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>> "Two Short Stories" <<
by -> ANdz0oey
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1. _Walking Home_
standing outside of school and waiting for some kid to pull out his
knife and just slash open your stomach, yeah, i would feel the same way,
even though the kid wasn't brandishing a knife at that moment, his hands
were just in his pockets. he was walking with me, telling me about his GTX
bike. i didn't want to talk to the kid; i would've rather just strolled
home by myself. he was short, with a pretend smile that showed that he
wasn't someone to let you go without some kind of confrontation. it wasn't
so much what he looked like; he was pretty short, but it was just that
smile. He hated me, and i didn't know why. He said i was a dork, a nerd,
you know, because i was smart and everything. The thing was, this kid was
smart too.
school was always over at two-forty, and it took about twenty minutes
to walk home. the day we were hopping along, the two of us, he was still
telling me about this bike of his. we were on the macadam lot adjacent to
the church, which we had to cross to get to our housing development. i
always felt like shit whenever i walked home, because i knew that the kid
would eventually have to say something mean to me. with some guys, it's all
right when you're alone with them; they won't make fun of you because no one
is around for them to show off for. this kid wasn't like that, not in any
way.
it was spring, although you couldn't tell, it seemed more like
summer. the sky was still cloudy gray after it had rained the night before,
and the gravel we usually kick when we're walking along was washed away
somewhere. we got to the tiny patch of grass between the lot and the little
road that winds by the development, and the kid stopped to tie his shoe. i
didn't know if i should stay or what, because it looks kind of stupid when a
person is waiting for another person to tie his shoe. i waited, though,
because it would have probably looked worse if i ended up walking home
alone, without anybody to talk to.
the development was pretty crowded; all of the houses were bunched up
together on this tiny road. the sidewalk was darker than usual, on account
of the rain, and all of the trash cans were out because it was trash day.
you could tell who put out their trash can the night before, because some
rain would still be on the lid. i knew that when i got home my can would be
dry as hell. i never could remember to take the trash out.
all this while, the kid hadn't said anything to me. it was just us
two walking along, side by side, with no conversation whatsoever. i was
still afraid he was going to say something, anything, about me or my mom or
something else, but i was sort of relieved, because i was already halfway
home. i didn't feel that bad, either, because i usually expect to be
ridiculed on the way home, and nothing at all had happened yet. once in a
while, we'd kick a trash can or something like that, and maybe some old lady
would yell at us, telling us that we were disgracing our Catholic school
uniforms. we were, but nobody can expect a person to walk idly by when a
plastic receptacle is in their way. some things are just made for people to
kick, especially stones and trash cans.
the kid's house was coming up now. we both hated each other, but i
guess we were friends or something like that. so the kid invites me over to
his mailbox. "Look at this," he says.
"What?" it was a bike magazine. he was holding it, looking at the
ads.
"I'm gonna get those hydraulics."
"Yeah, fuck you." i walked the rest of the way home by myself.
---
2. _Me Vs. God_
she mumbled something like "I'll pray to you," or maybe it went a
little differently (because the words she spoke just don't make sense the
way i remember them). it didn't make me feel one bit better, anyway. i
hung the telephone up exactly the way i would've if i were mad, you know,
slamming it as if that was the best way i could express my emotions, and
desiring that the person on the other end would feel every drop of the rage
that filled me. we didn't speak together for long; her friends were calling
every five minutes trying to cheer her up. (i was probably more depressing
than most others, hence the brief, silent conversation we shared.) she
wanted me to come to the funeral, but i hoped that she needed me there. (i
tend to act selfish at the worst imaginable moments.)
her sister had died earlier in the morning, and it was later in the
night now, a small bit rainy. it didn't matter how it was outside,
anyway -- my room was void of light, still i didn't feel like turning on any
of the three lamps that were usually glowing brightly at this time. so i
was sitting on a pillow with lots on my mind, and i had to be crying. the
thing was, i didn't feel sad at all, just very angry. i hated God, hated
everything that He had done, and refused to accept what He had in store for
all of us. my faith wasn't something that i had questioned before; it was
like "here's God, He reminds me of Santa Claus, and maybe if i pray to Him
every day he'll give me some presents." (God is good to those who are nice
to Him.) but immature answers didn't work in the present state of my life,
so why bother to believe at all? i would've felt better if God was one big
fucking lie, but the truth of his existence made it so much worse...yeah,
here's something intangible that you blindly believe in that's supposed to
be just and fair and peaceful and then, without a concrete reason, this God
of ours goes and kills indiscriminately. maybe there's something better
after life, but for the happiness of one soul, we must pay a fortune with
the torment of those who have been left behind. like me.
i lifted myself off of the floor and cried a little more. it was
very late, yet i didn't feel much like falling asleep. i wanted to accept
things...but everything was so difficult. It's just that whenever people
are confused, i try really hard to clear everything up, spotless as a
crystal-clean lake, no matter how stupid or badly constructed my explanation
is. maybe God wasn't like me...still, i wanted to feel better; consolation
was as essential to me as to those who truly needed it. but it's not like
the Bible has any moment of help for anyone. (i mean, half the goddamn book
is some story about an anguished farmer or maybe a psalm about how good the
king is to all of his subjects - lots of guidance, right?) so i just stood
and wept. not sure of anything anymore, i thought maybe i'd give up and go
to sleep. my head hit the wall as my body fell back. i looked in the
spotty mirror that had been hanging in the corner for so long, just to see
if i was allright or not. The glass surface didn't reveal much; there
wasn't any kind of deity staring back at me, offering His hope...just a
tear-stained face wishing that everything didn't have to be so fucking
complicated.
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #214 -- written by ANdz0oey -- 3/15/98 *