Trolling For Columbine

Posted on February 18, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

She knew it, she knew I liked her and she did nothing about it. I guess I could have done something about it but I would have to be better looking, with clear skin, muscles that allowed me to lift things and push things until every girl within, I don’t know, a mile’s radius was lusting after me. But I was not. I had asthma and if I ate for a hundred years I wouldn’t put any more meat on my bones than I already had. I don’t know where all the food went. Mum said it all went to my brain but I don’t feel particularly smart. If I was so smart I would figure out a way to let her know how I felt and find out what she thought about me.

Actually I think I already know what she thought of me…I’d probably work to change that if I was as smart as my mother said. Mothers do that, tell you you’re the smartest guy in the room and then kick your ass in front of family and friends for how you forget to do things and are always sitting around the house doing God knows what. Mothers should not be allowed to forget what it’s like to be sixteen. Fathers shouldn’t either. Just because they’ve learnt how to make excuses for their gross pot bellies and floppy breasts is no reason for them to assume that we are okay with the bastard pimples that pop up when everybody else is so busy being clear skinned and awesome. I don’t need this shit. I have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. I want to be a writer, or a cartoonist…I don’t know, something that allows me to work without having to hang out with geeks and losers who don’t know how much they suck and how little it matters what they think of me. Least of all to me.

That’s not really true but if I keep telling myself that their insults are directed at themselves because they’re just trying to make fun of others to hide their own ugliness…maybe one day I will believe it. It’s not my fault I can’t see without my glasses. Even though my father told me it’s because I sat so close to the TV that my eyes went bad. What kind of bullshit logic is that? If I could see from a distance I wouldn’t fucking go closer would I? Nobody would. It’s not comfortable to be hunched down in front of something when you can be sitting back in comfort. Grown ups suck and they don’t even know it…or maybe they know it and just try to hide it behind their, ‘I am older and I am right’ bullshit. If age was really a measure of how smart you are I would be much smarter today than I was two years ago but I just feel dumber…I had all these ideas and I can’t seem to remember them anymore. Shit I hope I’m not losing my clear mind along with my clear skin. That would really suck.

I would be like that retarded guy on the third floor who never seems to understand what anyone is saying to him. Or maybe he’s deaf, I don’t know. See, there goes another piece of my mind. Why the hell can’t I lose the piece of my mind that remembers that I like her? That would make all this so much better. I’m sorry Miss Beautiful, I don’t remember that I love you. There I said it, I love you and you don’t know it and so you think it’s all cool and sexy to be flirting with that asshole who couldn’t develop a single brain cell unless it meant that he had to do like a hundred bench presses for it. God I’ve never seen someone so obsessed with his own body before. He’s like a girl…or maybe he’s gay…I don’t know, there’s something wrong with a guy who will take his shirt off for like no reason. Most sane people take their shirt off to shower and stuff, not because the principal announced a snow day. It’s a fucking snow day which means it’s all cold and stuff, why the f…I have to stop swearing so much, Mum’s going to catch me one day and that will be another thing I get shit about. Still why the…heck does that jerk think it’s okay to take off his shirt to celebrate snow day. I wish the girls would follow his lead and take their fucking shirts off…I’ve seen enough man tits to last me a lifetime, it’s time for girl tits please.

Yeah sure, touch his arm, encourage him. Give him one more excuse to rip it off and show off his pecs or decs or whatever they call those things. He’s like a cartoon or like a balloon with gnarly parts that can only be blown up in certain shapes. I hate him and I hate her for being so dumb and giggly. Stop giggling! It’s giving me a headache. I have to get out of here.

I stormed out of there. I think I said something because that muscular freak jumped like I’d stuck a pin in his ass and deflated his stupid muscles or something…Everybody looked quite scared when I left.

“Fuck! What the hell was that? Do you like know that guy Chrissie?”

“What! No! Why would you even say that?”

“Because he fuckin’ yelled at you.”

“What? No! He yelled at you!”

“I’ve never even seen him before in my life. I’d have noticed a freak like that, dressed in all black and shit. I’d have seen him coming and I’d have kicked his ass.”

“Bullshit Tommy. You nearly shit your pants just now, you’d be afraid to go near him.”

“Well wouldn’t you? I’ll bet he’s off listening to Marilyn Manson or something just now. Some fucked up German shit about anger or dead chickens or some shit.”

“That was intense. I think I need to take a break.”

“Miss I ordered a soda like twenty minutes ago.”

“Sir I’m sorry but we’re having a crisis right now. Please be patient.”

“For what? Some kid screamed and left. That’s Monday morning in my living room. What’s the big deal?”

“Sir, please be seated and I will get you your soda soon.”

They think this is some kind of joke. Those weren’t kids who flew those planes. And those weren’t kids who are doing the killing in Iraq and Afghanistan. We let the kids take over and this whole country will become like the slums of Brazil.

“Sir please be seated.”

If a pretty blonde can’t manage getting me a soda after twenty minutes, what good is she going to be in the real world. The wide open world, where it doesn’t matter whether your nails match your shoes and whether your clothes are in sync with the season.

All that matters is the finger on the trigger.

Right now, she doesn’t know it but I am the only person she should be worried about. Me, and this gun in my hand.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?”

  

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