS

Zero!

Zero!

Goose eggs and donuts!

Goose eggs and donuts!

VERSE 2

How many times did you fail to seduce me?

How many times did you not fucking use me?

How many times did you pay me back?

How many times did you stop your attacks?

CHORUS

Zero!

Zero!

Goose eggs and donuts!

Goose eggs and donuts!

BRIDGE

Manipulation is education

To those with selfish desires

Capitulation is demarcation

To those who’re sick and tired

VERSE 3

How many times will I find my redemption?

How many times will I achieve my exemption?

How many times will I stay on my feet?

How many times will I get off my knees?

How many times will I see through the lies?

How many times will I even really try?

How many times will I eventually succeed?

How many times will I realize my dreams?

CHORUS X2

Zero!

Zero!

Goose eggs and donuts!

Goose eggs and donuts!

Come With Me

Grayson Joseph scanned his ticket at the arena entrance and felt everything as soon as he entered. Every drunken laugh. Every aggressive conversation. Every playful shove. While none of these actions were directed towards him, they all rented space in his mind, swirling in his nervous system at a million miles an hour. He tucked his head as he made his way to the general admission pit in a vain effort to make himself invisible. Were these people casting off their stones at him? No matter how many times Grayson told himself otherwise, his mind would feed him more lies and more psychosis.

Once he found his position in the pit, Grayson kept his head tucked and his eyes averted. For all he knew, he could have been the most noticeable person in the crowd. His skinny build, greasy blond hair, oversized Linkin Park T-shirt, and baggy green khakis would have ordinarily helped him blend into the concert environment, but his mind shoveled more self-hatred and lies into his system. Grayson held his stomach and let out a small burp as his knees grew weaker. He wished Halestorm would just get onstage already and close out this social experiment. He sarcastically thanked his mother for the concert tickets in an effort to further kick himself for his “weakness”.

After a while of socially anxious thoughts and tingles, the lights went out in the arena and the audience cheered their heads off. They clapped, chanted, and roared in anticipation of Halestorm taking the stage. Grayson tried to let out a cheer of his own, but all that came out was a small pop in his throat. This social experiment was not working. Although, he cheered up a little when Lzzy Hale and company took center stage. The band greeted their audience with one of their classics, “American Boys”.

The shredding guitars and Lzzy’s raucous voice helped put Grayson at ease. He found himself bouncing his head up and down to the tune. He relaxed some more and bounced around harder. The more he enjoyed himself, the less judgmental he found the eyes of his fellow audience members. He could take on the world. He could take on an army of moshers. The demons of hell could drag him to the underworld and he’d still be having a night of fun.

But that was only because his confidence went largely unchallenged. The intense fright jolted his system once again when a soft, long-nailed hand brushed across his shoulders. Grayson soon found his hands tenderly gripped by those of an attractive female, dressed in her heavy metal best with the black leather skirt, gothic boots, and pink halter top. Her dyed blue hair and cherry-colored lips completed her seductive look. Grayson didn’t know whether to admire this woman’s beauty or be terrified of her, so he silently took both roads.

The temptress danced in Grayson’s arms, twirling around, dipping backwards, swinging to the left, and swinging to the right. He didn’t reciprocate one single dance move, instead opting to freeze in fear despite the woman’s coaxing. She danced with him some more and Grayson had a knot in his intestines the size of a medicine ball. He also had a tingling sensation in his penis and testicles, so he scrunched his legs together to hide a potential involuntary boner.

What started off as an innocent dance turned dirty in a swift minute when the seductress slowly grinded her butt against Grayson’s groin. His vision grew blurry as he detected several smiles and camera phones lighting up around him. He remained frozen with fear. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to like the attention? Was he supposed to pull away? Why him? Why not more attractive men?

As the questions pooled in his racing mind, the tingling sensation in his groin reached its fever pitch. Sticky liquids crashed against his pants and oozed down his legs, causing his dance partner to jump backwards and cover her mouth in disbelief. Grayson looked down at his pants in an effort to avoid the judgmental stares, but all he got was another reminder to do his laundry the next day. His pants were soaked in his own sexual fluids. Were the people around him laughing or was that his mind playing tricks on him? Were people recording him on their phones or were they recording Lzzy Hale? Grayson touched his pants and wiped his hands on his Linkin Park shirt. He was that drenched and that embarrassed.

“How could you?” he mouthed to the dumbfounded dance partner before running out of the arena as fast as he could. His legs were weak from the orgasm, yet they took him far out of sight. They created distance between himself and the judgmental eyes and laughing voices. He didn’t notice security personnel asking him if he was okay. His tunnel vision took him out of the arena and down the streets of Paulson City, where the ferry terminal was waiting for him.

Grayson’s lungs burned like acid. His chest and ribcage didn’t expand far enough for his comfort. His eyes grew wetter than his pants. His breath intensified into a whirlwind of exhaustion. Yet he continued to run down the street. Neither the psychotic homeless people nor the laughing street thugs could slow him down. His legs matched the speed of his racing mind. Even with his skinny body, he should have had a heart attack with the pace he was going.

When he made it to the terminal, that’s when the acidic feeling in his torso and the numbness of his mind took over. He doubled over and sucked down enough wind for a marathon sprint. His breaths were raspy and squeaky, which drew the attention of the terminal personnel right away. Did they too have judgmental eyes? Did they see him only for his messy pants and not his messy mind? Grayson took a seat at a nearby bench and huddled over to further catch his breath.

“Sir, are you okay?” said a fellow terminal worker decked out in an orange vest and blue uniform. No response. “Sir?” Grayson lifted his head. “Are you okay?”

With a shaky voice, a pink face, and teary eyes, Grayson lied when he said, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Do you need a glass of water or anything like that? I can get you one if you want.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll be alright. I swear.”

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure.”

As soon as the worker walked away, Grayson was truly left alone with his paranoid thoughts. The confusion between arousal and terror. The dangerous beauty. The seduction that led him to his downfall, not unlike the sirens he read about in horror and fantasy books. “Why me?” he asked himself. “Why not somebody else.” Grayson wiped away a lonely tear and for the first time noticed how badly his hands and legs were shaking. “I look awful…I am awful…”

These thoughts pounded in his head like Arejay Hale’s drum kit, a sound he couldn’t listen to ever again without being reminded of his molestation. No more Halestorm. No more rock and roll. Worst of all, no more rock concerts. “I should have just stayed home and read more fantasy novels.”

“What was that?” said a nearby worker.

“Nothing.”

Grayson spent so long in the psychotic doldrums that he just then noticed a large crowd of former concertgoers filing into the ferry station. They wore T-shirts of their favorite bands and smiles on their intimidating faces. Did these people record his humiliation and post it online? Did these people want to judge him some more? Did these people find comedy in his pain? He could feel it all as they walked past him. Some looked down at his khakis in disgust, others in pity.

A gentleman in a Metallica T-shirt and short brown hair approached Grayson and the latter could feel his stomach aching and twisting yet again. The man asked, “Do you know that chick?”

“No…I have no idea who she is.” Grayson’s eyes couldn’t even meet this stranger’s face.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. After you ran out of the building, the security tossed her out on the streets. They weren’t having any of it. Lzzy was pissed too.”

That didn’t bring him any comfort. It just made Grayson tuck his head further into himself. “I’m so fucking embarrassed right now.”

“You’re embarrassed?”

“Yeah…I don’t even want to get on the ferry with these people…I want to go home and get changed, but…”

“Want a glass of water?”

Grayson smiled sadly and joked, “Do you have a cyanide pill I can swallow with it?”

Waving his hand, the stranger said, “Nah, don’t do that shit. It ain’t worth it. Yeah, there were some jackasses laughing, but it ain’t everyone. Come on, the ferry’s going to be here soon.”

The stranger extended his hand and Grayson allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The latter said, “I didn’t even buy a ticket yet. I should probably do that.”

“Nah, you don’t have to buy squat. It’s Earth Day. Public transportation is free. Did you already forget today was Earth Day?”

“Trust me, I won’t be able to forget today no matter how hard I try.” The two of them boarded the ferry together amongst the crowd of metal-heads. Grayson almost thought of this kind stranger as a shield from the terrifying eyes and lit phone screens around him. “How come you’re not laughing at me right now?”

“Because that shit ain’t funny,” said the stranger. “It wasn’t funny when it happened to Chester Bennington, may he rest in peace, and it wasn’t funny when it happened to you. I see you got the shirt on. Nice! I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Grayson. Nice to meet you.”

The two of them shook hands, though Grayson worried that he got sticky stuff on Steve’s palm. Steve said, “We’re metal heads. We got to look out for each other. We’re one big family.”

“I just hope the guys on Rock Feed and Loudwire’s You Tube videos feel the same way when they see what happened to me.”

“It’s the internet. There’re going to be a few assholes here and there. But you know who’s not going to be ashamed of you? The guys in Halestorm. They don’t think that shit’s funny either.”

“That’s wonderful, but I don’t think I can listen to a Halestorm song again without thinking of…you know…” said Grayson referencing his stained trousers.

“I wouldn’t give up on rock and roll so easily if I were you. It’s brought you peace and comfort this far into your life. It might save your life again. Think about that for a minute.” Steve patted Grayson on the back before heading off to the ferry’s bathroom.

Grayson would take him up on thinking about that. He did so in a faraway corner of the ship where the shadows covered him up from the masses. “What a night,” he said as he sat down huddled over, his mind still racing. How long would it take for his mind to slow down? How many laundry cycles would it take to get the splooge out of his pants and underwear? Would the femme fatale be arrested for her actions or would Grayson become a laughing stock to the police too? The only reason his mind stopped asking so many damn questions was because he fell asleep in his chair. A temporary vacation was just what he needed. He could think about it tomorrow. But tonight, it was all over…at least for now.

Spooky Scary Writing Tag: Beautiful Monster

***SPOOKY SCARY WRITING TAG: BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

This is a tag stolen from Jenna Moreci, which was in turn stolen from Emma Fink, both of which are author-tubers. Because Halloween is upon us, it’s only right that I answer these questions about Beautiful Monster with creature themes attached to each question. And just for the sake of keeping things updated, I will not be referring to the first draft version of Beautiful Monster that’s already online. To put it as nicely as I possibly can, the first draft of my baby is a drive-by abortion. Windham comes off as a whiny emo teenager, Tarja is manipulative as hell, and the evil characters have no reason for being evil. I have a much better version of Beautiful Monster all planned out and I will be referring to that as well as Savage Beatings, the prequel exclusive to the Still Standing anti-bullying anthology. So…here goes nothing!

1. Ghost: Have you ever originally put a character/scene/theme in the book and then later taken it out?

I’ll eventually have to do that with the mushroom scene in the original. After some deliberation with the lovely Marie Krepps, it turns out people who eat psychedelic mushrooms don’t act anywhere near as crazy as Windham did. To put it as gently as I can, Windham was a fucking fruitcake with the way he flapped his arms, laughed like a maniac, and danced around like a ballerina, all while hallucinating. This time around, he’ll have to resort to medicinal leaves designed to relax his mind. Maybe he’ll have a conversation with Mageta the lion god, but he definitely won’t turn into a basket case.

2. Bat: Most misunderstood character in your WIP?

I’d have to go with Windham Xavier. Even though he was raised in a liberal environment where emotions are openly celebrated, he keeps a lot of his troubles on the inside. He’ll keep even more to himself after he eventually flees from Shelly’s castle. Bringing up torturous memories is a death sentence for anybody with PTSD, especially if that mental condition was caused by being repeatedly raped for a week straight. I’ve even flirted with the idea of giving Windham Stockholm Syndrome once I write out the third draft, but nothing is set in stone yet.

3. Jack-O-Lantern: What’s your most common source of inspiration to write?

For Beautiful Monster specifically, I have three different sources of inspiration. The first is an episode of the 1990’s horror TV show Millennium entitled “A Room with No View”. That episode explores the idea of beautiful women kidnapping men and seducing them into danger. That woman was the demonic shape-shifter Lucy Butler and my character Shelly Atwood is basically a bootleg of her. As for the title of my story, that came from an Otherwise song called “Beautiful Monster”, which talks about being in an abusive relationship and not having the courage to leave. The third source of inspiration came to me during a Pop Evil concert back in February of 2018. Black Map opened for them and during their set, a cute stocky black woman tried dancing with me and I was too nervous to engage her. I eventually walked away from her when she shoved another concertgoer with her elbow. Needless to say, she embarrassed the shit out of me and I was angry about it for the next two days. Three sources of inspiration for one novel. There you have it!

4. Zombie: Preferred form of writerly fuel? Coffee, tea, etc.

Since I can’t have caffeine due to my schizophrenia and coffee tastes like shit, I’m going with Well-Rested Herbal Tea from Trader Joe’s. I like my tea ice cold and unsweetened. Plus, this particular brand of tea is peppermint-flavored. I can’t say I’ve ever fallen asleep because of drinking this tea, but I like it nonetheless. It’s satisfying to drink and it’s good for me.

5. Vampire: Cheesiest trope that made it into your novel?

The romance between Windham and Tarja would qualify, although in the third draft, they’re going to take things slowly. Windham was just raped for a whole week, so romance is not on his list of top priorities. He also doesn’t want to be touched by anybody. This time around, I’m going to have Tarja respect his boundaries instead of being nosy and manipulative. They can bond over other things aside from sexual attraction. They both love animals. They both love art. They’re both politically liberal. They both want to retire from Shadow Asylum someday. And best of all, they both are good enough fighters to have each other’s backs during the worst of times.

6. Spider: What’s a character in your WIP that’s fine from afar, but you would NOT want to interact with if they ever got close?

This one’s a no-brainer: Shelly Atwood. She constantly looks like sex on a stick and that’s part of the reason she’s so successful at luring slaves into captivity. But make no mistake about it: she’s a businesswoman and a politician above all else. She doesn’t love you. She wants to make money off of you and she does that by selling you to horny clients. Sex slavery is her queendom’s national product. Some countries have tourism. Others have crops. She has fuckery.

7. Frankenstein’s Monster: Ever combined two characters into one/split one character into two?

The closest example I can come up with is the mercenary twin brothers Christian and Kody Savage. Aside from their facial tattoos, there’s not a whole lot of distinction between them. They’re both silent. They’re both brutal in combat. They drool and groan like wild animals. Basically, they’re not the kind of people you want to fuck with. In fact, if they do come up to you, run as fast as you fucking can!

8. Skeleton: Best tips for adding in character baggage without info-dumping?

Although I’m not an expert in this particular topic, what I like to do is use flashbacks. The original version of Beautiful Monster utilizes this technique for the first ten chapters as the story bounces between Windham’s captivity and him traveling with Tarja back to Shadow Asylum headquarters. I’m not so sure I can get away with that in the new version of the story, but for what it’s worth, I’d do it if the opportunity presented itself again.

9. Cat: What’s a polarizing writing/bookish opinion that you have?

Head-hopping is perfectly acceptable. I know it’s considered a literary sin, but if movies and TV shows can get away with it, authors should too. I didn’t hear any complaints during that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine and Keith Hernandez were having inner thoughts together after their date. In fact, the two of them kiss and Elaine thinks, “Who does this guy think he is?” and Keith thinks, “I’m Keith Hernandez.” Then again, Seinfeld might not be the best example due to its status as a sitcom. I know Carl Hiaasen head-hops and he’s one of my strongest influences.

10. Demon: Most frequent writing distraction?

Sleepiness brought on by a combination of mental illness, being overweight, and having sleep apnea. When I’m feeling too sleepy, I can’t concentrate and therefore will put out a shitty product. You guys deserve better than a shitty product despite the fact that all first drafts are shitty by their very nature. Imagine if I wrote Beautiful Monster with a constantly tired mind. It would go from being a drive-by abortion to a…uh…what’s worse than a drive-by abortion? Anybody? Help me out here.

That’s all I’ve got for you today. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Something about the way that she makes me hate myself. I could run away, but I don’t want no one else. Something about the way that she tears me up inside. Is it wrong that I love it when I know she’ll bleed me dry? So say what you want. It’s already done. It’s Russian Roulette and love is the gun. You don’t know her, you don’t know her like I do. Looking like an angel so divine, but you can see the devil in those eyes. She’s a monster by my side, baby. She’s taking me six feet down tonight, ‘cause dancing with the devil gets me high. She’s a monster. My beautiful monster. I don’t want to be saved.”

-Otherwise singing “Beautiful Monster”-

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?

No Closer Than a Stranger

VERSE 1

You seem to know everything about me

Maybe that’s why you choose to doubt me

No closer than a stranger, all about danger

Taking faraway shots like a sniping ranger

Do your homework, or better yet ask me

How long my life and career are lasting

I call the shots and carve my own path

It’s not rocket science or three-D math

VERSE 2

You seem to know what it is you want

Your loving kisses are more like a chomp

No closer than a stranger, being the angel

Of hell or heaven, both can prove fatal

A seductress so tempting and sweet

Sees me as nothing but hellhound meat

I’ve seen it all before, not begging anymore

For any pretty face who’s rotten to the core

BRIDGE

Money, get back, I’m alright, Jack

Stop spending everything on crack

Money, so they say, is the root of evil

Buying the minds of average people

No closer than a stranger on the streets

Or a dead body buried beneath my feet

Or a priest or politician on television

I refuse to join your corporate religion

VERSE 3

All you had to do was care about me

Not live your life on your dirty knees

No closer than a stranger, yet here you are

Thinking you can set my highest bars

This is why I don’t jump in headfirst

A cracked open skull is the fucking worst

Just be there to catch me when I fall

Then I will tear down my Floydian wall

FINAL LINES

No closer than a stranger, I see your anger

No closer than a stranger, my pain you savor

No closer than a villain, no closer than a punk

You’re no prophet of rage or renegade of funk

Medusa

VERSE 1
The eyes of Medusa turn you to stone
Chilling your skin right down to the bone
For all of your sins, it’s too late to atone
The palace gates are your brand new home

CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race

VERSE 2
The fangs of Medusa chew through your throat
Spilling your blood and guts in the acidic moat
The tongue of Medusa says her goodbyes
As she glares at you with those devilish eyes

CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race

HOOK
She’s the twenty-first century heartbreaker
She’ll lead you straight to the undertaker
Into the hands of your own damn creator
How much will it take for you to hate her?

VERSE 3
The soul of Medusa is empty and frozen
She is the one that you’ve clearly chosen
Seduced into a life of poverty and hell
You don’t have the urge to kiss and tell

EXTENDED CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race
The underworld gods are laughing
The hellhounds’ claws are slashing
Was any of this lust worth it in the end?
Be sure to give her your regards to send