We begin with the Monday morning characteristic of any apathetic sixteen-year-old boy, an alarm clock wailing to consciousness a reluctant boy from a dream of splendour that’s best kept secret from his parents. But it was that absent duo who made the daily grind all the more tedious, not by obstructing me or through the nagging most kids were familiar with, strangely, by not being around at all they were a pain in the ass. Fat, bald and grouchy had left for his shift at the the smelter at five in the morning and Mrs menopause to the call centre an hour ago, leaving me, little ole Michael Ferris to slop together breakfast, lunch and a will to live in under 30 minutes just in time to catch the bus with what seemed like a coalition of the most remarkably braindead droolers in the school district. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW3Nxc57Ctx
This was far from a rarity, to say the least. So it’s fair to say at this point I was beyond complaint at essentially having to be my own parent in some convoluted self-custody. Once in awhile, I would be made aware of the long shift that lied ahead of them and the empty house that lied ahead of me, in what I suppose they thought was a courtesy. Neither of them could quite comprehend that what they had essentially said was “By the time we get back you could've spent the day raiding dad’s old liquor cabinet, that he barely ever opens and sober up just in time for bed and we would be none the wiser. Dinner’s in the fridge dad’s dodgy tapes are in the bottom drawer, love you”, being uncertain of this I opted I should proceed with heading to school and went on my way.
In my haste to desperately arrive at the bus stop just in time to almost give a shit I cursed myself for forgetting what I like to call my ‘survival kit’, “textbooks and stationery?” I hear you ask... Nope, I actually remembered those, instead, I neglected to pack the fundamentals for surviving the longest fifteen minutes of claustrophobic nausea of the day. One MP3 containing my collection of metal, punk and assorted oddities, one notebook to jot down the demented cartoons fueled by said collection and one thermos with enough caffeine to keep myself from drifting off in the fear that I might wake up as one of them- all left behind in my negligence. Well, guess I'm going commando I thought to myself as my annoyance preemptively built just find yourself a quiet corner and don’t look at anybody like you’re up for a chat. I thundered down the street coming to a stumbled halt at the stop just as the bus arrived, of course making a pariah of myself a grand finale of the mother of all faceplants. Legs high in the air, back arched, arms wide apart, that would be sure to score me a 10 with the judges, chief of which being the sullen gaze of Drew Finser vaguely concealed behind his pitch black fringe.
He was bestowed with the nickname of Prince which he, as with all things, resented intensely. But he earned his name not through any resemblance to the late pop star, nor for any fondness of the colour purple but instead for his persistent moodiness and alleged depression making him so intolerable that we had him unofficially coronated as the Prince of Darkness, I'm adamant he could find a way to hate almost any occasion, except perhaps a funeral given his fixation with death. Scowling at my mere presence I greeted him as is customary for man of his prestige “apologies your highness, for having graced your presence so foolishly”, he then, once again as customary, pardoned me with a scoff of disdain and turned away from me, being sure to whip his hair as he did so. One day I’m gonna bring a set of scissors and give that emo dome of his a makeover. I fantasised as our shoulders collided on our paths up the bus steps. With the mob of stares fixated on me on my way up the aisles of seats there was a brief moment where the thought glanced over me ‘This must be how a model feels’ before the abrupt realisation came to me, simultaneous to the pain, that my fall had busted my nose as I felt the warm caress of blood trickling down my face. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡllrDOwQQDt
This was only the first shedding of blood that week which I would play a part in. However it would be the last time that blood was my own, and the last time anyone would consider the circumstance of it humorous. And oh my, was it amusing for most of the despicable cohort seated before me? But not the amusement that you delight in erupting in laughter at, the kind that arises smug glimmers and an eerie wave of whispered sniggers as most fear the social repercussions of embracing their urge to cackle maniacally. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9QMVqxCrLz
My indistinct hatred encircles each and every passenger of that infernal tube of morons on wheels like a cloud, a pungent cloud of macho musk, stoner stench, excessive deodorant ironically defeating its own purpose and so much testosterone you can almost taste the insecurity in the air for this was a bus which for some baffling reason contained not a single female. Left to seethe on a low heat I was brought to boil by his royal highness impatiently barging his way past in his typical fashion, the fumes of my anger now visible, gradually deadening the smarmy expression on everyone’s face and averting eyes as I storm past. Tight-fisted and cerise of face, I raise my head to staunch the flow of blood and proceed to search for an empty aisle in which to recluse. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD6WDMx1CFD
Much to my surprise, I am met with an empty seat left reserved for me in the jungle that is the back of this motorised cesspool. Now my assertion was not incorrect to say that I am surrounded by nothing but meatheads on this thankfully brief journey yet curiously, their undisputed coup de gras, the chieftain of this tribe of abjects was the one who had the consideration to gift me with that spot, the enigmatic irritant and for all his quirks, my friend Owen Fielding. This enormous gangle draped in unkempt frizz which I had the often confusing right of calling my friend persisted as the only jerk to maintain his grin at my misfortune as he offered me a spot, and upon my acceptance of shuffled in so that it would be just cramped enough for me to be uncomfortably close to his man-cleavage which he deviously knew I would become unwillingly pressed against at the sharp turn situated just two blocks away. He could barely contain his anticipation at using it as an excuse to punch my arm into numbness. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlUG40krRY1
Owen was like the mystery bag of pills at a party your parents warned you about, you’re certain to have a twisted, unforgettable time when he’s around but be prepared for a fair few irksome side-effects and potential brushes with law enforcement for your trouble. If it wasn’t ‘answering nature's call’ into the pillowcase of a bunkmate on a camping trip for calling him a “shithead” It was downloading his, rather ominously titled “My Movies” folder onto Mr Norski’s carelessly unattended laptop forever tainting it with what you might say was some unorthodox cinematography which seemed to have quite the affinity for amputees, midgets and horses, Owen never had an end to his absurdities and as long as his prescription remained fulfilled his antics didn't require paramedics, incident reports or a lawyer on speed dial so most of us just enjoyed the show. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8rD58xFgi5
Schizophrenia, ADD, MPD, ODD all wrapped together with a drop of LSD, he wore those names he earned in that padded room like a boy scout wears badges, after all, it’s important to not let nasty labels like “severely unstable lunatic” and “clinically insane” get you down but now and again. think his feelings were deeply hurt when he got remarks like “I’m calling the police” and “Where the hell are your pants?”. Pure mania of his calibre is so beyond normativity that any ordeal in his company somehow became the routine and mundane but today was not a day in which I was prepared to tolerate it, though it was safe to say I had no freedom of choice in the matter. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkSscM6kbFq
Owen swayed his head to and fro in silence to decide on whether or not he would show humility today before he spoke with a gasping abruptness “Bleeding, anger, hot flashes, Mike why didn't you tell me you were on your cycle? Hold on, I think I packed a spare manpon” he remarked asininely. A momentary rush of temptation to acquaint him with my elbow loomed over me, I instead protruded forth a trout pout and twiddled my fingers as I often do habitually in times of great vexation. Lowering my head against the window, It’s humming vibrations drifting me into a partial slumber that was met with frequent disturbance by the chattering of my teeth and an inaudible throng of obscenities and chants. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4MgiuCrXL8
No less the sweet relief of awakening by the screeching of pistons could not have come sooner and in rather irregular circumstances Owen had chosen not to pester me further which while irregular was nothing to make a complaint about. The River of Styx has reached its end, we are in Tartarus now and unspeakable horrors await us in the halls of St David’s College. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9TT1nnmfb2
Blood loss causing my head to ache and my shirt to stain, a lingering bitterness from an uneventful weekend and the sudden discovery upon exiting the bus that I am somehow deficient of a shoelace, the perfect concoction for an ensuing classroom meltdown and what better venue for such an episode than the beaded-doored, tie dye den of Mr Ericson's 1st period History class. But first, a quick stitching at the nurse’s office to hold my face together for the sourpuss expression I’m sure to be imprinted with for the next several hours. Our geriatric general practitioner, nurse Nesbit was always a shriveled sight for sore eyes always equipped with enough Aspirin to perish the very migraines she induced with her persistent siren-esque screeching as if providing the most over-simplified basic healthcare amenities money can buy that still warrants some kind of certificate drained her of her very life force, what little remained of it that is, given that her famed affinity for hard liquor and cigarettes had aged her like a fine wine… A sickening sourness with a dwelling hint of rot. A sixty-year-old dwelled in the decrepitness of a ninty-year-old’s body. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhM9aL3uTxO
Her office, an offset from the main building of a kiosk style in construction, easily distinguishable by the mosaic of condescending sexual and family health posters to crudely paraphrase they convey a message such as “You there, yes you, you filthy hormonal sex goblin, wear some damned protection or catch something people will make fun of you about even if you don’t really have it anyway.” alongside the trivially obvious such as “Words hurt” and “Hitting is wrong”, you could not fathomably misidentify the Nesbit Nest as it often emitted the faint scream of a junior enduring a limb relocation or a routine vaccination and seldomly was without the loitering of a prolific fiend hoping to score a solution to their “headaches” and “anxiety” mostly to no avail. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXGKsc0opLD
Confronted with silence as I enter, even her admin Alvia oddly absent, “It’s past eight, she should be here” I inquired to myself, utterly befuddled. No less reluctant to be stuck in this dreary white walled box ridden with the stench of a retirement home, yet also no less in need of urgent suchering, I take a seat opposite the door to the examination room, by now my hand and shirt collar completely blood-sodden at which point the near absolute silence of a room filled only with the psychotic break inducing repetitive tick of a clock resembling a cross-eyed tabby cat, clueing to the rumoured ‘crazy cat lady’ persona assigned to Mrs Nesbit. Several minutes pass as I sit in the bizarrely therapeutic enchanting rhythm of the ticking clock and dripping of my own blood *tick, tick, tick, drip; tick, tick, tick, drip* a soft disturbance in this rhythm gradually arises, a sombre weeping raising in intensity heard even from behind the obscuration of the dividing wall woke me to reality, it seems she had been present all along though this was not her cry for it lacked her nasally hoarseness, this was a juvenile cry that swayed from pitches as if from a man in the epicentre of puberty. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwfZtTFtTnb
Despite my less than subtle eavesdropping I could not discern whether it was agony or sorrow that prompted their wails but as Nesbits profession was that of apathetic medical care and not emotional consolement, the former seemed more probable but what was strangely unheard was the pedantic complaints our beloved spring chicken of a nurse was so fond of spouting, not even so much as scoff of loathing, just absolute complete stunned silence. Had she finally stumbled upon the injury that would provoke her resignation? Was she even there? I contemplated the many grotesque possibilities, scrapping my feet across the shag carpeting and creaking my chair like a hyperactive toddler awaiting their turn on the merry-go-round as what was likely ten minutes but was more comparable to forty elapsed and the wailing became a deadening whimper before the sudden juddering of the door opening brought me to a straight-backed attention that a drill sergeant would be proud of and out trotted Joseph Burns, sagging in stature, face visibly dampened with tears, docile as he was I had never heard so much as an out of order classroom remark let alone outward wails of pain from him before, something or someone had quite clearly harmed him with such gravity that it had broken his monkish silence, he tilted his head to acknowledge my presence but refused to gaze at me as he retreated clearly still in great distress. Nesbit stared at him as he left with an expression rarely shown on her face, compassion, with a quivering dropped jaw her eyes pierced the back of his head as she mouthed mutedly what I could've sworn was “God help you”. For but a moment I seemed to be invisible as her heart, nobody would have ever believed she had, clearly bled for Joseph more than I was bleeding in the literal sense. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6F1aH7Z5ja
I stared at her in intrigue, Gloria Nesbit appeared to not be the “Nesbitch’ that was subject of such repulsion, in fact it seemed as if her shriveling translucent complexion had greatly receded through the simple adjustment of her furrowed brow to a less antagonising angle had revitalised her face and blunted the piercing scowl of her eyes… I suddenly realised I was getting lost in the eyes of disgruntled nurse approaching her pension… How traumatic. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0vFnRYMagl
Like an actress in a one-woman play her face reverted to it’s original sourness as she turned to me “How long have you been out here?” she clucked at me, arms fixed at the waist like a hen on a stroll I shrugged in avoidance of speaking through the inherent awkwardness of the scene and to avoid nose rocketing blood onto her precious maroon shag. She sighed begrudgingly and ushered me into her examination room, my shoulder clenched in her grasp as if I were a mall hoodlum caught shoplifting and back kicking the door closed in motion unnaturally flexible for her age. “Who did that to you?” she asked out of standard procedure not out of any genuine concern “I got jumped by two punks named Gutter and Shoelace” caring equally as little as she did. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk8eyXemA3B
I leapt onto the infirmary bed hearing the springs scream as I did, a frequent irritant to Nesbit, in the hopes of trifling with her nerves to bring some minute satisfaction from this whole detour but she offered not the slightest acknowledgement of this, her mind absent even as she retrieved the dressing for my wound. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYdWL8Syi9G
Tracing my eyes across the wall to avoid any sort of awkward eye contact as Nesbit wrapped my nose in gauze I was forced to take interest in cross sections of the Renal tract rather than indulge in any human discussion between I and this unfamiliar variation of Nurse Nesbit “Now nevermind whatever you overheard. When I was a kid we would get the cane for that kind of prying” she softly blurted through a curled tongue “Whatever” I released amidst a heavy sigh, deceiving both her and myself that I lacked any interest in the peculiarity I had witnessed. But in truth my inner tabloid stirred at the scent of drama to uncover by offering my shoulder for Joseph to crumble upon, this was of course partly motivated by empathetic impulses taboot though few would call me anything reminiscent of confidant for most, I had for the longest time an infatuation with the emotional baggage of my fellow man, not for any malicious purpose, stooping that low is not within my nature, grief tourism is somewhat of a hobby of mine which has been known to deafen my sensitivity at times. 342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQijVasuq3U
On more than a few Sunday mornings I have found myself enthralled in the obituaries of complete strangers and even arrived marginally late to an occasion or two due to taking some respite to snoop about the site of a car accident or house fire though my sense still reminded me to tread carefully were I to delve further into Joseph’s, no doubt troubled, life. However disruptions in my routine brought upon by my own apparent inability to avoid collision with concrete had already scored me a twenty minute delay of my arrival to what a person as astoundingly apathetic as myself would consider being one of the finer points of my six hour sentence, thus little time remained to concern myself with emotional meddling. Grovelling pose at the ready Michael, all systems are go for pathetic apology to Mr Ericson.342Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6OJ0l9BrjQ
