Hello my naïve followers it's Nigris! Your ever-loving author with a bad case of anxiety and procrastination!

So I haven't updated in several months… OOPS!

But it's a new year! Another year where I can try an un-buttfuck this.

You've all've probably been wondering, "Nigris, you lovable goof you, why haven't you taking the time out of your busy schedule to update your story to sate our measly desires?" or something of the such. Well that is a good question. Why?

The reason I haven't updated my One Piece story is perfectly logical, and simple. And the reason is what you are going to be reading after you've read this!

I've been watching RWBY (May Oum rest in heaven) and have gotten really in to it. Then I decided to read some fanfiction on it, and there were some great stories. And some questionable ones… I don't like to talk about. But everything was going fine and dandy, until I read a Self-Insert for RWBY.

I've got to say, I have never clenched my butthole tighter in anger! The main character turned into such a Gary Stu! Character fell for him in a Gary Stu-like fashion. Ruby came in, and I was a second away from jumping into the story with a combat knife and stabbing his ass.

No one. Touches. The Cinnamon Roll. EVER!

So I decided to make this!

This fanfic expands on the idea that I am trying to do in my other fanfic 'Faker.' Just like that one, this one will have an MC that is rather… realistic—your average Joe if you will.

has gotten a bad case of Mary Sue, and it needs checkup. I've have had enough of the interesting, overpowered, selfless, and fearless MC. We need someone a little less elaborate and kind. A person that is a little more down to earth. We need someone fearful, the type of guy who can be spooked by his own shadow. Someone who isn't so kind and isn't willing to bight the bullet.

So here it is boys and girls! Enjoy it to your hearts content!

REVISION DATE: [1/15/2016] (I missed a shit-ton of errors I am so sorry!)

Author's note: I apologize for fucking up this story by not checking it completely for grammatical errors. That was all my fault and I take the blame. This is the fourth time I've had to fix it, and I am so sorry to all the few people who had taken the chance to read it. I ask for forgiveness from those who read, liked, favorite and took the moment to leave reviews, because we all know we never do that. But these people had, and though I never got the chance to look up their names, I thank them for it.

As a writer I am ashamed and embarrassed to have to do this again. I didn't start writing for other's amusement, I started this so I could have stories to read that didn't exist beforehand. I did it to expand and increase my writing skills so I could make better stories. Once again I apologize for this, and I promise that I won't be stupid like this again. If you ever find any grammatical errors again, let me know and I'll fix it.


Beta'd by: Undying Soul98

Beneath The Covers Chapter 1: Breathing Wasn't Helping

When I was younger, I had always feared the "Unknown."

I was the child that always had tears running down his face. The small child that ran to his parent's room to sleep with them. so no monster could catch him and nibble off his toes. I would lay awake at night in bed, flinching at every eerie sound that popped up about me. I would ask for Dad to check beneath my bed to see if any ghosts and skeletons had taken up any lodgings there. And when midnight came and the moon was at it's highest peak, the monsters, born from both the shadows and darkness of then night, decided it was time to play. The ghouls and goblins would come out to torture me with their insidious games.

But more than anything, did I fear the horrors behind my closet doors.

That closet was wrong to me. With its creaking double-doors and scratched off white paint, it screamed at my sense to stay away! That was how it managed to plant seeds of fear in my innocent mind. The closet was more than it appeared for me—far, far more. At day it was just any other closet, but at night it was a dreadful gateway! They were doors to a completely different world of everything evil alike! Behind those slabs of wood was nothing but evil I tell you! It was the home of everything with pointy teeth and sharp claws! When night fell, and one of the closet's doors were slightly askew, I swore I could see their slitted, yellows eyes glaring at me malevolently!

My only protection were the sheets on my bed. My bed was a fort, my blanket served as its walls, and though it may have been feeble, it was enough to pacify my fears.

But one day I decided to go to my parents. I warned them of it, the closet and what was behind those doors, explaining to them the monsters and spirits and evil eyes that watched me under the moon's light! They found it funny, thinking of it as nothing more than a child's overactive imagination. But soon the hilarity became annoyance that soon turned into worry. I would not stop talking of it—of them—those evil things that had taken up residence in my room! I couldn't understand why they couldn't believe my words! Why wouldn't they believe their own son?! Then one day, as I spent the time trying to convince them once again, Mom kissed my forehead and put a hand atop my head to pet me soothingly. Then she bent down and spoke with that delicate voice of hers.

"Honey! Monsters don't exist!"

It was like someone snapped their fingers. Her voice was the wind that shooed away dark clouds in the sky; it was kind, and warm, and sweet like the rich syrup that I bathed my waffles in. Soon I realized that those creatures out for my head were nothing more than a figment of my imagination. The monsters weren't real, the ghouls and goblins weren't real, and the evil eyes weren't real!

The closet was just a closet, and I couldn't be happier.

You'd think that the phrase 'all's well that ends well' would apply here, but it didn't. Time may heal wounds, but wounds deep enough left scars. Those monsters may have been banished from my head, but not without a fight did they leave.

Now my diaphragm tightened and my heart hammered like a piston! My palms got sweaty and my knees buckled under a weight that wasn't even there! I felt feint as the lump of organic matter in my head thumped against the interior of my skull hoping to escape! My stomach contents wanted to jump right out my mouth, and my bladder wanted to give out at any moment. Chains bound my arms and legs, pulling me into a cage born from my own anxiety, and was locked with a key made from my own fear! Everything was a threat; my world might as well have a pistol pointed at my temple!

Fear and anxiety went hand-in-hand; they were a married couple made for each other. Anxiety was simply thunder that followed lightning in its footsteps. And frankly, it was hard to tell sometimes which was more terrifying, knowing what could harm was out there, or that one day you might come across it. All I knew was that my irrational fears would seep through my ears and into my skull. It poisoned my mind like alcohol, bringing my thoughts over to the side of illogicality.

I had to wonder why I was gifted with this curse.

Then I looked online one day and found that I have PPD: Paranoid Personality Disorder.

The description was in the name. Long-standing patterns of mistrust. Believing that everybody was out to exploit, harm or deceive you, even when there wasn't a lick of evidence to prove it. In extreme cases it could pervade both professional and personal relationships. It caused victims to be excessively suspicious. They'd express this through overt argumentativeness, constant complaining, or by quiet, yet aloof hostility. They were hypervigilant for potential threats around them. They were guarded, secretive, and tended to act like they lacked tender feelings. And as the victims lacked trust in others, they had an excessive need to be self-sufficient and have a high degree of control over those around them.

So I was crazy then? At first I thought I was just being overly worried about things... but isn't that what PPD was? It made so much sense!

I kept my lips sealed tight about it, and they'd stay that way. No one would find out, I'd make it so. I was a teenager now, if I went around screaming my head off like some headless chicken... I didn't want to imagine the outcome. I'd be sent to a therapist and be handed a bottle of pills! The medicine would have some obscure name that I'd never be able to pronounce! The side effects would be horrendous too! I could contract AIDS or go blind, maybe develop gonorrhea or have a bad case of diarrhea! Mom and Dad would throw me into a nuthouse, because who wanted a child that's off their rocker? I'd spend my days in a small, padded room for the rest of my life! Each day would be full of eating gruel from a bowl and being pierced with needles in the dozens! Then I'd be thrown straight down—

—I did it again. I wish I could stop that...

If a neurosurgeon looked at my brain they would be amazed at how I could give any small and asinine thing the most terrifying fear. Bottles of water that I didn't remember opening would go strait down the drain. They could be poisoned. At night my bedroom door is shut. I didn't need someone or something lumbering into my room, pulling down the sheets to my bed with it's gangly arms, and doing… unpleasant things to me.

I've lived sixteen years with it, and it's become my own personal crutch. It's turned me into an introvert. I showed hostility when I didn't mean to, and most of my vocabulary was taken up by something slyly sarcastic. Rarely could you see a smile on my face because I felt there was no need to give one. My faces were usually between bored and grumpy. My pearly-whites were reserved for few, and that's how it was going to be. And all of this was because of my fucking brain!

Seriously, I had my very own Pokédex for them! Wetting the bed! Becoming a dead corpse in an alley cuz' of a viscous murderer. I once thought I'd be molested by some creepy old guy in a public bathroom because he was taking too damn long! And the sad thing was, that was only the tip of this iceberg!

If it existed in both reality and fiction, I probably had some ridiculous fear of it.

I was crazy, but could you blame me? The world is a scary place with scary people! It was like not popping a big pimple! Have you ever tried not popping a zit? It's pretty hard!

Heck I was doing it now in the middle of my class too! All because Paul Walters took the desk right next to mine, Again. And I meant again-again.

Seriously. What was the dealio?

To most people this wouldn't sound bad, but they didn't know about the guy. Paul was, without a doubt, the most disgusting, awkward, and vile human being I had ever bared witness to! Deep down I was so sure he had downs syndrome, or maybe his brain decided to abandon ship, because I could never believe that a person would purposely act the way he does, not with today's cruel social standards.

Stop. Stop it please, I begged pitifully in the confines of my skull. He didn't stop his nefarious act. Why are you doing this?!

I could not stop watching! My curiosity was disgusting as I watched with revolted fascination. Why was I disgusted? Because Paul was eviscerating the insides of his nose with his finger—IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS!

Oh god, why are you doing this?! Mommy and Daddy never took the time to tell him, did they? His mom never sat him down in the living room and told him, "Listen here Paulie-Poo, picking your nose at school is a notty-notty!" Then she'd let him go back to finger painting and trying to fit the square in the circle hole.

But the point has been made! This was disgusting!

Stop picking your goddamn nose for like ten seconds! It's so nasty!

Of course this all this took place inside my head, so he couldn't here it. He just went along with mining his nose for gold.

This fatty, he just had to sit next to me didn't he? I was beginning to have the niggling suspicion that this was more than dumb luck. Oh who am I kidding, after having him sit next to me, no matter where I sat in the classroom, for five days in a row, I knew something was up. This guy planned it out in advance because it's been happening since the beginning of the year!

Hold on wait! I thought, as if a dozen bricks slammed down on my head. What if that's it!

What if he thought that since I was a loser too, that we should stick together? Well I hate to disappoint like I do to my parents, but there are only so many ways that I can say this: no; never; niet; negatory; not in a million years; and again further prove my answer, NO! I would not roll over and play footsie with this diabetic in training! Not today, not ever!

And why hasn't Princeton Highschool been shut down and demolished yet? All the other schools near by looked so nice and friendly, but every time I go up to the pencil sharpener I felt like I was about to cut like a bitch! Somebody must've been in Satan's good graces—maybe checked down on Santa's nice list—good old Cthulu gave somebody a shout-out—because I was boggled as to why this school was legally still open! The building was run down, the teachers suuuuuuucked, the equipment was practically falling apart, and the bullies were hairy and freaky! In the entirety of South Carolina, this school takes first place for being shit!


… Ok, that was a complete exaggeration on my part. It wasn't that run down—the teachers were ok—the equipment was adequate—I wasn't going to contract a disease from a doorknob—I was an asshole. Hyperbole was my weapon of choice, and I used it like a trained archer.

But there were some dicks here.

There are quite a few questionable freaks, that's for sure, I thought with a lowered brow. I skimmed across my fellow student body in the room before letting out a soft sigh after a quick revelation. Oh who the heck am I kidding? I'm not exactly normal over here either.

Curse you Mother; damn you Father! Why doth you give me these wretched genes!

That's what I get for being the fastest sperm in my flock. And I brazenly admit that it was a shitty flock.

I am a skinny white kid who was an inch away from being six feet; I was so tantalizingly close. My eyebrows were thin, and my blue eyes always had bags under them, which was my fault because I always stayed up late. Though out all the things wrong with me I think my hair was the worst. You see people, my hair was auburn and scraggily, and possibly would've reached my shoulders if I didn't slap some hair gel and comb it back. Sadly gel didn't really work well with my hair. It made me look like I had bedhead, and the way I combed it back made my forehead look big. I didn't exactly like it, but that's what I get for being to lazy to get a haircut.

Being ugly sucked. I probably wasn't going to have a girlfriend for a long time too. It's not like I cared at this point though. For men there is no makeup. If you are ugly, you're going to stay ugly.

It's not like I'm as bad as Paul, I reasoned. I turned to our school's pariah. He must've struck gold, because on the tip of his finger was a massive, squishy looking booger. He then opened his mouth and—OH GOD HE ATE THE BOOGER! HE ATE THE BOOGER! HE… ATE… THE… BOOGER! That was absolutely disgusting! That was disgusting! Oh my shit! I was nearly gagging thinking about that! I looked to my left and right and yes, apparently no one was even watching as Paul Walters ATE HIS OWN BOOGERS!


Where I was ugly Paul was "Fugly." Paul was a level above me, comprende? He was overweight, having a large gut, sausage fingers, and chins that number more than one. His black hair was short, curly, and it was so oily I bet our glorious nation would try to invade his scalp. Behind his reading glasses, Paul's green eyes looked small in between his pudgy cheeks and fat forehead. Honestly bro, go on a diet.

But it didn't stop their. The Devil threw a fastball at Jesus and it was a swing and a miss.

Paul was socially awkward and it was baaaaaaaaad~. He could barely speak a sentence, let alone start a conversation. All he did was sit around scratching his arms, drawing stuff on some paper, or doing his favorite pastime, shoving his finger up his nose in search of the Crystal Skull. Whatever friends he had must've gone to a different school, 'cuz I haven't seen him talk to anyone.

Everyone, including me, found Paul strange, and that pushed people away from him, isolating him from the rest of the student population. But it didn't look like that bothered him, though I was sure it was just a front. Paul never made an attempt to reach out to anybody, always retreating into his tiny personal bubble to be by his lonesome.

Maybe he just doesn't care, I tried to tell myself. But there was always the worst outcome. Or maybe he's depressed on the inside. He has some pent-up aggression. So it wouldn't be that much of a surprise if he came through the front doors with a uzi looking for revenge!

Sigh. My irrationalized thoughts aside, Paul just didn't fit in. He was a bird trying to be a fish.

When it was time to get in groups for projects, Paul was always the leftover. While everyone conversed at lunch, Paul sat alone. While everyone was laughing and making jokes, Paul was the one being butt of them. It was kind of sad in my opinion. And that didn't mean I felt bad for him, I meant that it was pathetic.

Surprisingly, it seemed that whatever higher power was out there wrecking his life had some sort of mercy, and here's why. Throughout the entire time he's been at this school (from what I can deduce that is), Paul never had to deal with a bully. Once! That was odd because you would think that someone of Paul's "stature" would be a constant target for the bully community. But if you got rid of the talking behind his back, and in some cases gym, Paul had never been harmed physically in anyway.

Not to mention the teachers seemed to ignore him. If it was out of pity or just not wanting to deal with him I didn't know, but it was almost like he didn't exist here. If he was late to class, the teacher would continue on talking. And if he did something like eat his boogers no one would call him out on it. Not even the students, who talked behind his back, would acknowledge the vulgar things he did. I couldn't rap my head around it!

How had the fat bastard done it? Did he pay them off? Was his dad scary? Did mom pull out the wooden spoon to show who the real bitch is? Was it like some Kung-Fu Panda bullshit? If I tried to steel his food would he rip out my eyeball and make me eat it?


But it was quite the mystery. Even I had been a victim of bullying, as meager as it was.

I was a freshman back then. Some short senior—his name was Mike or something—would throw stuff at the back of my head, like wrappers or paper balls. And seeing as I wasn't the Buddha I got fed up with him after a week of it. So I shoved him out of his desk! That would show the bastard, right!

Er-er! Wrong!

In the end it was Mike who had the last laugh. Even after I told the teacher why I did it, 'physical violence wasn't tolerated,' they said in my scolding. So after a grudging apology and a quick trip to the guidance counselor, I got detention and an earful from my parents. As for Mike, he got off with a warning, the dick!

That was how I learn to keep my head down and meld into the crowd. Because sticking out like some sore thumb is the worst way to live in my opinion. It was best to keep out of sight and out of other people's business. Stay out of other's ways and let them handle it. It was so much safer to be the one watching the bullying than be the one getting your ass kicked.

But seriously, fuck Mike. I hope he's cleaning someone's toilet right now.

"That little shit…" I quietly groused to myself.

"Oliver Green." My head was raised in an instant. The voice that spoke was like sandpaper being rubbed upon the surface of a chalkboard.

I looked up and saw Mr. Pittlestone, my evil history teacher, giving me a stern and disapproving glare that made me feel quite small... Well smaller. He was an old decaying thing, but those eyes could look right into your soul and pluck it right out. I was sure that if he were ever sent to Hell, he'd give Satan the bird before beating his ass with a paddle. Because Mr. Pittlestone took shit from no one giving it.

I was also very aware that I had the entire class' full attention.

Uh-oh! Scadoodlio!

I had the sudden urge to lick my lips so I did. Were they always so dry?

"Yes sir?" I said as politely as possible, like I was a perfect child that did everything he was told. I was not.

"Do you enjoy daydreaming in my class?" he asked with that usual tone that made you feel like the tiniest of ants.

"No sir?" My answer came out more like an unsure question. My lips became dry again and a small bit of perspiration leaked from my forehead. I was trying my very best to look like I was keeping my cool, even as I noticed the many pairs of eyes staring at me with smiles as they watched me internally squirm.

"Oh, is that so," he inquired as if he believed my answer. He was talking to me like a child. "Then would you mind explaining to me what were doing?" he asked while giving a small hand gesture for me to speak.

"I was just distracted for—"

"The past five minutes." Mr. Pittlestone cut me off suddenly, and the way he said it made my tongue wish it could jump down my esophagus. Everyone was now snickering. "Pray tell, what were you thinking of?" he asked again, his voice not unlike scratching two stones together.

"I-I was thinking about—about, um—!"

"You were thinking about nothing Mr. Green," he rumbled harshly in a raspy voice. His nasty glare burned into my corneas, and made me sink in my seat like quicksand. "That's what we call 'daydreaming;' maybe you should go search it up in a dictionary when you get the chance." I looked away from him, and I was sure my face was probably the shade of a tomato.

"I—uh, I—!" I tried speaking, to defend myself from his constant shots, but nothing was coming out. My brain was on vacation at the moment and there was nothing I could do.

"Would you kindly pay attention to what is on the board," he said with an intensified glare that could kill all forms of life and snuff out the sun. "Also, the next time you curse in class, your ass will be out of here so fast your head will spin." His glare increased tenfold and I found my body a little rigid.


I believe that was the sound of my balls shriveling up in my sack.

I nodded stiffly. "Yes sir," I said once again, my voice deciding it was the best time to crack.

His glare held for moment before he turned back around with a sigh. Mr. Pittlestone began writing information on the board while simultaneously speaking to us. I think it was something about whichever Indians but I didn't care. I tried to ignore the stifled giggles of the people around me as they drank in my embarrassment like mosquitos. I hid my blushing face in my arms, trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible

Keep your head low, I reminded myself inwardly. Because it is so much easier that way.

The rest of class seemed to go by so much slower after that embarrassing debacle. Seconds ticked by in minutes; minutes ticked by in hours. The clock that was mounted on the wall seemed to bask in my internal suffering because the snail-paced movement of each of its hands seemed to slow with each clockwise motion. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick. It was driving me mad! All I could do was keep my head down like a dog being punished while still physically looking like I was paying attention, lest Mr. Pittlestone put me through even more abuse!

This was Paul's fault! If he had a thinking capacity larger than a llama and knew picking your nose and eating boogers in class was wrong, I wouldn't be in this mess! I felt like taking a fork and ripping off his fingernails! How he seemed to get away with shit like this pissed me off! It was like nobody paid attention to what he did! Everyone else usually ignored him; no one batted an eyelash when he picked his nose in front the class either!

Holy shit it made no sense!

It proved my point too. It was easier to keep my head down and stay out of other people's business. Let them handle it; they probably have a better grasp on it that you do. Keep your mouth shut and keep walking. Make like an ostrich and stick your head in the sand. Stay in the crowd and don't be an idiot.

I didn't want to be remembered. I didn't crave for the attention of others. I didn't need to have stories told about me for countless ages by those of tomorrow.

I wanted to stick to the crowd and blend in, to stay out of sight of others so I didn't have to face their judging gazes.

I'd live. I'd die. Then I'd be forgotten.

That must sound rather depressing doesn't it? Maybe even cowardly? Well you could call me coward, a yellow-bellied-whatever, pathetic, I didn't care. I was aware of how scared I was of the world around me but could you blame me? It was a nightmare out there and I refuse to be one of the unlucky ones!

That corny speech aside class finally ended and I made sure I was the first person out of the room. The halls were very crowded as they always were yet I managed to move around them. As if I were the very air itself I was able to... Oh who the fuck am I kidding? Try navigating through a crowded hallway at school during class changes! It's really hard! You'll sooner get your ass run over before that happens! But, I managed to only drop my books once before I made it to class today!

"Shit-fuck!" I meant twice.

The next class was a struggle for me, but who doesn't in math? Math was murder to the ears. Mrs. Connery though—bless her kindred soul—was a kind woman and that was a nice breeze in the dank atmosphere here. But her voice, it was just so impeccably spellbindingly dull. Minutes wouldn't go by when I found my jaw reflexively open to let a yawn escape from my gaping mouth. It was moments like these that made me realize the even though the desks were made really comfortable. But I wasn't dumb enough to do that. It'd only end with me getting in trouble and I didn't want to go through another episode like in my last class. I don't think I could handle embarrassment like that that twice.

That came to an end too, and after giving a polite goodbye to Mrs. Connery, I went to my favorite moment in school, besides leaving it that is. That would be lunch. It was practically a Pokemon Center; for everyone it provided our brains a brief period to loosen up. We could unwind, and oil up the stalling gears in our brain with this much-needed break and fill our bellies with nutrients. We could talk to our classmates, converse about the latest trends, or gossip on other people and their life.

I'd say lunch was a small blessing in this cursefully long day, but the fact I was still in this school left a bad taste on my taste buds. Especially since we were in the cafeteria, a large room with walls colored a bland white, and always had this airborne smell I entered. Another problem I had was that everyone was so loud... And I was an awkward penguin and had few friends, so that made finding a table hard.

I could live with that though. The pros outweighed the cons and it wasn't like I could do anything about it.

"So Pittlestone took a chunk out of you in history?" one of the few people at this school that I felt was acceptable and ustworthy to be around, Isaac Quincy, asked me. We were good friends with an awkward relationship that seemed to work. It was like a sailing boat that was being held together by glue. It was good, it was funny, and we got along great. "Well it's not like that's big news. He's done that to just about everyone I think," he reasoned with me with a shrug. But I merely shook my head moodily.

"No you don't get it man," I groused to him. I cupped my forehead before roughly dragging my fingers off. "Everyone was giggling at me!"

"Wo-ho-ho-ho! Wait, oh my god, no way!" gasped Isaac while bouncing in his seat. His hands went up to cup over his nose and mouth as he started breathing heavily. He brought them back down to smile with disbelief and anticipation. "Did he do the thing where he calls you out in front of the entire class?!"

I let out a groan. Mr. Pittlestone did not like it when people disrupted his classes, and he would either tell them to shut their trap and pay attention or gave them his nasty glare. But when that wasn't enough to end the problem, he would call said disruptive person and make them look like a complete moron, all while having the rest of class watch and giggle at their dismay.

I'd seen it happen before and I had to admit it was pretty fucking funny. But when you're put into that dreaded spotlight, it became a whole different story.

"Yes?" I stated in an unsure tone. That only made Isaac laugh hysterically and made me blush in anger and embarrassment.

"Holy crap Oliver! What did you do man?" my friend asked after coming down from his giggle fit. "Pittlestone doesn't do stuff like that for nothing."

"I did nothing," I whisper shouted to not look like a bigger idiot in front of anyone today. "My mind wondered for a second and the next thing I know, I'm being made the ass of the entire classroom!" I didn't know what I felt more, mad or embarrassed. But they swirled together in wicked harmony inside a whirlpool of negativity in my chest.

"It's such bullshit! Can he even get away with that?!" I grumbled. My fork stabbed into my plastic container of cut up fruit with frustrated vigor.

What? Mom was a health nut and she wanted Dad and me to be healthy too. So she made lunch. Also I would never let this school's food into my body. The pizza slices looked like cardboard with ketchup and cheese (? ? ?) on it. Not to mention the last time I had a burger I found a hair on it that looked a little to curly to be from someone's head if you catch my drift.

"That old prick better die soon," And I'll give him a helping hand if he needs it.— "He should just put his other foot in the grave and just leave me alone," I huffed to Isaac, and put the skewered fruit in my mouth. I swallowed and continued. "I bet Mr. Pittlestone's heart is only beating out pure, unadulterated hate."

"Don't be such a sourpuss about it," Isaac said, nonchalantly waving his hand. All I did was raise my eyebrow in return. When was the last time I had heard someone use 'sourpuss' in a sentence?

"You'll get over it sooner or later. You always do," Isaac continued before he went back to finishing off his pizza, "This'll blow over like next week and everything will be hunky-dory!"

I laughed in my head at him. If he only knew…

I was not the type of person to just forgive and forget. I did not let go of things ever. As much as I thought and made people think that I didn't care, I always did. I remembered them, those bad memories and grudges, and kept them just out of reach in my head just in case I needed to reel one in for whatever reason.

I was like a woman. I never forgot. Ever.

And Mr. Pittlestone didn't forget either, no matter how dead that brain in his skull was.

I scratched irritated skin on the nape of my neck. "The only thing nice today is that it's a Friday so no school tomorrow," I thought aloud while making Giorgio A. Tsoukalos' hand motions to explain. Y'know the Ancient Aliens guy... it's a bad habit I had. But my bad-thoughts train was on a roll and it wouldn't be stopped. "But that's just for two days, and seeing as Mr. Pittlestone already hates me, his dead ass to be up in my face Monday! Just fan-fucking-tastic!"

"Quit it Oliver your ruining the taste of my pizza." I rolled my eyes at Isaac. He held his pizza and... w-was that a fingernail clipping I spotted on there? It was and… he just ate it. Yuck. "I've known you for quite some time Oliver. You always complain over every little thing that bothers you even when they weren't that big of a deal!" Yet another example as for why this school's food will never touch my lips and travel down my esophagus. "The way I see it, you'll be a virgin by the age of forty."

I shook myself from my thoughts. Don't pay attention to what was going in Isaac's mouth, watch what's coming out.

"Oh that is funny! Don't think I didn't get that reference!" I sarcastically said while putting down my fork so I can clasp my hands together. I've given up on finding a mate of any sex or race. None were batting their eyelashes in my direction, and I doubted I had the capabilities—both socially and sexually—to make them.

The 'booty,' as some people have dubbed it, was out of my reach.

I didn't have low self-esteem Mom! I just didn't feel like finding anyone! You and Dad were wrong, I was right, end of discussion!

"If I end up as the old man version of a cat lady, than whatever. I could care less," I sardonically said.

Isaac smiled jokingly and shrugged. "You should look on the bright side! Fourteen more years and you can become a wizard." Isaac's sly joke made me smile, and I let out a snort. He leaned in, and over the loud amalgamation of voices in the cafeteria, my ears could pick up his words. "Then you can smite anyone who tries to take your virginity with your voodoo magic! OOOOOOOOoooooooh~!" He made a moaning sound and wiggled his fingers mockingly.

"Careful there Isaac, I might have to use it on you first!" I told him before I wiggled my fingers back. "All will bow before the, um, great Lord Oliviero, Dark Lord of All!" I told him after a pause in a crappy Darth Sidious voice.

"WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY!" he shouted back with a fake English accent. He laughed. I giggled.

This was the pinnacle of our friendship, making dumb and corny jokes that we laughed at because they were stupid.

Our chests heaved with each giggle but we began to calm down. I wiped a tear from my eye.

Isaac flexed his jaw before speaking. "So, have you been keeping up with the OnePunch Man anime Oliver?" he asked. "I watched an episode last night, and it had the Sea King and Pri-Pri Prisoner fight. It was pretty good." He gave a small nod, agreeing with his thoughts.

"I stopped at the third episode. I think I'll just stick with the manga," I answered back.

"Ya' don't like it?" Isaac asked with an inquisitive look. "I thought you'd be all over it since you're such a big OnePunch fan." I nodded, I was a big fan. "Just look at it: the animation's awesome. The fights are epic. Not to mention Saitama is funny as hell! What's not to like about it?" I raised an eyebrow before sighing.

"I hate to sound like the 'that didn't happen in the book' guy, but that didn't happen in the book," I told him contemplatively. "Don't get me wrong, the anime is great. But the fights in the manga just seem more, um, suspenseful, and detailed, and stuff." My personal skills were bad I know. My natural ability to be a social recluse had really damaged my verbal capabilities. I tended to suck with words… And speaking… Social stuff generally. "Not to mention they didn't include some stuff from the manga, like how Sonic and Pri-Prisoner escaped." Yeah that sort of sucked. "The anime is just lacking in thins the manga can provide."

"Yeah sure," he sarcastically spat, "But you like ruining everything I hold dear to my heart, so your criticism means shit." Isaac then proceeded to make a juicy fart sound.

We giggled again like fucking kids because we were both immature morons.

You could say, and don't judge us there's a reason we're awkward, the reason we bonded well was because we loved anime and manga. It was like duct tape that lost some of its stickiness, but it was still sticky enough to hold things together for a substantial period of time.

We were not weeaboos! I did not go "Sugoi!" or say, stuff like "Kawaii!" or "Desu!" because that was stupid! I did not gender identify as some fucking magical girl, nor did I own female anime character figurines or weapon replicas! And for your information, I do not own—nor condone the use of—those body pillows with characters on them in strange, provocative positions! Just to make that clear, ok?

I sure as hell didn't put Japan on a pedestal either! I'll have you know that place was reserved for only for Canada, the best country in the entire world! It was literally a giant theme park! Their money smelled like maple and there coins were magnetic!

I watched JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, I've read Akame ga Kill (Because the anime adaption is shit), I've seen Fate/Stay Night, and I sure as hell was a fan of One Piece. Even Fairy Tail was pretty good. Sure the whole 'friendship trumps everything' shtick sort of ruined it, but hey boobies! And it's "hard" to go wrong with that!

HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa... Did you get it... Hard... Oh boy this is awkward... I regret my actions full-heartedly.

But I read books. And reading books went to comics. Then reading comics went to manga. And then manga went to anime. That was the dark and strenuous tale of how I started watching anime. That's it; it wasn't a special story.

Then one day Isaac and me met each other in our freshman year. It was chemistry and our shitty teacher Mrs. Stullen paired us up for a project. One thing led to another and we learned we liked anime. We became good buds from then on.

"Whatever man. It's not like I could ever find it inside myself to give a crap what you say anyways," I said in an overly sassy way that had him giggling for shits. That's when a certain thought entered my head. I had to ask Isaac something. "Hey Isaac, have you been watching RWBY lately?" I questioned, "It's started its third volume, in..." —Wasn't it in... November? No it was October?— "... October. Episode nine is coming out tomorrow, so that'll be nice." My voice was calm yet avid as I spoke.

RWBY, the American animated web series made by those wonderful people at Rooster Teeth. It was so captivating and engrossing and was possibly one of the most unique animations I had seen, hands down. I was entranced by its two-dimensional toon-like look appearance, with all of the depth and complexity of 3D-animation. It was corny and cheesy like Adventure Time, but it still had more adult-like anime attributes! Not to mention Volume Three had taken quite the dark turn!

And I say things like 'anime-esque' and 'anime attributes' because RWBY was not an anime!

It had the style of one and nothing else! So to anyone that got it into their heads that is an anime: guess again fucknuts!

The fights were epic. The characters were well made, but I felt the voice acting could have been done better. But whatever, everything had its flaws.

Not to mention the weapons seemed structurally impossible and ridiculous! I mean fuck, gunchucks an shotgun gauntlets?! How would you use that in a fight?!

But I could roll with them. Because RWBY was something that spiced things up! As long as it kept me fangasming over it, I had no problems.

Thank you Netflix, I thought gratefully, That is the only time I will ever be thankful for you annoying bullshit show suggestions.

Isaac shook his head negative. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p.' Why nooooooot~! "I'm catching up with Boku no Hero Academia. I've been busy playing the Outlast DLC so I hadn't really taken the read it." Oh. I can except that. He shrugged and I shrugged back.

"I'll check it when I can though, don't want to get left in the dust again," he promised half-heartedly.

"Go do that," I told him. I stabbed some more fru… woops I'm out of fruit. Whatever. I moved over to some cheese crackers in a zip-lock bag. They were always my faves.

We fell into silence there. We're two socially awkward teens with little social activity, so as soon as we ran out of things to say we'd just bring our attention to finishing our food before lunch ends. We didn't want to be hungry when we're tossed back into eight hours of having our brains force-fed information.

I'd be honest though, was half the information they taught us going to be useful in real life?

"Hey Oliver, y'know what would be pretty cool?" was what Isaac suddenly piped up with. I looked to him, my mouth stuffed to the brim with cheese crackers. Call me a slob if you want, but I was a complete and udder sllllllllut for these things. I absolutely adored its artificial cheesy goodness!

Seeing as I my mouth was currently full, I decided to sound out a 'what' back. "Mmm?"

"Living in an anime." I paused mid-chew to give him a look. "Don't give me that look. Wouldn't that be cool?" he questioned. It sounded rhetorical. "M-Maybe I could find a Devil Fruit and go on a search for One Piece, or maybe—um." Oh it was rhetorical. Isaac stumbled with his words for a moment. "What could be better than being a Pokémon Trainer, capturing Pokémon and getting Gym Badges or—" he paused again, "Maybe become a ninja to protect your village! I could go around fighting Shadows with my Persona or become a Mage for Fairy Tail!"

My eyebrow was quirked upward. The question didn't bother me in the least as we've had it before. I'm sure that a fan of just about any movie, show, or literature has had dreams about living in their favorite fictional world, where they could interact with their favorite characters. I have; fuck yeah I have. But that was before I realized that Dragon Ball Z wasn't as good as I believed.

This is why you lost to Superman, Goku! The length of your hair shouldn't determine your power level! Just look at Saitama!

But back to the point, the question was a tad unexpected.

So I kept crunching the cheesy goodness between my teeth. I broke it down into a fine paste before swallowing it in bits. The idea simmered in my head and it melted between the lobes of my brain. I scratched the back of my head. It was itchy.


"What, why?" was Isaac's genius remark.

"I don't like the idea... It 's too dangerous," was my plain answer. I listlessly shrugged. "Have you seen the crazy animes Japan's made? Dear God man, I'd die on the first day, without a doubt." Or the second; it basically depended on just how screwed I was.

"Like, what if you get transported to an anime like, um, Highschool of the Dead? There might be hot chicks everywhere with big tits, but you're stuck in a zombie apocalypse." I told him.

I don't get why, but the question brought me into my zone. Soon my lips were moving faster than a crack addict trying to get his next fix. More reasons popped into my head and they travelled out my mouth. The looooong explanation that went on was a bit too descriptive for a conversation topic such as this, but I found it pleasing. To keep it short and sweet, I'll just show small parts of it.

"Most animes take place in Japan. How the hell are you going to speak the language?"

"You basically get teleported into an alternate dimension where you don't exist in any government database. At that point you're basically an illegal immigrant, or something."

"How the hell will you know where you'll end up? For all you know you could end up in Hueco Mundo, or Impel Down. God forbid you land in Berserk!"

"Don't give me that 'Oh, I was randomly teleported to some alternate dimension! Now I have superpowers because why the flippity-flop not' crap! This isn't every other fanfiction so that doesn't happen! You're a normal human that was unfortunate enough to be a slider!"

I've read a lot of good fanfiction. And as there are good ones there were bad ones, written by people trying to fulfill some perverse fantasies. I skipped those; no need to fill my head with useless clutter. But of course you can't skip them all. Some fanfiction titles look so alluring and amazing when they really weren't, like bad milk with a false expiration date.

It's usually just Naruto randomly getting teleported to some random-ass anime where he goes around sticking his "No No Carrot" inside every other girl's "Holy Sarlac Pit." I had read quite a few of those and it had become quite the repetitive experience. Sort of like anime and transformations, or politicians lying. And I'm not going to even get started on NaruSasu and yaoi pairings!

Oh and then there was the cancer that was Self-Insert Fanfics.

Not all of them sucked, proven by the masterful authors with fingertips kissed by angels that made them. But the rest—UGH! Reading them made me feel like I was rubbing dog shit in my eyes!

They amounted to the main character being a Mary Sue or Gary Stu who "randomly" (notice those quotation marks?) obtained OP supernatural powers. They were total badass know-it-alls too, that defeated the villains, even though they had literally zero combat experience or training with a weapon, all while saying some stupid catch phrase about protecting their loved ones... or friendship... High School DxD changed it up with boob speeches, but that isn't something you should be proud of.

Not to mention they always found a way to get into every girl's—or guy's, I'm not sexist—pants!

Come on people! If you're going to make a story at least make the main character likeable with decent character development.

I let air to refill my lungs. "I'd rather stay in the real world, because even though it's boring, it's safer." My butt met the seat and I looked back at Isaac with lazy eyes. "It's as simple as that."

My speech was finished and Isaac did nothing but let his lower jaw hang from his mouth. He stared with raised eyebrows, with obvious disbelief. There was a horrid silence even as everyone in the cafeteria went on with their business. And at this moment I felt very stupid. Veeery Stupid. As in open mouth, insert thy foot!

I feel so stupid! I thought while keeping eye-contact with Isaac, who had shut his yapper. My poker face did little to reflect the chaos in my head. I can't believe I went on a raving rant about something as dumb as being teleported into T.V. show! Sweet Jesus somebody grab something blunt! Bash my skull into the floor until it's paste! Poker Face Game: LV. 100. Oh my god! I feel like jumping into a fucking hole and dying! Someone just end it here! Jotaro Kujo, eat your heart out. Kill me God, kill me!

Thankfully God decided not to kill me and instead throw a bone. Isaac unfroze and let out an annoyed groan. His hand met his face, trying to sooth the bad headache I had probably given him. His hand slid down and he put his sights on me.

"Honestly, how the hell did I become friends with such a party-pooping downer?" he asked with narrowed eyes and a crabby frown.

I stuck out my bottom lip and made snarky-whimpering sounds. "Aw! Yew huwting my feewings Isaac!" I mockingly cried. "How could you dwo dis two me?!"

"Fuck you," he returned, but I knew he didn't mean it, "You somehow always ruin every fun thing! You, ugh, you're such a pessimist." he let the last word out slowly with emphasis.

"I'll have you know that I prefer to be called a realist."

"Actually we're both wrong. You're a fun-sucking lamprey that that sucks the fun out of everything!"

"Great hyperbole," I commented, "When you go through your goth faze, you can put that down in one of your overly-emotional poems."

That got him to snicker. "You—ugh—you're definitely going to be alone for the rest of your life!" Ok, I'll admit that last one stung. "When I finally have my wedding to marry my hot supermodel wife, you aren't getting an invitation," he said, "You can sit at home with all of your cats and eat your cheese crackers for the rest of your life!"

"Oh yeah is that so?" I said. I crossed my arms, narrowed my eyes, and pushed out my lips to give me an over exaggerated angry look. "I'll just use my powers over my lovely pretties to eat the flesh off your bones!" I mockingly hissed at him like an evil witch.

"Yeah, yeah," Isaac said with a sniff, "I didn't even mean it like that. I meant if you could be reborn into an anime world."

"Still no," I said with my steadfast answer, "Knowing my luck I'd get myself killed."

"Whatever you say Olly," he quipped. I frowned at Isaac's play on my name.

"Did you just call me 'Olly,'" I repeated with mild disgust at the nickname. Ok not mild disgust more like annoyance. "Out of all the things you could've called me, you called me that?" I rolled my eyes. "Here's some info for you: that was stupid and you should feel ashamed." I nodded my head sagely.

"Psh, whatever," Isaac said. He tilted his head back and yawned, all while managing to say, "Olly olly oxen freeeeee~!"

"Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow," was my listless comment.

"You're are so crappy," Isaac said while getting up from his seat to throw away his styrofoam tray in the closest garbage.

"Isaac I am not crappy!" I replied to him in a posh voice. "I am a noble and kind gentleman," I called out to him.

"You mouth is so full of shit that I'm beginning to wonder if your asshole is any cleaner," was his witty reply as he walked off.

"Shots have been fired," I said grinning. I chuckled, watching him walk away. "Shots, have been fired."

Bantering with Isaac was fun. Two years had given our relationship time to grow strong, like the mighty oak tree! Maybe sunflowers... Though I'd prefer a cactus because those were pretty—l-l-look! The point is, is that we got along great! We were both socially awkward, we liked anime, we were both socially awkward, and we both made dirty and stupid jokes!

We had each other's phone numbers too! That might sound stupid to most, for a socially slow snail like me it was a Christmas miracle!


... I can never return to my cow, now that I have brought it such dishonor...

Jokes aside, that shitstorm earlier seemed like nothing more than a bad dream, one that I was slowly forgetting it, pushing it deep down into the yucky sewers of my brain to never be seen again.

Mr. Pittlestone being mad at me? Didn't even care about that!

The whole class laughing at me? Bitch, p-lease!

Paul getting me into—that little shit! I'll beat that fatass—lardass—pain-in-the-ass—stupid ass—dumbass—motherfucker!

I clenched my teeth together and tightened my sphincter! I glared at nothing in particular. When I get my hands on that fat pig I'll… I'llI'LL… Um… Uh…

My jaw unclenched and I leaned back. I'd probably do nothing.

I could get as angry as I want, as pissed off I want; I could imagine my foot be crammed so far up Paul's butt that he'd literally taste the bottom of my shoe as much as I pleased. But that was all I could do. If I decided to get physical it would only end badly for me. I prided myself in my logical thinking (Even if I was batshit scared of my own shadow half the time) and I knew the consequences of using physical violence to solve my problems.

So I could only glare at him spitefully.

It's the equivalent to tryhards threatening to kill you over the speaker on Black Ops, I suddenly realized with frown to match my displeasure. I have hit a spectacular, new low.

"Hey." I looked to see Isaac standing on my left. "I'm gonna' go use the bathroom. Be back in a sec, ok?"

"Ok," I answered begrudgingly, "Don't take forever. It's awkward as heck to sit here all alone!" If he heard me he didn't give an answer, and kept on walking.

He better not leave me here. I don't want to look like that awkward kid with no friends that sat alone at lunch.

I tugged at the bottom of my shirt to give my clammy skin cool air, but it was fruitless. I compulsively reached my hand up to my hair and rolled the scraggily thing between my thumb and index finger. Another one of my nervous tics, which I had done more than three times already.

I took in a shaky breath before letting it out.

Were they looking at me? Were they judging me for being by my lonesome?

Breath in… Breath out.

I looked around the lunchroom from my empty table, my head slowly swiveling on it's perch between each shoulder. The many students of this school talked, conversed, and laughed amongst themselves in their varying social groups. They snacked on their chips, munched on their sandwiches, and slurped from cold drinks.

None of them were putting their attention on me because surely, they had better things to do than watch me squirm like a worm cooking under the sun! But I just couldn't help feel it inside my bones, that when I looked away…

That all of THEM had THEIR eyes glued solely on ME.

Breath in… Breath out.

It was irrational the way that thought attacked like a rabid animal. But it was there, and it made me anxious. It was like waiting for the next boom of thunder during a storm. God it was worse than any torture I could think of.

I didn't want them to look at me; I didn't want them to judge me. I just wanted to feel hidden! Gone! Like a magician disappearing in a puff of smoke and confetti!

This was a top ten in my list of terrifying fears. Being looked at by a crowd of people, judging me, looking down upon me like I was lesser. I would like to say that there couldn't be worse fears… but my brain could cook up much, much worse.

Breath in… Breath out.

Mom always told me that when I was ever nervous that I should take deep breaths. Breath through the nose... let it out through the mouth. She said this right before a school play I had to do. I was tearing up, and being the naïve child I was at the time I clung to her words like a lifeline. It helped, so I suppose it just stuck.

Doing it was like "expelling" my fears from my body. Breathing in gathering them in the bottom pits of my stomach. Breathing out blew them, the fear, out my body like foul smoke.

Truly Mom was a wise woman. Maybe she was a saint, or a glorious wizard! Girl wizard—I mean witch! I'm sorry, I was never good at done wording things rightly! Hur dur hurrrrr!

But that "foul smoke" came from an deathless flame inside of my head. The devilish thing could be weakened, yes; it surely can incapacitated and beaten down thoroughly until it can't fight anymore. It can be shackled with the strongest of chains and bound into a cell fit for a thing of nightmares like it.

But it can't and shan't be killed. Fear was an immortal existence, and for too long had it dug its insidious claws deep inside my heart and head. And not matter how many times you strike it down it will rise once again, like some demented, twisted phoenix!

You here that Green Lantern Corps you spandex fanatics! You can suck my averagely sized penis!

What is Isaac doing? I thought with slight panic. He's been gone for like ten minutes! Or twelve; this was only an educated guess on my part. Is he giving some guy head in the stalls? I did not need that image in my head. Delete it! He better be shitting out his on lungs, or I'll be pissed! Leaving me here like this…

I looked back out at all the people around me with an uneasy gaze before looking away. This felt so uncomfortable, I want to leave so bad!

I wondered... pondered...contemplated... I-I was thinking. I wondered if this was how Paul felt. Was this the internal struggle he was forced to go through each and every day at school? Was it just school? Did he sit alone at lunch...eating his... umm... Triple Whopper Sandwich from Burger King? Did he sit alone in his loneliness? Did he stare at the other students at times, watching as they sat amongst themselves at other tables in his crushing depression? Did questioning his existence as too… ay, um-ah… why no one wanted to be his friend? Was Paul forced to look away as they brought their eyes upon him to judge him as they space that his existence wasted, peering down at him while… While. While. WhiiiiiiiOH I DON'T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUCK~!



… Breath in… Breath out… Breath in… Breath out… Breath in… Breath the fuck out.

I should consider seeing a doctor about this, I thought to myself as my anger was slowly ebbed away. It melted , swirling down the drain into the sewers of my brain. Like seriously, before I murder someone and end up as someone's prison bitch.

I hated Paul. It wasn't solely because he's sketchy, so that was some weight off my conscious. He constantly got away with doing stupid shit; I didn't like when people got away for doing stupid shit. People who do stupid shit deserved to get in trouble and should be punished accordingly! Well except for me, because I didn't want to get in trouble.

Call it stupid and tell me it was hypocritical, because it was! But that was one of my few disfigured senses of justices!

I looked both left and right at everyone eating. I looked back at the empty seat where Isaac sat earlier. I then just… before I… I am done… I am so done. Just… done.

"Ok screw this." I was completely done with all this. If Isaac wasn't going to come to me than I'll come to him.

I'll leave this here, I thought, leaving my lunchbox at the table, I'll come back for it after I find him. I maneuvered around all the student-occupied tables on my way to the bathroom. Time to see what all the hubbub is about.

I was out of the cafeteria, and after travelling down the hall and turning down onto another I came to the men's bathroom of this school.

I reached for the door handle ready to see what was up with Isaac. Many ideas popped into my brain as I tried to imagine what happened. Was he dropping one and he ran out of toilet paper? A likely theory. Texting in the bathroom? Possibly. But the best way to know is to find out. I grabbed the handle of the door and twisted it. The door always needed a little umph to it 'cuz it was heavy, but I was—


I had no time to react at all. In one second the door's handle was gripped in my hand, the next second it wasn't. It was pulled inward with enough force for me to here a swift 'whoosh' of air and to feel it blow uselessly against my cheeks. It took less than a second for my eyeballs to relate to my brain on what happened and I jumped a little. What happened? It was another person on the other side of the door. Why did they—


Damn. I need to work on my hand–eye coordination some time in the future.

Again, no time to react. The moment the door was fully open I was instantly shoved with enough force to toss me on my not-so-sexy rear. My arms went back instinctively to reduce the blow. Fuck, now my elbows were hurting and my butt was taken along for the joyride! Firstly: ouchy! Secondly: that was really impolite! Thirdly: who was the butthead that knocked me over like that? I looked up to the person standing over me in the door way and—

Fat—greasy hair—glasses—PAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUULLLLL!

Yes. Paul. This was the guy that ruined my day today and I absolutely hated. Unadulterated anger pumped in my veins like fresh adrenaline. My glare was scathingly hot like the sun's beams being focused under a magnifying glass. My face was red as my heart pumped the molten red hate in my arteries, following prickling numbness across my body. My lips pulled backwards in a snarl, showing my teeth off like a snarling dog. My fingers clenched, my nostrils flared and my muscles flexed.

All that was left was hate that burned like a powerful fire, and guess which pig was about to be roasted over it.

I was on my feet and in Paul's face in seconds, all up in his grill! Fo shizzle my nizzle homie! I glared into his beady eyes that hid behind his glasses for protection. His shirt was soiled as it had a large stain going from his collar all the way down to the bottom of it. It looked a barf stain. Yucky, yucky, yucky.

My rage faltered with each step, like a baby losing balance after his first steps. I noticed on top of that he looked really sweaty; it was unhealthily so that I actually took three steps back. Sweat poured from his glands and down his face in rivulets. It trailed down his fatty neck from his chin and dripped from his ears. It was almost like he spent an entire day in a sauna. And he looked scared, either from me, or whatever the hell happened!

Alrighty then! What up with that?

Criminy Christmas Christ! What the fuck! Was my first thought because holy fuck indeed. Is he going to have a stroke or something? I wondered in panic, my rage a lit fuse compared to the volcano that was seconds from going off as I had to wonder, What the flying fuckery happened? Over and over again in my head. Maybe he through up, going by the large stain? Oh god is he having a heart attack?! He better not, I'm not carrying his fat ass to the nurse and my phone is on me today so calling for an ambulance is a no-go!

Ok. Time to put my head to work and—WOAH SHIT MOVE LEGS!

Paul was obviously distressed, I could see it in his eyes as they whizzed back in forth in their sockets and how his jaw slightly shook. His breathing was loud and left and reentered his mouth at a speedy pace. But I didn't expect him to try and take him out again! But as they say, 'Third time's the charm!' I was just able to scramble out of the way so I wasn't mowed down by the jiggling mass that was Paul's body.

I watched with a small glare as he ran, his fat bouncing under his skin as he rushed forward, using his massive weight to gain momentum. The closest thing I could describe it as is watching a beached whale trying and failing to get back to the safety of the ocean. Honestly, I was amazed that he hadn't fallen over dead yet; I'd imagine his heart would be like one those pieces of gum with strawberry filling if it were to pop.

But he miraculously kept on moving forward. Good on him I guess. It was as if his DRILL WAS THE DRILL THAT WOULD PEIRCE THE—ok no! I'm not going to make the reference! Fatass McGee didn't deserve it! He was nowhere near as EPIC AS THE MIGHTY KAMINA!

I soon lost sight of Paul as he turned down onto another hallway to go—gee I don't—maybe the nurses office. But I still kept my eyes glued, forward, to the hallway where my sworn enemy, Paul, had skedaddled down with eyes still glaring. It was completely silent. My ears could pick up miniscule 'thunks' from behind the walls. Voices of teachers, in classrooms nearby, were obstructed by wooden doors and stonewalls that separated them from I. But that didn't really matter to me, as I kept looking forward.

"… Dick," was the less than ceremonious word that came from my mouth.

Seriously I want to know what happened, I thought while running my hand through my messy hair. One doth not mowest one down for none apperant reason. I was usually not one to touch things that usually weren't my problem because I was a sack of shitake mushrooms topped with donkey butt, but could you blame me? I nearly became the pancake Indiana Jones could've been if he hadn't escaped from that boulder, and I really wanted to know why! I wanted the truth!

"You can't handle the truth!" I mumbled to myself jokingly. Screw it, I'd figure it out later. Right now I needed to see what was up with Isaac. "Ok Friendo," I said while shoving the door open, "What's going on inside?

I walked in and I smelled the normal, mild smell of piss and shit. I wouldn't exactly call that a good sign, but it's the best I could get for a literally shitty place like this. There was that, constant buzzing sound in my ears from the crappy lights; they flickered a little proving just how crappy they were. The floor was covered in specs of… yeah. Not to mention the questionable puddle that had formed beneath a urinal.

I sighed. I didn't like the bathrooms. Time to see if anyone was here.

Scanning… Scanning… Scanning…

Scanning Complete: 0% Life Forms Found

No one was here. There was no one standing at the urinals, doing the old 'Pissing Salute' as I called it. The three stalls were empty too.

"Hey Isaac?" I called out questioningly. No answer. So he isn't here? Goddamn fuck shit Isaac! Y u do dis 2 me? "Come on Isaac are you in here man?" Silence. Lordy, lordy, lordy! Now what was I supposed to do.

Maybe I can call him… with the phone I don't have. That's what I get for leaving it on my dresser. Maybe he's back at the table; maybe he had to go to the nurse's office? He had poopy-problems and the nurse could help his poopy-problems! That made sense!

I'll go back to the table, he's probably there right now, I reasoned

So I turned around, ready to leave this repugnant place that was a crime against my nose. I was planning on leaving here, going back to the table where I would hopefully find my best friend Isaac, who I would roast for answers about where he was. Then I would go back to suffering through my hour-long classes, before heading home to be the recluse I was and hibernate in my room until dinner.

I was going to follow the ordinary cycle that I did everyday in my boring yet safe life.

But the most fearful thing happened. The "Unknown" appeared.

I turned on my heel, and out of the corner of my right eye I spotted something. Blue. I saw something bright blue. I turned back to get a better look. I saw a smidgen of it out of the door of a bathroom stall, the rest hidden behind the walls the separated the toilets. The color clashed against the dull, violet colored tiles on the ground.

The thought of finding my friend was outweighed by this small interest. Besides it's not like it could cause any harm. I would look, find out what it was, then head on my way out. Simple as that.

But I was wrong. I was so wrong. This object would be the lit fuse that set off a metaphorical bomb far too dangerous for my understanding. But I didn't know that, so I crossed the small distance of feet and peered into the dank stall. Once my mind registered what I was looking at, I blanched


Blue shorts…

Blue shorts that I really didn't want to look so familiar…

But they did look familiar! Why did my brain have knowledge beforehand on this piece of clothing that laid on the dirty ground near this porcelain throne? They surely weren't mine; I wasn't a very active person and didn't own many sports clothes. But I knew them. I've seen them. I've seen them earlier today in fact, around someone's waist. I was talking with someone earlier too.

Those were Isaac's shorts. He had been wearing them today.

What that actual freaking-flying-frog-fuckery is going on!

I reared my head back in surprise. Were these Isaac's pants? They looked like them! Why were they here? Did Isaac take them off? Did he take them off?! Oh god, what if he's walking around pantless—NO! He could've been forced to take them off! What if some guy came in here, and made him take it off?! A bully?! That sounded right! This place had enough assholes here that would do it! OH—H—H NO! What if they shoved him in a locker—BUT THEY DECIDED TO TAKE OFF ALL HS CLOTHES?! OH GOD WHAT IF HE—!

No—no—no! Deep breaths Oliver Green! Breath in… Breath out… Do not panic!

I shook my head and caught my breath that was slowly becoming faster as the shit from the sewer in my head leaked out. I looked back down. This couldn't be Isaac's pants. They were somebody else's, and they got here. Whether it was through an accident, a prank, or simple unwantedness.

These are pants, not a dead body (OH GOD ISAAC'S DEAD BODY!), I told myself to try and get my nerve back. That's not need to panic. I nodded a couple time in reassurance. This wasn't a bad sign. This was nothing. Everything was A-OK! They were just pants. Just pants!

My eyes trailed down to the "Just Pants." I stared at them hardly in silence, the only sound to be heard was the water running through pipes in the walls… I contemplated.

I backed out from the stall. "I'll go to the front office, a-and I'll tell someone there." No. That's too much for something as idle and trivial as this. "I'll, um, go tell a teacher then. They'll know what to do." Yes. That was a forgeable plan of action. "Ok. Let's do that."

I walked to the door with a new destination planned. The rubber soles of my sneakers squeaked against the floor with each step. It was a simple entertainment, like how you could play with a slinky for hours on end, or just mindlessly eat from a bag of chips. Something to mindlessly—


"Hmmm?" I let out as my foot stepped in something that felt less like floor and more like… Crap Baskets. "Oh don't tell me…" I trailed off as I twisted my planted foot, eliciting a less pleasing squishing sound. "Come on! There wasn't anything on the ground when I walked in!" I grumbled as I looked down to see what it was.

Jesus Chrysler! What the heck did I step in?!

Black goop. Encompassing the bottom of my shoe was a puddle of questionable black gunk, a foot in diameter. How it got there was beyond me; what it was was beyond me. I knew I didn't want my shoe in it though!

Ripping my foot out, I repositioned myself and watched as a footprint I left behind disappeared as it reformed.

Ok, what? I checked the bottom of my shoe, which I was surprised to see hadn't melted off, before looking back to the black mystery on the floor. What is this stuff? Some kind of science class experiment gone horribly wrong?

The black goo was entirely black. It had no color and no reflection to it. It almost looked like tar but smoother, for a lack of a better word. It was quite the viscous thing too. Unlike water or any other liquid that would've spread between the crevices between the tiles, it kept its shape.

Not to mention the smell! I coughed into a closed fist lightly to clear my lungs. It was like rotten eggs or something dead! That was rank!

I crouched and put a hand on the ground for stability. "What is this, and how did it get here?" I mumbled to myself. "There's no way it was when I came in, I definitely would've spotted it… well smelt it." I crouched down trying not be bothered by the smell.


"H-Huh?" Ok that was weird! Ripples flew out from the center of the black puddle. It was like a pebble being dropped in the center of a pond. "I think this earns me a trip to the front office," I said uneasily to myself, "This thing is definitely not safe." My eyes grew twice their size when out of nowhere the thing began to squeal, like steam from a heated tea kettle.

But I couldn't have been prepared for what happened next. I wasn't a ninja in movies the one who could catch a flying arrow. And I wasn't a trained soldier of the army, who had the reflexes to dodge an incoming fist in the nick of time. But I was sure pretty sure in fact, that neither of the could have prepared for what was about to happen to me.

It leapt at me. The black ooze somehow jumped—like a living creature it had jumped—and came right at me.

I couldn't do much, only fall backwards and scream as I became the frightened child that lay beneath the surface of my psyche.

I couldn't see! Why couldn't I see anything?! It felt like cold water was plastered across my—IT WAS ON MY FACE!


My terror-filled cries were muffled. But opening my mouth to scream was a mistake, a horrible mistake.

Cold liquid entered my mouth but the taste accompanying it was anything but! Rotted flesh and spoiled milk! It was like eating the decaying meat off road-kill like a maggot! An uncomfortable burning sensation came when it travelled up my nose and my muffled screams became louder.

I tried everything. I hopelessly thrash about, clawing at the malevolent mask on my face! But my fingers just ran right through, like it was far more liquid than it should be! But that was contradictory, as it was far to solid to shut my jaw.

The foul taste in my mouth made me want to vomit. But when it passed my pharynx and pushed through my larynx I lost it. It slid itself down my ESOPHAGUS! Soon I began to realize that my lungs couldn't pull in any air! I was suffocating!

Air... Oxygen... C-Can't breath... Need air now...

Someone help me... Someone help me... I don't want to die... Mommy...

I couldn't move… I was tired... I felt weak. In my useless flailing I had ended up on my stomach, and I guess this was how I was going to die. That was the only thing I could do now, lay here and give up. You hear that world, I give up!

And when my mind began to shut down. When I felt that hope was at its smallest. The fear inside—

Mom… he called out in the inner layers of the mind. The little boy, so frightful of his closet door and the rift beneath his bed, hid beneath the thin covers for protection.

Mommy… Again he called for the Loving Light, to rap its tender arms around him and hold him close. To make the child warm like it. Please help me Mommy! I don't want this anymore! I don't want to be here anymore! he called out to it. Waiting, as a claw reached out from beneath him and ghoulish cackles came from behind Hell's doors.

But there was nothing for him here. There was no Fire to guide him through this Darkness. There was no Heavenly Light to banish the Evils. There was no Fairy Godmother to wish his Nightmares away.

There was only Cold Blackness here. This Cold Blackness that was dark like the void. It chewed up the weak bugs between its teeth. It held no pity nor gave away kindness. For it there was only one law of this world: the strong live, and the weak perish.

And as it looked upon this sad creature hiding beneath the covers, it could see it was weak in both body and soul.

It could not survive, standing on its own two feet.

So it would suffer the same fate as those before, too weak to do anything.

The Cold Blackness picked it up by a skinny leg as it cried out for help. It opened its maw, showing off an assortment of teeth lined up in rows, each varying in aspects of size and length. They were a whirlpool of spears and swords. A firing squad of teeth.

Help, help, help Mommy! Save me please! he cried out. It was useless. This entire ordeal was nothing but despairing. That was what the Cold Blackness was there to show it, the futility of struggling. That no matter how much he screamed for help, not matter how much he pleaded—and cried—and sniffled—and whimpered—and prayed… no One—no Messiah—No God—no Thing would come to save him.

For he was just a child hiding beneath the covers of a bed. A child too fearful of his own shadow to do anything. A child that could not keep up with the strong.

So it threw him in and swallowed… him… Whole.

—vanished... I-It was g-gone.

The terror inside was gone! The gripping fear in my heart, the fright that choked my lungs, the horror that put lead in my stomach and made my knees weak—my palms sweaty—my toes curl up... was gone! The fear that filled my head with horrors from the sewer of my brain has disappeared!

Also I wasn't dead... And I could breath...—I COULD BREATH! I WAS BREATHING!

What the fucking-fuck-fucker-fucking-fuck is going on?!

My skull was going to pop, like my brain was using a sledgehammer to break free from its bone prison. I could both hear and feel the blood pumping through my ears and my heart. Thump—thump—thump! That black stuff, whatever it was had done something to me. I wasn't going to worry to much on that though; I had to deal with the more important stuff: I could breath and I wasn't dead.

I laid on my stomach for who knows how long, taking in oxygen by the pint. I was very still though, and kept my eyelids screwed shut. I didn't know if was safe yet. But after being still a bit longer, fear soon dissolved into confusion. What was happening? What was going on behind my eyelids? Minutes ticked away and soon the fear and danger of death blew away too. but how did I know? What if it was a trick?

On the count of three, I'll get up. That sounded reasonable, I could go with that.

So I waited.

One... Please God, don't dick with me! —Two...— I really don't want to that to happen! —Three!

Open eyes, roll off my front, sit up! I did this all in a second. I wasn't dead. That's a good sign! I felt my face. Nothing on it! Felt my heart. It was beating! I felt my arms, legs, chest, stomach, back, and feet! Nothing was missing! I was ok!


This moment made me realize how fantastic oxygen tasted. It flowed along my tongue twice as it entered and left my lungs. There was a metaphorical sweetness to it that my body cravingly desired.

Because I wasn't dead! I-I-I was alive!

I hopped to my feet and slowly began to laugh. It came out small at first, as a soft chuckle, but like a reservoir of water chuckles became laughs that turned into full-on hysteria of tears and guffaws. I was jumping and sprinting in circles like some crack head that had just gone through his favorite pastime.

A sixteen-year old running in circles in the middle of the bathroom while laughing like some crazy. If that doesn't suspect me of being mad, I don't know what would.

I'm alive! I'm alive! Oh thank you God! Thank you Jesus! Thank you God! Thank you—Thank You—thank you!

I cried out with utmost happiness swelling in my chest. I fell to my knees with tears of happiness streaming down my face. I closed my eyes and screamed to the heavens above.


That happy moment soon came to a closing as the adrenaline slowly wore off. I was ready to get out of the bathroom, out of this school, and get home! I would never talk about this to a single soul for the rest of my life!

Just in case, I might visit my local church and bathe in some holy water. Just to ward of supernatural spirit stuff! Maybe a trip to Rome too. I'll visit good old Pope Francis! He may not see me at first, but I'm sure that if I tell him my story he'll do me a solid! Maybe a free exorcism. Again. Just to be safe.

So I opened my eyes and whoa—trees! Red trees—a lot of red trees—cliffs and mountains—why was it dark?!

the feeling of safety stopped. Red trees. There were red trees, there were red trees in the bathroom! Why?! Night? Why was it night in the bathroom?! I looked down and saw dirt. Dirt that should have been crappy tiles!


That thought sounded stupid on it's own, but it was justified. Because a bathroom wasn't supposed to have dirt for a floor.

My feet were beneath me now, my head turning left and right wildly. My heart was going a familiary pace and my lungs burned for oxygen. It was night. Why was it night?! I was in a forest! A forest with red trees that went on for miles! Mountains as far as the eyes—my eyes, could see! I could hear crickets making their music, and bird cry out in the distance! Birds and crickets!


Breath in… Breath out.

Breath in… breath out.

Breath in… Breathe inBreathing wasn't helping!

My mouth opened and I gaped like a fish before shutting it. It opened again before closing. Lather, rinse, repeat, and I did this ten more times.

I-I-I-I couldn't handle this! I've sure no one could handle this! At this point I could not comprehend what was going on! My brain was completely fried I'll have you know! So I did the only thing that I could do to help voice my feelings.




Author's Note: 15,000 words! 15,000! I may have gone overboard…

You guys better enjoy this shit, because I didn't go through constant weeks of suffering just for you to hate on it alright! I poured my heart, tears, blood, other's blood, virgin blood, and soul into this for you to enjoy and to fight against the dreaded disease that is the Mary-Sue!


And I want to know how you feel about my lead character. Oliver Green is quite the person isn't he. I tried to make him as Anti-Gary-Stu as possible. I guess him being crazy sort of fell into place when I finished his character, but I tried not to go overboard with it either.

If you haven't noticed, I'm trying out some new righting techniques, something I saw GaleSynch do in his story, "The Estranged Star." It looked pretty neat.

I'm going to keep this to the point. I'm going to start working on Faker's next chapter now, and revising the them too. Then I'll get back to this. And maybe after I'll be able to get to a real story.

Favorite and follow! Review and PM me too! I can take em!