Ceahorse
11-19-2006, 02:08 AM
Tell me what you think.
He stood staring into the mirror, looking at himself, wondering if he was weird. Was he the only person who did this? Was it normal to look into the mirror and exaggerate a smile far beyond the limit of an actual reaction of happiness or enjoyment? Especially, when there was absolutely nothing of interest to initiate this expression.
As he stood there in his wonder, it also dawned on him that although he was smiling at himself, in that grotesque manner, he wasn’t actually even looking at it; rather it was as if he was afraid to look and consequently peering past his head at the base white tiles that covered the whole of his steamy, dripping bathroom. The sound of the showerhead, still dripping, sent his mind into a meditative state of day dream.
His body was wet, dripping like the rest of the room. Habitually, he reached for the traveler’s blow dryer that his father had given him, when his father was in town from one of his business trips. He always liked to dry his hair before he even touched the towel. His mother had warned, even taught him the danger of wet feet and the tile floor. She had even purchased a few raggedy floor mats, all of which became a stinking breeding ground of germs and were quickly discarded by the very person who purchased them.
Today was one of the days where the “floor mat” was on the shopping list. He pulled the dryer from its holster, which was in actuality the cup holder on the wall, flicked the switch, and flooded the room with the sound of the fans blowing on the single setting, high. With his free hand, he reached out and grasped the plastic brush from it’s niche aside the toothbrushes and began the routine. He’d become quite good at it and therefore was given the time to do the one thing that he actually enjoyed, thinking.
Clank clank! The brush sent a sound of plastic hitting porcelain and his brain automatically deduced that, although he had dropped his brush, it had fallen into the sink that therefore was still within reach. He needn’t look down, and he simply reached to find it with a blind hand, and continued to blow his hair about wildly.
The first pass was without avail, and then the second pass came up empty too. “Where is that bloody brush, I’m gonna dry my hair into a mess.” He thought while he made the third desperate pass that sent a strange sensation through his body. “What is happening?... Oh my god, I’m falling”
In fact he was falling; he had overreached his balance and had sent himself away from the mirror and towards the tiles, towards the toilet. He didn’t have time to react; his free hand was flailing in the air as his other hand went diving right into the toilet, dryer and all. Sparks and flashing light were the last this he remembered. He was woken by a single sound “Drip”.
There he was back in the bathroom, still staring at himself maintaining that stupid grin. He shook it off, did his duties and went downstairs to see what his mother would have waiting for him, “to nourish his growing body”, then grab his brown paper bagged sandwiches and get ready to head off for school.
His timing was, for lack of a better word, perfect, in meeting the bus and therefore gave him little time to stand around and stare off. He climbing the three steps of the long yellow banana bus, greeted Charley, the jolly dark skinned bus driver, and headed to the back of the bus where he usually sat.
He sat right beside Jimmy Caltino, who was hanging over the back of the seat, in a heated debate with Tony Cheng, no doubtably about some childish thing of “great importance”. Jimmy always went on and on about his thing and ideas, how wonderful they were, how many he had or how much stronger his were then anyone else’s.
As he sat there waiting for the inevitable forced conversation that was going to come from Jimmy. He thought about how Jimmy loved to talk, but never really cared what other people were saying. In fact when other people were talking he was probably only thinking about what to say next, as if other the person talking was nothing more then a bit of time given him to think.
Sure enough, Jimmy turned looked down and said. “Heya dude” He loved calling everyone “dude”, “ Ya know what I saw last night”
“Umm.. nah.. I donna”
“Oh come on, give a guess”
“Uhh.. did you see….
“X-Men 3, it’s the greatest movie. Wolverine stabbed at least 32 people….blah blabb blahh.bla bla blahhh.
Jimmy went on and on for what was about thirty minutes, but what seemed forever to some, telling everything he had seen in the movie.
He ended with. “If I was a Mutant I would have super strength. I’d be able to lift anything above my head and throw it all the way around the world. I’d be able to stop bullets with my fists and I could just crush anyone that stood in my way”
“How about you Tony?” Jimmy easily yelled over the back of his seat, for he hadn’t moved back to the proper seating position.
“I’d be able to teleport any time and however far I wanted. My base wouldn’t have any doors and I’d be the only one that could get into it. If someone were gonna try to hurt me, I just teleport behind them and stab them in the back.”
As he sat there listening, he realized “Tony is a lot more smarter then Jimmy, so why did he hang with the fool so much, why did I sit beside him and humour these ridiculous conversations day in and day out.
Jimmy turned from Tony, peered down and asked “How bout you, what would you be able to do”
Thoughts flooded his head, images of flying, running, shooting, then he settled on something that had never been done before, like him, something that was unique.
“If I could do anything, I’d want acidic piss. Piss that if I took a leak on anything it would simply disappear into a stream of smoke.”
“I’d piss on the dog **** that I had to pick up everyday.”
“I’d piss on my workbooks and never have to do homework.”
“I’d piss on the garbage that my mother always made me carry out to the can”
“Hell, I’d just piss on the dog, piss on my teacher, piss on my mother, I’d piss on them all, anyone that told me what to do, anyone that tried to control me”
…….
“Dude, what would you be able to do, what would your superpower be”
He was back, there was no acidic urine, there was only the synthetic leather covered chairs, that always seemed to somehow get sliced open, the bounce of the bus and the voice that could be heard clearly over the many other yells and laughs of the other children.
“Don’t you want a superpower?”
“Yea, um I’d be able to fly”
“Blah that sucks,” was that last thing he had to hear directed at him from Jimmy and Jimmy just went back to the person that listened, Tony Cheng.
The first 3 periods of classes were pretty much uneventful, the same dull routine of listening, copying, listening, copying, attempting to put to practical, then more listening and more copying. Although the teachers tended to be quite a bore, they did have a lot of information to cover in their allocated 45minutes, and therefore were able to keep the kids quite busy and behaved.
Lunch period arrived daily at 12:00 sharp. The sounds of the bells rang though the school, and were nearly always drowned out but the sounds of yelling, laughing, chairs feet grinding along the floor, books slamming shut, pencil cases zipping up and doors crashing open.
The school was a compacted five story building with a rather pathetic attempt at a playground that consisted of mostly cement, painted with neglected hopscotch patterns. Due to the fact that there was no space permitting any organized sports the children were more likely to be found loitering the halls and balconies than outside playing on the grounds.
The brown paper bag in hand, he walked up the stairs solo, to the top floor. The floors of the school were like territories of the social levels. The top floor being the floor of the “top” kids, and the first floor left for the total rejects, new comers and first graders.
He never knew why he was allowed to eat on the fifth. Why they didn’t ever say anything to him about leaving their ground. For he surly didn’t fit in with the rest of them. He didn’t participate in the jokes, ridicules and stories that were these students only form of lunch hour entertainment.
Thomas Fitzgerald, Susan Stikes and Charley Burrows were among the top. They always sat in the same spot and made fun of nearly anyone they could see below and quite a few that passed by.
Somewhere, he couldn’t recall the source perhaps it was in his readings, or perhaps from one of his wiser teachers, nevertheless he had remembered
“Give everyman thy ears but few men thy voice” This quote was a life guide to him. Not only did it give him a purpose to his life with these people, but it also was a convenient excuse to keep his mouth shut, which he preferred.
He stood off to one side of the three as they discussed the ugly, yellow, flower patterned dress that Becky Hamper was wearing and “totally not pulling it off” and peered over the edge.
Vertigo set in. Soon there were no faces, no voices just the image of someone falling. The person that was falling, could have been him, but how, if he could see that person how could it be him. The body, slowly, almost glidingly fell.
Would it hit another balcony, and begin to spin, or would it plummet unhampered?
Where would it hit, on the hopscotch pattern or just beside on that kings court squares?
These questions, although he’d asked himself a thousands of times, always while looking over an edge, he found always unsettling. He always felt that dizzy sensation.
Then the sound that brought him back was something he’d hadn’t heard before, had never expected.
Susan screamed. “Oh my god!!” She turned peered back at him. “What the **** did you do?”
Charley didn’t say a word, he just stood there staring.
He stood staring into the mirror, looking at himself, wondering if he was weird. Was he the only person who did this? Was it normal to look into the mirror and exaggerate a smile far beyond the limit of an actual reaction of happiness or enjoyment? Especially, when there was absolutely nothing of interest to initiate this expression.
As he stood there in his wonder, it also dawned on him that although he was smiling at himself, in that grotesque manner, he wasn’t actually even looking at it; rather it was as if he was afraid to look and consequently peering past his head at the base white tiles that covered the whole of his steamy, dripping bathroom. The sound of the showerhead, still dripping, sent his mind into a meditative state of day dream.
His body was wet, dripping like the rest of the room. Habitually, he reached for the traveler’s blow dryer that his father had given him, when his father was in town from one of his business trips. He always liked to dry his hair before he even touched the towel. His mother had warned, even taught him the danger of wet feet and the tile floor. She had even purchased a few raggedy floor mats, all of which became a stinking breeding ground of germs and were quickly discarded by the very person who purchased them.
Today was one of the days where the “floor mat” was on the shopping list. He pulled the dryer from its holster, which was in actuality the cup holder on the wall, flicked the switch, and flooded the room with the sound of the fans blowing on the single setting, high. With his free hand, he reached out and grasped the plastic brush from it’s niche aside the toothbrushes and began the routine. He’d become quite good at it and therefore was given the time to do the one thing that he actually enjoyed, thinking.
Clank clank! The brush sent a sound of plastic hitting porcelain and his brain automatically deduced that, although he had dropped his brush, it had fallen into the sink that therefore was still within reach. He needn’t look down, and he simply reached to find it with a blind hand, and continued to blow his hair about wildly.
The first pass was without avail, and then the second pass came up empty too. “Where is that bloody brush, I’m gonna dry my hair into a mess.” He thought while he made the third desperate pass that sent a strange sensation through his body. “What is happening?... Oh my god, I’m falling”
In fact he was falling; he had overreached his balance and had sent himself away from the mirror and towards the tiles, towards the toilet. He didn’t have time to react; his free hand was flailing in the air as his other hand went diving right into the toilet, dryer and all. Sparks and flashing light were the last this he remembered. He was woken by a single sound “Drip”.
There he was back in the bathroom, still staring at himself maintaining that stupid grin. He shook it off, did his duties and went downstairs to see what his mother would have waiting for him, “to nourish his growing body”, then grab his brown paper bagged sandwiches and get ready to head off for school.
His timing was, for lack of a better word, perfect, in meeting the bus and therefore gave him little time to stand around and stare off. He climbing the three steps of the long yellow banana bus, greeted Charley, the jolly dark skinned bus driver, and headed to the back of the bus where he usually sat.
He sat right beside Jimmy Caltino, who was hanging over the back of the seat, in a heated debate with Tony Cheng, no doubtably about some childish thing of “great importance”. Jimmy always went on and on about his thing and ideas, how wonderful they were, how many he had or how much stronger his were then anyone else’s.
As he sat there waiting for the inevitable forced conversation that was going to come from Jimmy. He thought about how Jimmy loved to talk, but never really cared what other people were saying. In fact when other people were talking he was probably only thinking about what to say next, as if other the person talking was nothing more then a bit of time given him to think.
Sure enough, Jimmy turned looked down and said. “Heya dude” He loved calling everyone “dude”, “ Ya know what I saw last night”
“Umm.. nah.. I donna”
“Oh come on, give a guess”
“Uhh.. did you see….
“X-Men 3, it’s the greatest movie. Wolverine stabbed at least 32 people….blah blabb blahh.bla bla blahhh.
Jimmy went on and on for what was about thirty minutes, but what seemed forever to some, telling everything he had seen in the movie.
He ended with. “If I was a Mutant I would have super strength. I’d be able to lift anything above my head and throw it all the way around the world. I’d be able to stop bullets with my fists and I could just crush anyone that stood in my way”
“How about you Tony?” Jimmy easily yelled over the back of his seat, for he hadn’t moved back to the proper seating position.
“I’d be able to teleport any time and however far I wanted. My base wouldn’t have any doors and I’d be the only one that could get into it. If someone were gonna try to hurt me, I just teleport behind them and stab them in the back.”
As he sat there listening, he realized “Tony is a lot more smarter then Jimmy, so why did he hang with the fool so much, why did I sit beside him and humour these ridiculous conversations day in and day out.
Jimmy turned from Tony, peered down and asked “How bout you, what would you be able to do”
Thoughts flooded his head, images of flying, running, shooting, then he settled on something that had never been done before, like him, something that was unique.
“If I could do anything, I’d want acidic piss. Piss that if I took a leak on anything it would simply disappear into a stream of smoke.”
“I’d piss on the dog **** that I had to pick up everyday.”
“I’d piss on my workbooks and never have to do homework.”
“I’d piss on the garbage that my mother always made me carry out to the can”
“Hell, I’d just piss on the dog, piss on my teacher, piss on my mother, I’d piss on them all, anyone that told me what to do, anyone that tried to control me”
…….
“Dude, what would you be able to do, what would your superpower be”
He was back, there was no acidic urine, there was only the synthetic leather covered chairs, that always seemed to somehow get sliced open, the bounce of the bus and the voice that could be heard clearly over the many other yells and laughs of the other children.
“Don’t you want a superpower?”
“Yea, um I’d be able to fly”
“Blah that sucks,” was that last thing he had to hear directed at him from Jimmy and Jimmy just went back to the person that listened, Tony Cheng.
The first 3 periods of classes were pretty much uneventful, the same dull routine of listening, copying, listening, copying, attempting to put to practical, then more listening and more copying. Although the teachers tended to be quite a bore, they did have a lot of information to cover in their allocated 45minutes, and therefore were able to keep the kids quite busy and behaved.
Lunch period arrived daily at 12:00 sharp. The sounds of the bells rang though the school, and were nearly always drowned out but the sounds of yelling, laughing, chairs feet grinding along the floor, books slamming shut, pencil cases zipping up and doors crashing open.
The school was a compacted five story building with a rather pathetic attempt at a playground that consisted of mostly cement, painted with neglected hopscotch patterns. Due to the fact that there was no space permitting any organized sports the children were more likely to be found loitering the halls and balconies than outside playing on the grounds.
The brown paper bag in hand, he walked up the stairs solo, to the top floor. The floors of the school were like territories of the social levels. The top floor being the floor of the “top” kids, and the first floor left for the total rejects, new comers and first graders.
He never knew why he was allowed to eat on the fifth. Why they didn’t ever say anything to him about leaving their ground. For he surly didn’t fit in with the rest of them. He didn’t participate in the jokes, ridicules and stories that were these students only form of lunch hour entertainment.
Thomas Fitzgerald, Susan Stikes and Charley Burrows were among the top. They always sat in the same spot and made fun of nearly anyone they could see below and quite a few that passed by.
Somewhere, he couldn’t recall the source perhaps it was in his readings, or perhaps from one of his wiser teachers, nevertheless he had remembered
“Give everyman thy ears but few men thy voice” This quote was a life guide to him. Not only did it give him a purpose to his life with these people, but it also was a convenient excuse to keep his mouth shut, which he preferred.
He stood off to one side of the three as they discussed the ugly, yellow, flower patterned dress that Becky Hamper was wearing and “totally not pulling it off” and peered over the edge.
Vertigo set in. Soon there were no faces, no voices just the image of someone falling. The person that was falling, could have been him, but how, if he could see that person how could it be him. The body, slowly, almost glidingly fell.
Would it hit another balcony, and begin to spin, or would it plummet unhampered?
Where would it hit, on the hopscotch pattern or just beside on that kings court squares?
These questions, although he’d asked himself a thousands of times, always while looking over an edge, he found always unsettling. He always felt that dizzy sensation.
Then the sound that brought him back was something he’d hadn’t heard before, had never expected.
Susan screamed. “Oh my god!!” She turned peered back at him. “What the **** did you do?”
Charley didn’t say a word, he just stood there staring.