Hi, I am, I am, not you and imagine the first voice you read is like a tiny angels
“E-va, were safe in here E-va”
“I know were safe in here, were always safe in here, we come here every morning” I glare into the nonexistent tissues that hold its eyes in.
“But –E-va I was just trying to say...-“
“You say the same thing every morning, every time we just escape its clammy, dripping grasp” I say with the, ‘flick of a tongue’. Cause I like making up expressions. You’re probably wondering why I’m being such an ass hole, and your also probably wondering why I’m throwing out my brand new fruit of the loom boxers. Well my name is Evander Plounse. I know, my blood thirsty parents fucking suck for that. You hear me; you fucking suck for naming me that. Anyways, that name might change several times throughout this story. I’m a Sixteen year old paranoid half manic half blah, half blah, who gives a shit, Schizophrenic, or something along those lines. At least that’s what my new “Psychiatrist” tells me. Of course I know the truth, it’s actually side effects, but, more on that later.
I’m here to tell you a story that is confusing beyond belief. Like tits hanging the wrong way on your father walking down the stairs in the same odd fashion that chick did in the exorcist in 1973, while you’re trying to make a peanut butter sandwich at three in the morning, six Saturdays from now. As you can probably sense from those last couple of sentences, I don’t see things like you see things; anymore, my world is much more colourful. In ways you couldn’t ever possibly imagine.
Although, there is a bad side to being in a realm far better than yours, like it’s scary, and it’s not like its scary part of the time. No, that would be to fucking awesome, it’s always a fucking horror story in Plounse land. There’s always some weird shit going down. Four days ago, I saw a kid in my class, average fat ass, until six minutes into class his fucking eye balls jump out of his skull attached to rope and as they fall so do his brains and once his brain was fully detached from his face the entirety of his person exploded into guts and candy landing on everyone around me and then it all reverted back to normal after about a minute and eleven seconds of an extremely terrified, trying to hold it together and not shit my pants, self.
On another completely un-identical notion, I’m smarter than you. There are two perfect examples as to why this is true. One being, I have been a straight A student my whole life. I mean, the lowest mark I ever received was in advanced functions at a grade 12 level, and no that is not “advanced functions for the everyday dumbass”, it contains one million page equations, with numbers and letters so horrifically complex that they grow rocket scientists, to shoot your brain cells with photon fucking torpedoes, packing enough mathematical mind numbing power, to subdue all of the worlds drug addicts. But I digress.., the second example as to why I’m smarter then you. I guess I’ll let you find that out as you listen to what I have to say. Now you’re probably wondering what a person who doesn’t wear rings or have any jewelry on is doing with his everyday life.
Well, right now I have barricaded myself in the second floor woman’s bathroom and am talking to my best friend, Hector Romaros. The one who said “E-va” earlier. He’s a giant purple rabbit. A giant purple rabbit. Fuck, sounds cute right. Wrong. His ears dangle to the floor, and slack behind his body. He is wrapped in fishing line and fishing hooks that are always attached to his feet; they move his body like a puppet dangling from string. His toe nails are filth, puke yellow with chopped jagged edges that are exceeding from his skin through tears, fifteen centimetres in all directions. His feet, they bend in unholy ways, in the same way that foot bindings warp Chinese people’s feet.
He’s open, oozing skin and patches of fur, with a skinny frame that seems to shake with every slow, pacing, step. Like a deranged meth addict, creeping through your house, finding his way into your room. His face looks as though it has been torn to shreds re attached and torn again, and not with knives, no, nails, needles, odd shaped objects like spoons, ripping at the surface repeatedly until the stretches become so unbearable that it rips open, but only six or seven layers deep. He has receding eye lid lines that are so bad; it’s as if the only thing holding his eyes, into his face , are the flimsy pieces of remaining optic nerve that dangle from his slightly visual cerebral cortex. Shits fucked up I know.
The only good thing about this freaky stalking cocksucker is his voice. It’s like an angel, if angels were real, with highs that descend and ascend of the walls around you, they ring off the sides of your ear canals in softly placed sprinkles of water, the sound itself vibrates through your bone marrow, it crashes into your heart causing the fluttering of beats to offset, it raises your hair and makes you want to drift into infinity. As you can think, well, as I can hope to think that you’re a thinker. This whole situation I am in. is not fun like jersey shore.
It never used to be like this, obviously, in grade 9, I was one of those cool kids in school. In fact I was so cool, that I could bring a lunchable, in a brown bag and still sit with the other farm animals. Noted I did change school districts so no one really knew me, as the shy, overly dressed nerd that I technically still am but people here just think I am “deep”. I mean if I could create a visual for you, I used to walk around and people would say hi to me, I used to dress, well, classy. Woman would want to talk to me. I could walk down the halls and people would hold their hands up so I could do the whole “I’m a fucking sick hipster kid with awesome friends “bull shit then clap their hands. How cool is that garbage.
Unfortunately things change when your town gets invaded, and the whole perspective of your entire grasp of reality seems to explode into little fabrics of intergalactic strings of theory, floating through one of the eleven dimensions, like a diaper in space. Now as it stands, with this whole dreadful blend of genius and insanity, I guess hanging out in the woman’s bathroom isn’t the cool thing to do as a teenager.
I never understood why here I was cool, and back in my old town, I was “lame” like I’ve always been weird. My parents, bless their bleeding open hearts, never had any money and we moved everywhere. They were also divorced, both workaholics and both had the emotional intelligence of a golf ball. I wonder what you think I look like. Since mom was never home, and when I went to my father’s he was never home. I decided I would take to the study of literally everything and anything. Books and magazines the insides of insects, birds, rabbits, and jimmy the local dog.
Jimmy is fine.
But the birds and rabbits aren’t. I fucking hate rabbits.
Getting back on topic, Once upon a time, I had a shrink, her Name is Vanessa. I still meet her. Every Friday, Monday and Wednesday. But she isn’t my shrink anymore. Nor do I see her. Tentacles flowing down into your stomach cavity while you’re passed out, I still picture that very moment, extraterrestrial wave particles, flowing through your mind from the sun, like neutrinos, Newtonian gravity complex, down quark, Greeks, atoms, I see you, standing there, picking your nose, and wiping it under the couch, your only seven.
I don’t care about all that, what matters is here and now, besides people can’t know I was watching you when you were seven. Well I mean if I could care, Hector is always there telling me not to care so much about the things I care about. Like, when I assassinated my neighbours rabbit in grade five. I called him Rosé annihilator, because he would always kill my mother’s Roses. So I killed him, with your kitchen spoon that you’ll use to eat tonight.
Let me tell you about the reality that is karma. It follows you around the rest of your life. Disguised as a rabbit from Louisiana, I don’t mean inner city Louisiana; I mean back water red neck, no teeth, fat ass, incest Louisiana with a dash of extra chromosomes from hell. It’s right behind you right now. A mutated version of the worst thing you have ever done, from Louisiana. If you open your mind, like my mind has been, I’m sure you will see it.If you think I’m blonde I’m not.
I usually meet with hector during lunch. He’s really my only friend. I do have other friends. Pause for dramatic effect. I really do... I like talking to Hector; he settles my nerves when I’m anxious. Like whenever I get the courage to talk to a girl. My stomach grows horse legs and crawls out off my eye balls like a spider. While I sweat like a group of fat Chinese men in Miami, Florida on the hottest recorded temperature to date. This was in 1942, in July. It was only 100 degrees. But imagine being fat, and Chinese.
If I do catch my stomach before it jumps onto the neighbouring civilians, and do manage too say hi, she does say hi back, usually. It’s only about one of three times they run away screaming. But as a test, I have to touch their faces, usually you can tell by their small hands, but you never know. Now according to Kansas State ‘law’, you can’t just touch woman’s eye balls and move there face skin around. Talk about stupid laws, I should be able to touch any face I want. That’s where hector comes into play. Usually, they. Never mind, I don’t think you’re ready to hear that yet.
Now as I can assume you’re an idiot. Besides that. I guess I should get on with this story. So I’m from this little town. That I won’t talk much about. It’s like Kansas. Not really. The town is actually nice. It has a water tower. There’s also grass around it. I don’t have a cell phone, but I see kids on their phones during class. So I assume the water in the town is clean. You didn’t read that wrong, trust me. I hope you didn’t go back to check out what I wrote down. We won’t get anywhere if you do that the whole book.
So besides the grass and the water tower, there’s not much else. There are no homeless people to eat. So allot of the teenagers and young adults seem to always be starving. It is large enough to contain a white castle though, large enough that I have to see what streets to take to get there if it did have one. But small enough to only contain one high school, my perfect little haven.
The school is called Something, Imaginative. It has three stories, white tile throughout the whole building, through my eyes I see billions of tiny molecules colliding in the concrete that allows the functionality of the covalent bond in the chemicals to attach to one another, this makes sure the tiles don’t move anywhere. Or slide open causing me trip and fall into the fiery gates of silent hills nether realm of pure darkness and disaster, and surly at this point begin to be torn apart by some freaky guy with a head as a pyramid, that was oh so creatively called pyramid head. But the pale moss green and light ochre blue, double ended lockers do look pleasant.
Everyone has a matching lock. There are six bathrooms on the top two floors, and two on the third. The ladies bathroom on the second floor is the only one that doesn’t try to kill me. It’s also the most clean and has a lock on the inside to stop crazy people from coming in. The kids that populate this vile beast are in the thousands.
The kids themselves are typical, your average everyday rapists and thieves. You have your horses, which dominate the green fields and believe that eating grass is better than eating meat; they like to run and shit. You have your pigs which only stay in the cafeteria, and have two fingers that are always attached to some type of electronic device or ‘video gaming system’, Fucking idiots. Like go read a book.
Then you have your goats and lamas, these are your standard normal teenage abominations. They go to class, they do that thing called ‘laughing’ and are always hugging and playing with their private parts together, and of course, last but not least you have your kakapos, these retards usually do nothing all day but eat and smoke, breathe my oxygen, do drugs and further pollute the world we live in with their procreating. I would love to go into heavy detail about all these wonderful animals but wasting my time describing each and every aspect of these creatures seems to me to be self defeating. And I don’t have the time for that.
Your probably wondering why -..
“E-va” that angelic voice on that non angelic body pukes out two syllables as my name. You have no idea how infuriating it is. I’ll be walking down the halls, and when nice people who pretend to care about who I am decide to say hello to me, let’s say, Ashley from science class, this cute petite brunette. Probably weighs just less than 117 pounds. Has brown freckles and hair that goes down past her perfectly rounded ass, she has a laugh probably similar to the cutest laugh you have ever heard on a girl, Is a small C cup, and walks like she has had sex way to many times for her age.
Hector will be right there, standing behind her making thrusting movements while badgering out the name “E-va” “E-VA” with that vibrato echo of his, so you can barley here what the fuck she is trying to say to you, so you just sit there in quietness like a fucking jack ass with nothing to say but screaming out “can you shut up” at the giant meth addicted rabbit right behind her whilst trying not to scare away the pretty girl in front of you, as you can imagine that shit is tough as fuck to deal with.
“What do you want hector, I’m trying to tell my new friends about my life” I say in the tone your grandfather uses when he talks to your grandmother when they’re in a rush.
“E-va, the bell rang not two minutes ago, my good friend. I suggest you head on up to your morning class, as to avoid any concerns from your peers, and to not induce any episodes that may be costly to your reputation” while he’s saying this there is a look of terror on his face that is stomach quenching and horrible. Like rotting carcass that died in battle then rotted then was reanimated in a pit of aliens from your nightmares then was beheaded and is now stuck with that look of terror and shock on his face. Ya, that’s type of shit I see these days,.
Why are his expressions always so fucking weird when he is saying things that are pleasant? You might have thought to yourself.
“ you’re right hector, thanks for letting me know two minutes late, your such an asshole you piece of shit” I mumble to myself in the dark corner. I unzip the front pocket of my bag, so hector can jump inside. It’s where I keep him, he mostly stays. Unless it’s a time when I actually need him to stay in the bag, other than that he’s usually pretty good.
Why I was in the second floor woman’s bathroom will be answered in the next chapter
So, just like every typical morning begins for an average everyday teenager, I am usually in the full prone fetal position, rocking back and forth talking to an invisible rabbit, in the darkest part of the room which is the middle stalls, back right corner. I decide it’s time to get up or I will be even later than I already am. I get up, and stare at the exit door. To you it might seem like a regular door, Dark green about seven and half feet tall, maybe a little shorter. The width is comparable to your new age, standard edition, midget, like the new ones that are more bulky and blonde. There’s an old school filtration vent on the bottom about one foot by one foot and is shaped like a perfect square. For when your typical high school female nut job bombs the place, either taking a shit or smoking crack or whatever it is kids are dong these days to entertain themselves.
To me however, the door is a solid black, in foundation, like the night sky up north in mid September, with splashes of crimson reds and off yellows as if they were mixed with parchment browns. It’s also not a physical solid; it’s more of a melted glass like substance that is suspended in animation, but flowing downwards. If I were to touch it I’m sure I would get sucked into the phantom zone and launched into space. The only piece I need to touch however is the handle. I’m sure you have seen steel being heated up before, to about one thousand three hundred and seven degrees Celsius just before melting point, on television, maybe the discovery channel, which ever, and it looks like it’s burning at a billion degrees. It has a sapphire red glow and a white center. If I were to touch it, my hand and possibly every other surrounding piece of my body, would surely liquefy into a puddle.
Now you see, I know I’m actually not crazy. I mean how could someone as smart, handsome, well dressed, and a bit peculiar and may have or may not have murdered some animals when he was younger. Wind up seeing things at such a young age. Well ill answer that for you later. But for now we need to get out of this room. So I approach the door cautiously, like a silent ninja, in the back of my mind with each nearing step I can hear the sound of a boiler going off and my skin sizzling. Now, I know, I’m only hallucinating this, So my skin is not actually boiling into bubbles and I’m not earning my third degree burn badges just yet in my life. However, the part of my mind that has been diseased with this other worldly infection, does not see it that way. So I can feel the pain and see all of this happening, in real time as your reading this, even though it isn’t.
At this point I’m crawling to the door, half my shirt has been burned away, and the skin surrounding my leading right foot has completely slivered off and is about 2 feet behind me. My chest cavity has been opened revealing my pretty insides that are also now trailing behind my body. As you can imagine this is extremely and excruciatingly painful for me. Just close your eyes after you read this and think of someone screaming at the top of their lungs, with blood and fire trickling around their tongue whilst crawling on the floor, with one hand pushing them closer to this fucking door knob that is causing this slight dilemma and the other holding on to their intestines, just to avoid that it doesn’t get caught on any of the nails that the person in your mind is dragging themselves on, so we have to halt our progress, go back and untangle the nail from our own large intestines and keep moving forward.
The door knob is about arms length away now, so I reach out for it, the image of Michelangelo’s ‘creation of Adam’ fresco painting should begin to produce as a picture in your head right now. If it’s not, then I don’t know what kind of crazy you are, and you should Youtube how to reach for shit like a badass, I’m telling you, you can find anything on that mother fucker. As I do this, the skin on my fingers and hands are all liquefying, and dropping onto my face, like, anti gravity goblets of water and trickling down my face in slow-motion on to the nails below. I grab hold of the handle and turn it to the right as fast as I can, to stop my now visual bones from turning to ash and blowing away. Once it is in the final position and the motion has officially finalized while simultaneously unlocking the door somehow. Everything reverts back to normal.
To an outsider I would have looked like a fucking retard crawling on a dirty floor in some type of panicked delusion. If one of ‘them’ saw me at such a vulnerable moment I am sure I would have been eradicated from the planet. Luckily that did not happen, or this would be a short fucking story. Your probably thinking what you just read must have sucked, it’s actually not all that bad, like, It could be worse, one time this specific bathroom was out of order, and the only way to run from ‘them’ is to hide in woman’s bathrooms. So I had to go to the woman’s third floor bathroom. Fucking Jesus, my body hurts just thinking about it, but a Long story short, giant sea monsters ripping you apart limb from limb is something I try to avoid these days.
I peek outside the woman’s bathroom. Vacant, deserted hallways surround my peripherals. If I were to scream the echo would come back and surly smack me in the face. I can’t even imagine how late I am now. So I run to my first period class, up the stairs on to the floor. Morning philosophy, which dumbass, puts philosophy in the morning? with the most imported teacher ever, Ms. Vanheizensnits pronounced VAN-HIDES-HER-TITS. I hope you read that in some German or Russian accent screaming like a psycho. Her accent is so thick, it’s like she’s screaming whilst chewing on a half melted, extra creamy, full stick of butter. You can’t even imagine what it’s like being taught fucking philosophy of all things, from this incomprehensible super talented English master.
‘Knock, knock, knock’ I tap on the door.
I peer in through the window and notice my whole class starring at me. How fucking awkward.
‘knock, knock, knock’ I tap a little harder, maybe Ms. Has no tits couldn’t hear me cause of all the butter that she surely stuffs inside her ears.
The door slowly turns open, and begins to part, creating space between hatch and concrete. I slowly walk inside and look up at Ms. Vanhezensnits. Her piercing blue eyes cut there way, right into the depths of your soul, seeing all the negative things you have ever done in your life, no good, just the bad. Her skin is old, moldy cheese, with Vietnam War veteran stress marks. Her hair has parted ways and left her scolding old heap of flesh probably six hundred years ago, just before she turned one hundred and eighty three.
I literally spent one class counting the hairs on her head; there are four hundred and twenty seven, light grey and white, gently glued on, what seem to be, cheese string sticks that protrude out of her moldy scalp. She dresses in table cover pattern long dresses that assume the role of making her appear to be a stick figure, as if she is trying to relieve the nineteen twenties flapper era. Which I’m sure she was in her late hundreds for. She is skin and bones. She has only five teeth, which are perfectly positioned in certain parts of her mouth, so that every time she speaks, five separate whistles reverberate into ear shot. Her back is bent like the top of an overused crow bar. She is like hector, but not as scary and horrifying. Actually I take that back. She scares the fucking shit out of me.
“Yes Ms, Hi-vanheizensnits”
“Whi iz it you are lite!”
I wish I could tell her the truth. About how she sounds like Arnold Schwarzaneggar after he has had his tongue split into two just to make him sound more horrendous but is still working out at the gym, at the young age of ninety six and also how I was almost burned alive and turned to ash in the woman’s bathroom. But then that would raise more peculiar questions. Like, why I was in the woman’s bathroom.
“I slept in this morning, It won’t happen again” I say under my breath, and look at my shoes.
“It better not Mr. Plounse yu–“ The butter is extra thick this morning, I can see it dripping out of her ears and mouth on to her, what seems to be, your grandmothers table cloths stitched together, to make a long skinny dress.
“yuo betar nat be lite! agin, our I wil send you to the principles of ice heizn snout flinchin” she rambles in incomprehensible, from as far as you and I can read ,English.
I dread going to the principal’s office, I’m pretty sure our new principle murdered our old one, to be reinstated in a position where she can consume and mutate more of the town’s female population. This also happened, just after I started seeing my new but oddly the same entity, shrink. Coincidence I think not.
Everyone in the class looks at me with confusion, probably wondering why it looks like I was attacked by a rabid fucking bear a couple of hours ago. If you want to know why, you’re going to have to keep reading. So I peer around the class to see if anyone has “the look”, and everyone peers at me wondering why I’m so fucking weird and bruised. But all the girls seem to be normal. They all also have normal sized hands, just a class of regular goats and lambs today. I was also very surprised to see the kakapo, Janoun Mcsmith, in class today, of course he had looked as though he had just succumb to being electrocuted with five hundred thousand volts, causing severe brain damage, and was also downing, of what appeared to be an extreme ecstasy binge. Regardless, I’ll go sit with him, because if any weird shit goes down, people would rather stare at him than me.
I go and take my seat
“Mr.Plounse!” she regurgitates
“yu are to riiead, ‘Surviving death’ by Mark Johnston bi thi ind of thi week with a full essay report of what it is about as punish for late” what the fuck did she just say ? I ask her to repeat herself as politely as I could.
“Mine fitz smitsen! Read Johnston! End of thi wiik! Essay, essay! ” She yells, half assuming she knows what the fuck she is talking about.
“Ya! That’s what I thought you said” Staring at her front left tooth that seems to be hanging there, and will surely be gone by the end of class.
Now as it is philosophy I could literally write anything I want. Unfortunately, this Russian or German or Polish psychopath has a strict law, on how it should be written and visualized exactly how she would do it, which is probably in another language, this fucking old Hitler dictator.
I raise my hand like you see when people are praising the Fuehrer in movies
“Yes! Ms. Vanheizensnits” I clap my feet together and place my index finger above my upper lip. I don’t think she took that too well. As the snot that was dripping out of her nose got sucked back up into the dark gloomy cave that is her overly sized and mutated looking nostril cavity, as she gasped in for air. The animals around me all make their classic farm noises, the pigs snort, the lambs scream in their high pitches. The goats mumble in silent laughs. The kakapo sitting beside me drools nonchalantly on to my bag, poor hector.
“Sit outside the door until the ind of the clause Mr.Plounse!”
“Yes Fuehrer!” I spit back at her.
The animals all shit themselves thinking there on the grasses outside. I shouldn't have done that. I was safe in the class. Now I’m banished to the halls of hell.. I glance at the clock just above the door. Forty seven minutes left of class. I’m also on the third floor. The only place to hide is the woman’s bathroom.
But I’ll be ripped apart if I go in there. Fuck.
© Copyright 2016 Jonathon Strotle. All rights reserved.
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