《High School DEATH GAMES》


 Chapter 1 - The Black Box

    Hey, you! Yes, you!


    Sitting up there on your high horse, judging me, judging everyone, judging the world, from the safe confines of your comfortable life. If you don''t hate me yet, you''ll hate me real soon. See if I care.


    I''ve dealt with your type. The one who knows for sure they''ll act a certain way in a certain circumstance. The ones who are so confident in human morality and their own loyalty, loathing those who don''t follow or fit.


    I know you can hear me. I know you¡¯re listening. So listen. I got a question.


    Have you ever asked yourself:


    Is this it?


    In the back of my mind, I¡¯ve been asking myself more and more.


    Is this it?


    It¡¯s my curse.


    You might think that makes me a pessimist. But I¡¯m not. I¡¯m actually quite the optimist. Let me do that hackneyed high school technique of starting this thing off with a definition.


    Optimist: a person who tends to be hopeful for and expects the most favorable outcome.


    Unless you¡¯re delusional or have the memory of a goldfish, you end up setting yourself up for disappointment because nothing is ever quite as good as your imagination.


    Losing your virginity, getting drunk, a college party. Everything seems so empty, so fake, like a meticulously wrapped Christmas present with nothing inside.


    I keep hoping there¡¯s something more out there, something real and substantial, something that I can feel, something substantial. I want my heart to sink so far into the depths of despair, to beat so fast it bursts from my chest, to feel so light that it could drag my body into the floating clouds.


    I just want to feel something, anything. Something other than these insignificant, petty emotions swirling around, fogging up my brain with jealousy, crushes, and hate. I want to connect with people over something real, not over who¡¯s our favorite band. Our lives have diminished so much that the music we like, the TV shows we like, the people we like has become the most important connection we can make between two people.


    Is that it? Is that all we really are?


    There has to be something more. Being an optimist is quite the cruel paradox and the world seems to be full of them.


    Like god is playing a joke on us.


    I swear I¡¯m not just another angsty teen going through an existential crisis.


    I already went through all that when I was 6 and my father killed himself, the selfish bastard. He always told me the world is beautiful and that people are essentially good, that God gave us life so He could see us smile.


    He never stopped fucking smiling.


    I dream of him hanging in the garage from the motor for the door opener. They never let me see his dangling body, but I checked and there¡¯s nowhere else to hang the rope.


    In my dream, while he¡¯s swinging he still smiles at me, an exaggerated swollen smile, like the over inflated smiley face on a bloated blue balloon. In my dream, he looks at me with those bulging eyes and one last time his purple lips mouth:


    I love you, everything will be alright.


    He fucking lied.


    We all lie. We say we¡¯re happy when we¡¯re sad. We say it¡¯s ok when it¡¯s not.


    Hi, hello, how are you doing?


    Actually not so well, I got fired, my brother¡¯s in rehab, my step dad¡¯s an alcoholic, oh and I¡¯ve been considering prostitution. But thanks for asking, how are you?


    Nobody wants to hear that depressing shit. We don¡¯t actually want to hear how you¡¯re doing. We just want you to say good so we can move on and pretend everything¡¯s alright.


    Ok, let¡¯s say, it¡¯s a closer friend. You know, the one that does listen to you. What do they do? Say I¡¯m sorry? Yea, sometimes we just need to hear someone say I¡¯m sorry.


    Fuck that. You know what I need? Money, a job, someone to kill all the heroin dealers in a 50 mile radius and lock my step dad in a room for a month till he¡¯s fucking sober.


    So what do we end up with?


    A life full of shallow relationships, a world full of people who don¡¯t really know each other and don¡¯t really want to. Is that why we go around pining for romance, for that one true love that we can tell anything and everything to, the one we can spend the rest of our lives with?


    Bullshit. It¡¯s all talk. You can¡¯t trust someone with just words. Words disappear into thin air. Literally.


    70 percent of people, both men and women, have cheated on their partners. You think I¡¯m lying? Look that shit up. I did.


    Oh sure, but your perfect relationship is different. You know exactly what your love is thinking, sometimes it¡¯s like you can read each other¡¯s mind.


    Then, you both A are super fucking shallow or B don¡¯t know shit about the depths a person has.


    We never scrape the filthy muck buried at the bottom of the soul. We live our pleasant agreeable lives only seeing that pleasant agreeable side, paddling around in the shallows of our leisurely lives, never having to drown in the dark, deep end.


    That¡¯s why when the black box first appeared, it was a jolt. The color a foreboding black, screaming silently that it mustn''t be ignored. It was neither a shiny pebble on the side of the road nor a yellow speed bump but like all the inked paths on the map were washed away into black.


    That something so strange would distort everything around it, wrench insides out, like it was a piece ripped straight out of the mighty clutches of a black hole, where no light escapes.


    Yet there was some kind of gloss, a shining coat over the swirling black, reflecting the light, the world, as if it were some corrupt mirror reflecting only the black of our shining souls, an excavator, unearthing the entombed human from beneath the chasms, cracking the casing, for all to see.


    Yea, that sounded emo as fuck, but I could just feel a certain grim gravity, a kind of keen evil emanating from it¡¯s depths.


    An anomaly.


    It looked out of place. Like it didn¡¯t belong in the classroom. Matter of fact, it looked like it didn¡¯t belong in this world. But there it stood, as big as the table it sat on, the black box, gleaming like a beetle shell, as if the metal were from some alien species.


    The class was abuzz. Was it new laptops for the class? iPads? High tech projector? Holograms? Some kind of science experiment? Government monitoring device? Was there snakes inside? A robot?


    But Mr. Turner waved away all box related questions. Unable to figure out what it was, the initial torrent of whispers quickly faded and conversation turned back to the norm. Taylor broke Brandon¡¯s nose cause his hand magically found itself down the wrong pair of pants at Ashley¡¯s party. Grant aggressively threw a bag of Baked Lays chips at Evan during lunch. Cause unknown. Basic high school gossip.


    Idiots, the lot of them. We felt so secure in our safe lives that we had no survival instinct, nobody was on edge even when something so obviously evil watched us.


    How everyone could just ignore the menacing monolith massively sitting at the front of the class, I had no idea. You could barely see Mr. Turner¡¯s balding head bob behind it as he wrote the day¡¯s lesson plan on the board.


    That¡¯s why nobody noticed when it cut his head off. You wouldn¡¯t believe me, but it took a full eleven seconds before somebody screamed. And yes, I counted.


    Exactly twenty one minutes prior is when I first caught a glimpse of the mysterious black box.


    Huddled behind a wall which offered protection from both the biting wind and prying eyes, I stamped out the burning butt of my cigarette. The last of the embers hissed in the dirty snow.


    Yes, I know smoking causes cancer and I¡¯m killing myself slowly, but at least it¡¯s better than killing yourself quickly. I mean, what else can say ¡°cool badass rebel¡± in one swift suicidal puff. By the way, that was sarcasm. You''ll get used to it. Plus, I¡¯m avoiding my girlfriend.


    The loading bay for the cafeteria food trucks forms a sort of inlet, providing cover from inquisitive teachers and goody two shoes. These days people take it as a personal affront when they catch me smoking, as if they¡¯re the ones I¡¯m killing. Can¡¯t even kill myself in peace.


    I could go across the street to where the rest of the ¡°cool badass rebels¡± safely smoked away, but there was some other people I was avoiding.


    Mainly, everyone.


    Each year, the number of people I can tolerate declines exponentially. Given the current rate, I estimated in five years, I can officially take the title of crazy cat lady living in that run down house all the kids think is haunted and dare each other to go ding dong ditch.


    I peeked around the wall to check if the coast is clear.


    ROAR. The back end of a truck thundered past, almost running me over. I landed on my ass, scrambling backwards, and hid myself behind the row of industrial sized waste disposals.


    The food delivery¡¯s every Monday, why is it one day early?


    The loading bay is more like a loading porch, an elevated ledge that leads to a pair of double doors. Through those doors, the two janitors Jeb and Eddie came outside and guided the reversing truck.


    Two men in suits climbed down from the cab and disappear into the back of the truck with Jeb and Eddie. Their size and straight backed posture screamed government agents straight out of a TV show.


    After a minute, the two men reappear, each pushing a dolly stacked with black boxes. But now they were dressed not in suits but in the janitor¡¯s uniform, the navy blue cloth stretched too tight over their muscular frame. They roll the boxes into the school.


    I wait. A minute, two minutes. Still Jeb and Eddie stay in the back of the truck.


    What¡¯re they doing? Maybe they¡¯re just loading up more dollies inside or maybe they''re dead. Not my problem. I take the opportunity to make a break for it.


    I am not the good guy. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    If I were in whatever comic book universe, I would never be the superhero. I always end up sympathizing with the villains what with their banging costumes and tragic backstories.


    The heroes are all boring. Way too perfect and cliche. Even their struggles are perfect and cliche.


    Just compare the Joker and Batman. Batman¡¯s an orphan just like every Disney princess out there who inherits a multi billion dollar empire. The Joker¡¯s a standup comedian whose pregnant wife is murdered while he falls into a vat of acid. I mean being a stand up comedian is bad enough.


    I get it, I get it. The heroes are who we should try to be or aspire to. But we¡¯re not and never will be. We¡¯re much more like the villains. Flawed and insecure. And one mean word away from blowing up a whole city. By the way, that¡¯s a hyperbole. I do not condone terrorist activities.


    You can definitely consider this not a normal everyday occurrence. I hope Jeb and Eddie weren¡¯t dead. I''m not sure why I keep thinking that. My mind does tend towards the dark, but there was just something weird about the circumstance of it all.


    Well, if they were, there was nothing I could do about it.


    What were with those boxes, anyways? Probably just some new equipment for the Advanced Placement classes.


    But what was with those suits? A novelty trucking company where drivers must be fashionably dressed?


    Before I can chuckle to myself, Adam, a skinny skater kid, complete with the beanie and Vans, nudges me with one of his exceedingly sharp elbows, the pain like a blade to the ribs.


    ¡°Incoming.¡± He nods towards a bobbing brown haired girl, her glare like a freckled heat seeking missile, weaving her way through the hall. Her brown ponytail swaying back and forth so rapidly, like a propellor driving her even faster towards me.


    A me-seeking missile.


    I think about running for a second before I think better of it. She¡¯ll catch me eventually. She barrels into the middle of us, stopping right in front of me.


    ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t at the party?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t.¡± Deny. Deny. Deny. Advice courtesy of a mediocre comedy from the 60¡¯s: A Guide for the Married Man directed by the great Gene Kelly.


    ¡°Isabelle just told me she saw you there.¡± Loudmouth bitch. Stop talking about other people and get a life. The fucking lesbian has had the hots for Soph since the third grade. ¡°So were you there?¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°At the party.¡±


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you just text me?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to look you in the eye when I asked you.¡±


    ¡°Asked me what?¡±


    ¡°What were you doing at the party?¡±


    ¡°Which party?¡± I know I¡¯m just being annoying.


    ¡°Stop being an idiot. At Casey¡¯s party on Saturday night.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that party. I had to pick Julian up.¡± She stares at me and I stare straight back at her. Always look them in the eye. Adam looks around awkwardly, but she doesn¡¯t care.


    Finally, Julian coughs and intervenes, his lanky frame over exaggerating his already theatrical movements.


    ¡°Yea sorry, Soph. I was way too drunk. Almost got in a fight with some Ridgewood motherfucker.¡± He mocks a fists up, guard stance. It¡¯s a good excuse cause everyone knows Julian¡¯s a lightweight and how often he blatantly ignores that fact.


    ¡°They¡¯re all preppy rich kid punks anyways.¡± Adam adds. ¡°Tried to sell us some bad coke.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t say a word for what had to be an entire minute, before walking away in a huff that only girls can pull off, her ponytail wagging disapprovingly at me.


    ¡°Thanks for the morning grill session! Now I won¡¯t need breakfast!¡± Yea, I¡¯m a dick.


    ¡°Dayum. Sophia¡¯s ass lookin¡¯ mm mm good,¡± Julian can¡¯t help but stare at her disappear around the hallway, craning his neck rather comically.


    ¡°I think you mean Sophia¡¯s ass lookin¡¯ so fine.¡± It¡¯s not even a great pun and it¡¯s definitely been said before, but we laugh anyways, high fiving each other. Such is the life of high school.


    ¡°Hey, that¡¯s my girl you¡¯re talking about.¡± I feign offense.


    ¡°And you¡¯re girl¡¯s got a fine ass. Thank god for volleyball girls. Whoa, look at that shit!¡±


    ¡°Chill, man. We¡¯ve all seen Sophia¡¯s ass before.¡±


    ¡°Nah, nah, man look!¡± Julian points out the truck driver wheeling a dolly full of the black boxes down the hallway.


    ¡°What are they? They look like speakers.¡± Except there¡¯s no driver, no fuzzy area where the sound should come out. It¡¯s completely solid. No latch, no cover, no lid.


    ¡°Maybe we¡¯re finally getting laptops for everyone.¡±


    ¡°This is a public school. There¡¯s no way.¡±


    ¡°Probably for the smart kids. They get all the cool shit.¡±


    ¡°Yea, how are they gonna make us smarter if the smart ones get all the attention.¡±


    ¡°At least, Mar¡¯s got Sophia. She¡¯s smart and bangin. Whew, I thought she found out for a second.¡± Julian sighs as if he was the one under interrogation.


    ¡°Found out what?¡± Adam asks.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know? Ohh sheeiitt. My man here hooked up with the arguable number two girl in the school.¡± Julian theatrically proclaims, more excited for me than I am for myself.


    ¡°Whaaatttt? Kailee?¡±


    ¡°No you dumbass. Jenna!¡±


    ¡°Jenna¡¯s not number two. She¡¯s unproportional.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you a fashion designer?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s shown me some designs. I think he could be the next Tom Ford.¡±


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s already gay so he¡¯s halfway there.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, guys.¡± Adam shoves Julian. ¡°Wait, so hook up as in like make out?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you in middle school? Who the hell ¡®hooks up¡¯ anymore?¡± Julian throws up the air quotes.


    ¡°So they did it?¡±


    ¡°They did it. You fucking virgin. They banged, they fucked, they fiddled, they boned, they went all the way to home base or as far as two girls can go, which I guess is third base so fiddled is probably the most apt term.¡±


    ¡°No you didn¡¯t. For real? Jenna with them big ol¡¯ titties?¡±


    ¡°With them god like, bigger than triple d¡¯s, I-wanna-bury-my-face in them fluffy pillows, the original golden globes, big ol¡¯ titties.¡± Julian motorboats ghost titties in his hands.


    ¡°Nice. Poetic as always. You know she was considering breast reductions for gymnastics?¡±


    ¡°Heresy. Those are gorgeous breasts bestowed upon her by the heavens, a true god-given gift to all of humanity.¡± Julian spreads his arms wide as if he was god. He¡¯s also the dramatic one.


    ¡°Miracle tits. Took two hands to hold one of them.¡±


    ¡°Just like you should hold the holy grail.¡±


    ¡°I kinda like small titties. Like Kailee¡¯s.¡± Adam interjects.


    ¡°Man, shut the fuck up.¡± Julian punches him in the shoulder. ¡°Even if you like Monet, you should still be able to appreciate Picasso.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, Monet is a classic from every angle. Picasso is nice from a distance, but too much Cubism and it just looks all out of whack. Overwhelming.¡±


    I like hanging with guys. We talk about either sports or girls. It''s simple.


    I mean who else can describe a sack of fat so endearingly as to compare it to genius painters and disagree over the top 5 hottest girls in the school at least twice before the first class. By the way, it¡¯s Mia, Jenna, London, Diana, and finally Sarah, from first to last, and Sophia¡¯s like way down there, number 15 at best.


    Fifteen''s not bad but now you know why I couldn¡¯t pass up an opportunity on the couch with Jenna and them big ol¡¯ titties. I told you, I¡¯m not the good guy.


    So why do I even bother with Sophia? There are advantages to having a girlfriend. First and foremost, sex. But also social legitimacy. It¡¯s a sign that someone normal accepts you and therefore you must be socially acceptable.


    The transitive property of social acceptance.


    It¡¯s also the main reason why I¡¯m talking with these idiots. Once everyone starts thinking you¡¯re a loner, your branded for life. That¡¯s why everyone loves those cheesy YA dystopia movies. In fantasy land, you can overcome and break free of the life of an outcast, destroy the system, and arise as the hero celebrated by all those who once spurned you.


    But reality is a much harsher mistress.


    The bell rings. Five minute warning before first period starts.


    ¡°Come on. If I get another late, Mr. Turner¡¯s gonna lower my grade again.¡±


    ¡°Well, an F minus is still an F.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    ¡°Awww. Come on, Mr. Turner. It was ten seconds.¡±


    ¡°Why do you cut it so close? Just come early and this wouldn¡¯t happen.¡±


    ¡°I was early! But then I had to go to the bathroom.¡± Good one. But it¡¯s not gonna work.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time. It¡¯s not even the second or third. This is the fifth time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sooo sorry, Mr. Turner. But you don¡¯t even start class right away.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too, Julian. You know that¡¯s no excuse. Rules are rules. I can¡¯t let this slide.¡±


    ¡°Please? It won¡¯t happen again.¡± Julian pleads.


    ¡°There¡¯s rules that I have to follow as well.¡±


    ¡°Fuck. Come on, Mr. T.¡±


    ¡°Do you also want detention for profanity?¡±


    ¡°No, Mr. Turner.¡±


    ¡°Then, please go to your seat.¡±


    Every morning, Mr. Turner took the first ten minutes of class to write the ten important dates in history we would be learning that day along with their corresponding events on the board.


    I don¡¯t know why he''s doing it today because the box blocked the board, but he did it anyways. Routine, I guess.


    We all immerse ourselves in a routine. He was old and his hand shook. So he took painstaking care to write it neatly. Plus, he had to readjust his suspenders every 30 seconds.


    Everyone loves him for it because it meant less class time which meant more time to waste talking about nothing. Our routine.


    ¡°The chainsaw would be so boss.¡± Fat Sam always thought things were boss. He isn¡¯t that fat, but he''s definitely the fattest on the soccer team. That¡¯s why he played center back. Julian was striker, Adam was a left back, and Henry was goalie.


    Yea, our soccer team wasn¡¯t that great. I would¡¯ve definitely made it an improvement but there were no girls allowed. Like some elementary schooler¡¯s treehouse club.


    ¡°Yea that would rip everything to shreds.¡± Henry agreed with everyone and ended up contradicting himself a lot. He¡¯s never noticed. I had a suspicion that he might be a slightly more advanced parrot hiding as a human, but there was no way to confirm this hypothesis.


    ¡°Machines malfunction. You run out of gas or the chain snaps, you¡¯re dead. You need something reliable. Like hammers.¡± Adam disagrees.


    ¡°Yea, hammers are probably better. Chainsaws might break.¡± Can you tell that it''s Henry?


    ¡°Like that guy in Walking Dead. He had double hammers. That guy was so boss!¡±


    ¡°But he fucking died. That shit¡¯s way too close for comfort. I¡¯d have to go with that fucking thing with a curved blade at the end of a pole.¡± Julian adds his favorite.


    ¡°A naginata.¡± Shit, I play too many video games.


    ¡°Whatever the fuck. That shit¡¯s like optimal zombie fucking up range.¡±


    ¡°Where the hell are you gonna find a spear? If hammers are too short, baseball bats are probably the best.¡±


    There¡¯s something strangely refreshing about a zombie apocalypse. Limited number of rules. Simplicity of survival.


    Is it fucked up that I sometimes wish for that kind of shit to happen?


    Yes, I would kill off 90 percent of the human population to relieve my boredom.


    And I¡¯m really fucking bored.


    Bored of being trapped for 16 years in the same town, living with the same family, going to the same school with the same friends. It¡¯s a prison sentence. Absolutely nothing happens and I¡¯m going crazy. People dream of true love forever and I¡¯d rather shoot myself in the head.


    So when Mr. Turner¡¯s head fell off or rather the box cut it off, I couldn¡¯t help but smile. Just a little.


    Ok. When it happened, I admit I wasn¡¯t looking at the black box either just like everyone else. But I had a good excuse.


    My latest obsession: Gessica.


    Gessica the violinist and swimmer. Gessica with a G, like her parents knew she wouldn¡¯t be like all the other Jessica¡¯s.


    The girl, or more aptly the indifferent pale angel, who sat right in the front, practically glowing in the backdrop of the inky black box. Who had pale blue eyes and pale blond hair as if the years in a chlorinated swimming pool had stripped her of color. Who uses those spare morning minutes to read a book and not just any book, but the gore filled tragedy that is Battle Royale.


    Instead of just settling for the vanilla version Hunger Games is, she went back to the unadulterated source before Suzanne Collins mutated and mutilated the raw and real story into a twisted Twilight/Disney fairytale that everyone has come to know and love.


    Or at least that¡¯s what I hoped she believed. I wouldn¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never talked to her before.


    I know, I know I have a girlfriend. But Gessica¡¯s a special case. My god, you¡¯re uptight. You¡¯d do the same if you knew her like I do.


    Out of the corner of my eye, Mr. Turner¡¯s head stops moving, then disappears behind the box.


    One. I figure he¡¯s bent down to pick something up. But beneath the table, instead of an arm, I see his head bounce off the floor and roll. A moment later, blood splatters the whiteboard like a Jackson Pollick painting, or is it Pollock?


    Two. His body oddly stands erect for a couple seconds, before collapsing to the ground with a thud. Still nobody looks up.


    Three. The head rolls to a stop in front of Gessica¡¯s desk. Glancing over top of the book, her eyes meet Mr. Turner¡¯s dead ones.


    Four. She traces it back to the neck and finally finds the absent body. I watch as her face slowly transforms in realization that the head is detached.


    Five. Her eyebrows knit together, her face scrunched in concentration, as she tries to figure out some kind of logic behind it all.


    Six. Having found no rational explanation, her face relaxes into a slack jawed disbelief. It must be fake. Some kind of sick joke.


    Seven. Looking around, she finds the body peeking out from behind the table, blood staining the blue carpet maroon.


    Eight. Somehow, paler than pale, her face stretching back into that openness of pure white fear, skin tightening around her jaw and cheekbones.


    Nine. Her eyes bulge and her mouth opens impossibly wide but no sound comes out.


    Ten. She chokes, her scream caught, collecting somewhere in her throat, building up before it erupts.


    Eleven. A shrill scream bursts forth, piercing everyone¡¯s ears, stabbing their heads.


    With this, I knew things were gonna be real fucked. And fun.

 Chapter 2 - Dead Teacher

    Panic doesn¡¯t creep through a crowd like the tide, it crashes. Like a wave. Drowning the victims in instant terror.


    As if everyone¡¯s heads were attached to a single puppet string, the whole class looks up in one broad sweep.


    They find the bloody whiteboard framing the black box, then they look down at the floor, their faces going through the same exact steps Gessica¡¯s did three seconds earlier.


    One by one, their screams join in, horribly harmonizing like the screeching of broken violins. The wet splashes of vomit hitting the floor. Short staccato gasps of the hyperventilating. My blood''s bass pumping. The occasional ¡°Holy shit¡± and ¡°Oh my god¡±. A raucous discordant orchestra.


    It¡¯s weird cause everyone¡¯s definitely seen an outrageous number of gruesome death scenes through TV and movies. Yet, it never prepares them for the reality of blood.


    I think it¡¯s the smell. You can¡¯t smell through a screen. And when that acrid metallic reek hits you, your brain reacts physically.


    The heart hammers against the ribs, palms drip with sweat, breath grows short. But it isn¡¯t fear coursing through my veins. It¡¯s pure exhilaration.


    After the initial shock, the first instinct is to run. But the growing pool of blood blocks the door. So the class ends up scrambling to the back near the windows.


    My desk is already in the back corner, so I stay seated as everyone crowds around me, a little too closely.


    ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Is he dead?¡±


    ¡°Call the police!¡±


    ¡°Did anyone see what happened?¡±


    ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡±


    ¡°Oh god.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Everyone falls silent. Only whimpers trickle through the room.


    Nick steps out from the group and faces the rest of us. ¡°Everything¡¯s going to be ok. I¡¯m calling the police. Don¡¯t worry. If you just listen to me, I¡¯ll make sure everyone will be safe.¡±


    People like him make me nauseous. With his parted hair and bloated self assurance squeezing out from his too tight pink polo. Ok, he might not have been wearing a pink polo, but he¡¯s that kind of trust fund baby/lacrosse douche. He¡¯s actually a wrestler, but you get what I mean.


    ¡°Shhhhh. It¡¯s ringing.¡± They all stare expectantly at Nick, trusting him, trusting the police or some sort of adult authority will sort this all out. Through the walls behind my head, I hear more muffled screams.


    ¡°What did they say?¡±


    ¡°Are they coming?¡± Nick¡¯s mouth hangs open.


    ¡°I¡¯m on hold.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit. Give me that.¡± Someone snatches the phone from Nick¡¯s hand and listens to the pre-recorded answering service.


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡±


    ¡°How can the police be busy?¡±


    ¡°He must¡¯ve called the wrong number.¡± Hailey, not a goth girl but just likes black and darkness or so she says.


    ¡°Yea? He dialed 911 wrong?¡±


    ¡°Well, I mean, it¡¯s absurd. They¡¯re supposed to always be there.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong. I called, too. There¡¯s no answer.¡± Mary cuts in timidly. I hate people like her. Yea I know, I hate a lot of people. Speak up or shut up. Who wears braided pigtails after third grade? She looks like she would melt if someone even raised their voice at her.


    ¡°Then shouldn¡¯t we run?¡±


    ¡°Go ahead. Ladies first.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t the boys supposed to be the ones protecting the girls?¡±


    ¡°Oh sure. Now it¡¯s chivalry. What ever happened to feminism?¡±


    ¡°Fuck this. I¡¯m getting out of here.¡± Colin saunters towards the door, pauses in front of Mr. Turner¡¯s body and steps gingerly over it. It. Not him. It. It¡¯s not Mr. Turner anymore, it¡¯s his body. That he left behind. Or something.


    Colin rattles the doorknob. Let me guess, it¡¯s locked.


    ¡°It¡¯s locked.¡± Colin kicks at the door. It doesn¡¯t budge. Still, I like people like Colin. He doesn¡¯t take shit from no one, speaks his mind, maybe a little too much. Genuine. Maybe I¡¯m just jealous.


    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll help.¡± Nick comes over and together they ram the door together with their shoulders.


    ¡°One, two, three.¡± They slam into it again, but nothing. A few of the more rattled among us start to cry again now knowing they¡¯re locked in and help isn¡¯t on the way anytime soon.


    It¡¯s always the girls. I don¡¯t want to be a sexist but the girls just cry easier. Sure there were a few tears here and there among the guys. But maybe because of the social pressure of being a man or all those violent video games, the guys are much more put together. Well, except for Jean Phillipe. He¡¯s blubbering more than the girls.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, guys. It¡¯ll be fine. We¡¯ll get out of here. Together.¡± Nick stands before us. Our great leader with his soothing words. It works though, the crybabies calm down a bit. Especially Jean. I think he¡¯s in love with Nick.


    Hannah, Nick¡¯s girlfriend, joins him and holds his hand, her eyes staring up at him in reverence. A mousy, freckled girl who would be tasty bait for a cult if she wasn¡¯t already the top follower in the cult of Nick. Jean''s a close second.


    ¡°Someone! Help!¡± Colin pounds on the door, shouting through the embedded small window. ¡°There¡¯s a dead guy in here! Get us the fuck outta here!¡±


    ¡°Colin. Stop it. You¡¯re scaring everyone.¡± Nick warns.


    ¡°Shut up. Don¡¯t tell me what to do. Shit. I''m not just gonna sit here on my ass waiting. Try the window.¡± Mary complies and pulls on the handle.


    ¡°Move.¡± Colin pushes her aside and pulls, his knuckles straining white. ¡°God fucking damn it.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to panic. Someone¡¯s coming for us. I know it.¡± Nick.


    ¡°No one¡¯s coming. At least anytime soon. We¡¯re not the only ones this is happening to.¡± Everyone¡¯s heads whip around to look at Sal. So he noticed too. I wasn¡¯t surprised as he was one of the few of us that had our shit together. Who isn¡¯t stunned from the fear and shock.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Colin grabs ahold of Sal¡¯s collar.


    ¡°Let go and I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    ¡°Calm down, Colin. We¡¯re all in this together.¡± Nick pulls Colin away and Colin let¡¯s him. Sal smooths out his short sleeve button down before talking.


    ¡°The same thing¡¯s happening in the classes next door.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you saying?¡±


    ¡°How do you know?


    ¡°A few minutes ago, you could hear screams through the walls.¡±


    ¡°That might not mean anything.¡±


    ¡°At the exact same time as us?¡±


    ¡°All the teachers are dead?¡±


    ¡°The whole school¡¯s stuck in their classrooms?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s highly likely. Do you see anyone else in the hallways?¡±


    ¡°So what do we do?¡±


    Nick the choir boy steps in. He¡¯s actually a preacher¡¯s boy. ¡°We wait. Somebody will realize what happened in an hour or two.¡±


    ¡°Someone will come for us.¡± Hannah agrees.


    ¡°Fuck that. Move aside.¡± Colin picks up a desk and heaves it at the window. Screams again. They¡¯re on edge, you can¡¯t blame them. With a clatter, the desk falls harmlessly. Not even a crack on the window.


    ¡°What is this?¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    "I don''t know."


    "This is getting a little scary."


    "It wasn''t scary when Mr. Turner died?"


    ¡°My dad will know what¡¯s happening! He¡¯s a cop!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll call my mom.¡±


    ¡°I wanna call my mom, too.¡± You don''t have to announce it to everyone.


    Everyone¡¯s phones are out now. It took them long enough. I don¡¯t really have anyone to call. I don¡¯t think my mom would bother answering anyways. She doesn¡¯t look at me the same after the ¡°accident.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not working.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no signal.¡±


    ¡°Me neither.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no Wifi, either.¡±


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s phone is working?¡±


    ¡°We just called the police a minute ago.¡±


    ¡°Electromagnetic signal jamming.¡± Sal muttered to himself. It''s the box.


    I had no evidence it cut off Mr. Turner¡¯s head, but I had a feeling that all this was because of it. I peer at it closely, as closely as I can from across the room. I wasn¡¯t about to go near it. When did the red light stop blinking? Now it was steady, unblinking, like it was recording us, watching us descend into madness.


    ¡°I¡¯ll check the class phone.¡± Nick walks over, sticking close to the wall, staying as far away from the body as possible.


    He picks up the phone. For the second time, he shakes his head in disbelief.


    ¡°Nothing. Not even a dial tone.¡±


    ¡°Check the computer! It¡¯s probably on a LAN wired connection.¡±


    A few minutes later, he walks back dejected. But when he sees the others looking at him, he perks up. A true politician.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok. We¡¯ll all be ok. We¡¯ll all get out of here and go home to our families in no time. The important thing is we¡¯re safe and no one¡¯s hurt.¡±


    ¡°Except for Mr. Turner.¡±


    ¡°How the hell did he die anyways?¡±


    ¡°His head fell off.¡±


    ¡°Obviously, but how?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see. Did you?¡±


    ¡°No, I just saw...after.¡±


    ¡°If the police come, what do we say?¡±


    ¡°When they come. Not if.¡±


    ¡°Yea, yea. Of course. When they come.¡±


    Nick clears his throat. ¡°Hey, guys. Let¡¯s try to figure out what happened. I¡¯m sure if we all work together we¡¯ll be able to get a complete picture.¡±


    ¡°The picture¡¯s right there. He was murdered.¡± Either Sal¡¯s messing with Nick or he loves chaos. Well, there has to be an outsider to Nick¡¯s insider.


    A new round of murmurs. As if it¡¯s a surprise.


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°Someone murdered him?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Calm down. We don¡¯t know that for a fact. Either way, I won¡¯t let anyone else be hurt.¡± Nick tries to take control of the room again.


    ¡°People¡¯s heads don¡¯t just fall off.¡± Sal pushes the rim of his wire framed glasses up his nose before continuing. ¡°There has to be a murderer and the most likely suspect is someone in this room.¡±


    ¡°One of us is the murderer?¡± The question lingers in the air, seeping into us, tainting our minds.


    Subconsciously, we all start to back away from each other. Seems like our survival instinct is in full throttle now. Only needed a murdered teacher to kickstart it.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me. I wasn¡¯t anywhere near the front of the class.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t me. I was talking with Andy.¡±


    ¡°Who was near the front?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t Gessica scream first?¡±


    ¡°Yea, she must¡¯ve seen something.¡±


    ¡°Gess, who did this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°What happened to Mr. Turner?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know.¡± Fresh tears streak down her already tear stained face, her white shirt clinging to her body, wet with even more tears and sweat.


    ¡°What did you see?¡±


    ¡°You had to have saw something.¡±


    ¡°How could you not see what the hell happened?¡± One of the girls desperately shakes Gess by the shoulders.


    ¡°Tell us anything!¡±


    ¡°I-I just saw his head on the floor.¡±


    ¡°Was anyone with him?¡±


    ¡°No. There was no one.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck?¡±


    ¡°Stop lying.¡± Uh oh. It¡¯s turning into a Lord of the Flies lynch mob now. The power of the herd. Groupthink.


    ¡°Come on. Just tell us the truth.¡± Another person taps her on the shoulder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡±


    ¡°Lay off of her.¡± Nick intervenes on her behalf.


    ¡°She says she didn¡¯t see anything.¡± Hannah adds.


    ¡°She was sitting right there!¡±


    ¡°Yea, she¡¯s the only one who knows what happened.¡± I could stop them. She just needs one person on her side. But why should I stick my neck out for her? They might all just turn on me. You can call me a pussy or piece of shit. See if I care.


    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s the murderer.¡± Yes. It might sound ridiculous someone would even say that, but this is a group of dumb teens trapped inside a classroom with a beheaded body. They¡¯re ready to believe anything.


    ¡°That¡¯s why she¡¯s not telling us anything.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense.¡± Oh my god. They¡¯re so retarded. How is a little girl going to cut off a grown man¡¯s head. I want to shout at them. Sal can¡¯t help but roll his eyes.


    ¡°Even if she didn¡¯t do it, maybe she¡¯s involved with the real murderer.¡±


    ¡°An accomplice.¡± The whispers continue to circulate. Gess looks like she¡¯s shrunken inside herself. Everyone takes a step back from her. Even Nick.


    ¡°Be careful, she might have a knife.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go near her.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Gess. Can you think of anything?¡± Nick asks with his sickly sweet sympathetic voice.


    "Come on, Gess. We need to know."


    ¡°Stop fucking with us, Gess.¡± They aren''t going to stop.


    "Tell us the-"


    ¡°She didn¡¯t see what happened.¡± Shit. What am I doing? I wasn¡¯t going to say anything. She means nothing to me. ¡°She only noticed after it all went down.¡± The rest of you were even slower.


    ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°After what went down?¡± The entire class now looks at me. Ugh. Why did I have to say something?


    ¡°Are you saying you saw everything, Mar?¡± Yea, my name is Mar. Short for Marley. Yea, I know. I hate it, too. Fuck you.


    ¡°Who murdered Mr. Turner?¡± Now, everyone stares at me hungrily, somewhere between starved hyenas eyeing a delicious steak and religious freaks waiting for the word of God. ¡°Who did it?¡±


    ¡°No one.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean no one?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you saying?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying no one murdered him. His head fell off.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    ¡°Yea, stop fucking lying.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit whether you believe me. I¡¯m just telling you what happened.¡±


    ¡°So some invisible guy cut his head off?¡± Yup. It was fucking ninjas.


    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you how it happened, just what I saw.¡± I leave out the part where I¡¯m pretty sure that the box did it. I have no evidence, just my gut which even I struggle with constantly. On the toilet. Just kidding. But yea, somehow I knew that thing is evil. Couldn¡¯t everyone else see it, too? Blind motherfuckers.


    ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡±


    ¡°There has to be some explanation.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t real.¡±


    Again, when faced with the unexplainable, we choose to ignore the truth. The fact that no one was probably coming for us. The fact that something really fucked up was going on. I mean, seriously, that window should¡¯ve cracked.


    But we all just passed it by as if it was some bulletproof shit. Then as a super observant, super realistic, super smart person, what did I think was going on? Aliens. Haha. Yea, I¡¯m only half joking.


    ¡°This can¡¯t be real.¡± Nervous chuckles.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dream, right?¡± Yup, you¡¯ve got it. We¡¯re all in each other¡¯s dreams. Synchro-dreams. Hey, I just invented something cool. Wait, isn¡¯t that just Inception? Nevermind.


    ¡°Yea, this has to be a dream.¡±


    ¡°Or some kind of setup.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a reality show?¡±


    ¡°Yea!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a reality show!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s probably cameras in the room somewhere.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re probably watching us right now.¡±


    ¡°That makes so much sense.¡±


    ¡°Shit. For a second, I was getting really scared.¡±


    ¡°Yea, me too. I freaked out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s probably just a fake body.¡± Denial and escapism. Well, it saved them from turning on each other.


    ¡°So now what?¡±


    ¡°I guess we wait and they¡¯ll let us out eventually?¡±


    ¡°This is so illegal. My dad¡¯s a lawyer and we¡¯re so gonna sue. We¡¯ll all be filthy rich.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna beat the shit out of whoever did this. They¡¯re all fucking dead.¡±


    ¡°I just want to see my mom.¡±


    ¡°I wanna see my brother. He¡¯s in the army. He¡¯d know what to do.¡±


    ¡°My dad works for the mayor. He¡¯s not gonna let this go.¡±


    ¡°My dad¡¯s a judge and he¡¯ll make sure whoever¡¯s behind this sick prank is going to jail.¡± Ugh. When did this turn into a dick measuring contest. At least it seems the initial period of shock is over. Even while surrounded by vomit and the ¡°fake¡± body less than 30 feet away.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± Mohammed is crouched next to the body with his phone out.


    ¡°Snapchatting.¡±


    ¡°He has Wifi?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s probably just saving it for later.¡±


    ¡°What if the body¡¯s real? Stop.¡± Nick reaches for Mo¡¯s phone but Mo pushes Nick away, toppling him into the desks. Always poking his nose where it doesn¡¯t belong. The good guys tend to do that.


    ¡°Get the fuck out of my face. Stop acting like you¡¯re the fucking boss.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a sick bastard.¡±


    ¡°Go dry hump your wrestling team.¡±


    ¡°Just stop. It¡¯s disrespectful.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Mo. That¡¯s not right.¡± Hannah chimes in.


    ¡°Just try and stop me.¡±


    ¡°You sure you want to start this? Because I sure as hell will finish this.¡± Nick steps up to Mo.


    ¡°Do you always spout cheesy lines from shitty teen movies or do you just want to suck Zack Effron¡¯s dick, you fucking homo?¡± Mo tries to push him back again but Nick is a solid 200 which 92% is muscle. When he¡¯s prepared, he doesn¡¯t budge an ounce of that.


    But Mo gives no shits about that. He doesn¡¯t give Nick a second before swinging at his face.


    I¡¯ve seen Mo take down bigger and better. He¡¯s always been quick to anger and even quicker to fight, never turning down an opportunity to trade fists.


    But this isn¡¯t boxing, this is brawling and if you watch any UFC, you know that wrestling beats boxing. And Nick knows it, too.


    Immediately, he ducks and grabs Mo by the waist. Mo starts pounding Nick¡¯s head, trying to make him let go.


    ¡°Are you guys serious?¡±


    ¡°You''re fucking idiots.¡±


    ¡°Neanderthals.¡± Courtesy of Sal, of course, as he shakes his head in disgust.


    ¡°Worldstar!¡± Julian¡¯s recording the fight. For posterity.


    "Someone should stop them."


    Nick lifts Mo''s feet off the ground and takes him to the ground, crashing into the desks.


    ¡°What a racket," booms a voice everyone in the room recognizes. "Can¡¯t a guy just take a nap?¡±


    Nick and Mo freeze. The collective gasps are collectively caught mid throat.


    It¡¯s Mr. Turner. Our dead teacher. Or not so dead.

 Chapter 3 - Dodgeball (SOPHIA)

    SOPHIA


    But I love him.


    No you don¡¯t, you say. I¡¯m way too young to even know what love is.


    Do you know what love is? Does anyone? There is no standard for love, no singular definition.


    We all have our own method, our own personal philosophy. As to how to treat someone we love, how to accept love.


    Love is universal but not universally the same. And no matter how fallen, everyone still needs love.


    I know he cheated on me at that party.


    I¡¯m not so naive that I think can fix him like some broken doll, putting the pieces of his broken heart together with endless love and understanding.


    But I do understand him. Or more like I understand human nature.


    We might say we don¡¯t need friends, that we don¡¯t need family in our lives. But the only people who say that are the ones with friends, the ones with family to fret over.


    True isolation is terrifying.


    Utter loneliness is miserable.


    Prisons use this technique to punish those who¡¯ve already been punished, the unpunishable. When the unruly don¡¯t get along, we send them to solitary. It almost always works. They become compliant. They realize that we all need people.


    We need people to talk to, to touch, to love. Our existence is only derived from those around us.


    We are only visible when we are reflected off of others. That is why we care so much of what others think of us. If no one is near us, do we really exist? Maybe that is why we need others. To qualify and confirm our existence. You know, if a tree falls in the forest¡­


    ¡°You know he¡¯s lying, right?¡± Isabelle is waiting around the corner for me. Her round bottle cap glasses magnify her eyes to E.T. sized proportions and she refuses to wear contacts because she¡¯s afraid to touch her eyeballs.


    ¡°Just drop it, Izzy.¡± I keep walking. I don¡¯t really want to talk about it. I might understand him, but it still hurts.


    She chases after me, hugging her books to her chest. We have gym first period but she takes her books with her.


    ¡°He¡¯s an asshole. I don¡¯t know why you stay with him.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been over this already.¡±


    ¡°He does this to you all the time. Do you know how many times I¡¯ve seen you cry because of that dick?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand. You don¡¯t know him, you don¡¯t know what he¡¯s been through.¡± I pass by the lockerrooms. I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m going at this point. I just keep walking.


    ¡°Yea, yea. He¡¯s the quintessential brooding soul with a dark and troubled past who only you can love. But you¡¯re wrong. There is no good in there. He¡¯s just a bad guy. An animal.¡±


    ¡°Even the worst of us deserve love.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯re you, Jesus Christ? Why not write fan letters to Charles Manson? It¡¯s not your duty to sacrifice yourself for him."


    ¡°Shut up. I told you to just drop it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t just keep watching you get hurt over and over again.¡±


    ¡°No one fucking asked you to.¡± She finally stops following me. I try not to run until I reach the end of the hall. When I reach the stairs, tears are streaming down my cheeks. Sometimes my unwavering love wavers.


    You make friends over the simplest things.


    There¡¯s never any grand gesture, no guidance of fate¡¯s hand.


    It¡¯s more: ¡®oh you like the Arctic Monkeys, i like Franz Ferdinand¡¯ or ¡®Did you see the new Game of Thrones, Danaerys is so cool!¡¯.


    Sometimes, it¡¯s as simple as picking up the glasses of a basically blind girl in the third grade. And sometimes those friends grow to be your closest confidante, your emotional stalwart, the one you always run to when the world seems so horribly wrong.


    But right now, I just wanted to run away from her.


    Maybe because I was afraid she was right.


    Lately, it¡¯s been getting worse. He¡¯s become more distant.


    I¡¯m not talking about our relationship, that¡¯s always been...different. I¡¯m talking about him by himself.


    There¡¯s the classic signs of depression. Yet, he¡¯ll never show it on his face let alone say it. He¡¯s been drinking a lot, partying more, and having unprotected sex with anyone who¡¯s willing.


    The first time we had sex was two years ago at party. Max, my boyfriend at the time was drunk off his ass and kept pestering me to have sex.


    When we first started going out two years before that, I told him I wanted to wait till we were both sixteen. Such a romantic, right? I told him I¡¯d give him a handjob upstairs but he didn''t want to stop there.


    I was screaming but no one could hear me over the damn music. If they did, they must¡¯ve thought we were having some banging sex.


    By the time Mar walked in, I had given up fighting, letting the heavy weight sit on top of me, too much to throw off. I had no energy anymore. Mar looked at me, I looked at him and I didn¡¯t say anything. What was the point?


    Max shouted for him to close the door, and he did, leaving me there in the sweaty dark. I closed my eyes. Sometimes, I can make myself float away from my body. It''s a neat trick.


    CRASH When I opened my eyes, Mar was flying through the broken door across the room. With a running jump, he drop kicked Max with both feet, sending him tumbling into the dresser next to the bed. He was very light on his feet, great hang time. He''d be good at ballet. I don''t know why I thought of that in that moment.


    I didn¡¯t get up for about a minute but I could hear the thuds of Max¡¯s head continually knocking on wood.


    When I finally peeked over the bed, I could see Mar standing over Max¡¯s limp body, pounding his face, with no signs of slowing. He was killing him. I didn''t know why he was doing it. It wasn''t to avenge me, I had never met him before. But I didn''t want anyone to get hurt.


    I yelled, I pulled at his shirt, I tried putting myself in the way, but he just threw me aside. Flickering in the shadows, an inhuman smile was plastered across his face. He liked it. He enjoyed it.


    I don¡¯t know why I did it. I wasn¡¯t thanking him. He didn''t save me from anything. Whether max had cum or not, I had still been raped. But he must''ve looked wretched in that moment. So pitifully depraved. That I kissed him.


    He didn¡¯t pull away. I shoved my tongue into his mouth as I wrapped my arms around his chest, hugging him. And he let me. For a minute.


    Finally, he pulled away only to throw me on the bed and tear off my remaining clothes. The same bed I had just been being raped on.


    I wanted to say no, but I didn''t have enough strength to say it. Without a word, he violently rammed himself into me and ravaged me.


    It hurt, but I felt present. He violated me, just like Max had violated me but this time I didn¡¯t feel the need to disconnect. Is that love?


    There was this high pitched whine like when your nose and throat is clogged and every breath you take, it whistles through some small opening. Except it was Max, with his lungs flooding with blood, ribs broken.


    And that''s how I lost my virginity the second time, semi-consensually, enveloped by Mar''s savage grunts, distant thumps of the bass, and the wheezing of a dying Max on the floor next to me.


    Izzy¡¯s wrong. He¡¯s not bad. But he¡¯s not good.


    We''re all bad and good. But everyone likes to convince themselves they¡¯re a good person. They act the part, pretend on occasion. But they don¡¯t know what lies at the bottom of their souls. They¡¯ve never looked cause they¡¯ve never needed to.


    The shadows that lie hidden in the black beneath that sweet veneer mirror we see ourselves as. In him, I¡¯ve seen past that. With him, I¡¯ve shattered through that blinding surface, and what I saw was just an angry, scared little girl who thinks she¡¯s a boy, who thinks being a boy will make her more powerful and strong, who thinks all men give and all women take. Cause that¡¯s all he¡¯s seen.


    I finally circle my way back to the gym locker room.


    Izzy isn¡¯t waiting for me so I get changed into shorts and a Louie¡¯s pizza T-shirt. I don¡¯t really care about being fashionable, plus it was free.


    As soon as I walk into the gym, something is strange. I¡¯m ten minutes late but there still isn¡¯t a gym teacher in sight. One of the students is banging on the office door but no one¡¯s answering.


    Today¡¯s dodgeball day and it¡¯s a pretty polarizing event. Half the kids love it, and the other half not so much.


    It¡¯s easy to guess why when the ones who are good spend the entire period pegging balls at those who are bad. I¡¯m pretty good with balls though because I play volleyball and soccer.


    I catch sight of Izzy in the bleachers with some other studious students doing homework. Well, probably not homework cause Izzy¡¯s not the type to do it last minute, so extra work? I don¡¯t know. She looks up every few seconds till she finds me and then purposely ignores me.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    She¡¯s never had sex, never had a boyfriend, doesn¡¯t really have any friends. You might say her attitude towards me has grown to an unhealthy obsession.


    I don¡¯t think she¡¯s lesbian but sexuality is a tricky thing. You grow attached to whoever is near and is nice especially when devoid of a healthy number of social relationships. But I¡¯m not so much a hypocrite to say that I haven¡¯t become reliant on her as she has on me. I don''t think Mar counts as a healthy social relationship.


    ¡°Hey, what¡¯s up?¡± Silas sidles up next to me, sidling as well as an elephant could sidle. He¡¯s well over six feet tall, with a barrel chest all slathered up in a thick layer of fat, so he¡¯s huge and imposing and definitely a lineman on the football team. "You and Izzy fighting again?


    He must have caught me staring at her. Probably cause he¡¯s always staring at me. He¡¯s also got shiny shoulder length hair that he uses way too much conditioner on. More than I do on mine. But he doesn¡¯t tie it back so it hangs loose. Along with his considerable girth, he reminds me of a shaggy sheep dog. Also the fact that every time I¡¯m alone, he always seems to show up. It¡¯s ok, just some light stalking.


    ¡°Yea, lately it¡¯s whenever we talk about Mar.¡± He wrinkles his already crooked nose, which I find cute but other girls probably don¡¯t. He doesn¡¯t like talking about Mar either.


    ¡°It¡¯s just cause she¡¯s crushing on you. I think it¡¯s kinda hot.¡± Most guys are pervs. I normally just brush it off. If you got angry every time a guy said an inappropriate comment, you¡¯d have to go live as a hermit in the woods.


    ¡°You know she¡¯s just a friend. She doesn¡¯t like it when Mar¡¯s bad to me.¡±


    ¡°The best solution is for you to be bad to Mar back. With me.¡± I laugh and give him a friendly shove, acting like it''s a joke when I know it¡¯s not.


    ¡°Everyone please gather on the basketball court.¡± Ms. Kennedy¡¯s voice blasts from above us, from the speakers, echoing throughout the gymnasium. ¡°We¡¯ll do seniors vs juniors.¡±


    There are around 100 of us in total, 50 juniors and 50 seniors, the younger years are in the smaller gym across the hall. The juniors snicker as they gather up. Eight of them are varsity baseball and our team went to states last year. The gym teachers don¡¯t bother splitting us up any other way so the seniors get crushed. Every single time. And I¡¯m a senior.


    Seeing my despair, Silas grins. ¡°Hey, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll keep you alive.¡± I feel a tug on my sleeve. It¡¯s Izzy. I look back to my left and Silas is gone. That fast giant.


    ¡°Today we¡¯ll be playing volleyball, as you all know, but it will be a slightly different version. Some of the rules have been changed. You¡¯ll figure it out. Most of all, let¡¯s have fun.¡± Some people held their hands to their ears. Were the speakers always this loud?


    ¡°Um...I¡¯m sorry about earlier. Even if I don¡¯t understand him, I¡¯m supposed to be the one who understands you. It¡¯s just you¡¯re too nice for your own good sometimes.¡± It must seem that way.


    I didn¡¯t have that dark and troubled past, as Izzy said. In fact, I had the perfect childhood. Annoyingly perfect. I had nothing to complain about and when you¡¯re a teen, that¡¯s pretty annoying. I couldn¡¯t very well say my parents would only let me buy either taquitos or pizza rolls at Costco, but that literally was my biggest complaint.


    I was smart, not as smart as Izzy, but smart enough to be in some of her classes. I was athletic, not top college level, but a small scholarship for volleyball at Division 2 or 3. I heard those private schools will pay for half your tuition even at Division 3 levels. I wasn¡¯t so hot as to become a slut and rely on my looks, but wasn¡¯t too ugly to not receive the occasional crush or grope.


    You see? I was average for above average. Which some might say is the perfect slot. Not too much attention but a good amount to feel somewhat special. The worst part? I actually enjoyed everything. Don''t you hate those kinds of people? Yea, I''m one of those. I liked talking with my friends about nothing. I liked my family. I liked going to school, doing homework, practicing volleyball after school.


    So why would someone like me be with someone like him. I wasn¡¯t too sure myself.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, Izzy. I¡¯m sorry I got mad. I know you¡¯re just looking out for me. Come on, it¡¯s about to start.¡± I take her to the back, where it¡¯s safer.


    Even without any teachers present, everyone obeys the teacher¡¯s disembodied voice. The boys who were playing around with the balls lay them down on the half court line.


    Each team retreats behind the foul throw line and prepares to sprint to the balls in the middle of the court on the teacher¡¯s signal.


    ¡°Everybody ready? On your mark, get set, GO!¡±


    Immediately, a few on our team rush forward. A brave but vain attempt to get at least one ball.


    Before they can even get close, Jackson stands over them with two balls in his hands. He rolls the other two back to his teammates.


    Even though he¡¯s an average hitter, he¡¯s the leadoff hitter. The team relies on him to get on base. What he lacks in hitting, he more than makes it up with speed. Any sort of hit, he¡¯s guaranteed to make it to first. What I''m saying is the boy can sprint. Fast.


    Caught out of position, our guys scramble back. But it¡¯s too late.


    One. Two. Jackson fires off.


    Two down.


    From behind, his baseball bros fire off the other two. Another two down.


    This¡¯ll be over quick. I roll my eyes. That¡¯s when I catch sight of a strange black box sitting on top of the scoreboard in the corner above the gym teacher¡¯s office. The red light unblinking, watching. Underneath, the timer seems to have been set for thirty minutes, now at 29:30.


    Then, the screams start. When I look down, no one''s playing anymore. Instead they start crowding around midcourt.


    ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    Everyone in the back presses forward to get a look at what happened. I shoulder my way through the crowd.


    Good thing I¡¯m short.


    Bursting through the front, I stumble, almost slipping on something wet.


    The floor is slick with blood.


    At my feet, lies the four bodies or what look like bodies of the four guys who went for the balls at the start.


    A giant bloody hole in one torso, a shoulder missing from another, a head gone from the third, and a leg dangling by skin from an absent half a hip. As if a giant cannon had ripped through them. The dodgeballs lay ominously next to them, clean and bloodless.


    There is no gunshot, no shout of fire, no explainable danger to set everyone in immediate motion. But like a built up dam, one crack and the foundation crumbles and the fear floods through.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead! They¡¯re dead!¡±


    ¡°Run!¡± Like a shotgun, the crowd scatters.


    ¡°Get out of here!¡±


    ¡°Move." Pushing and shoving, trampling over the ones who tripped.


    "Out of the way.¡±


    More screams from all sides. I can''t help them right now. I have to find Izzy.


    ¡°Izzy! Izzy!¡± I force my way to the back again and find Izzy kneeling on the ground, searching frantically for her glasses. I pull her up by the wrist. ¡°There¡¯s no time. We gotta go.¡±


    I push her towards the edge of the court, but a wall of students block the way.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you stop!¡±


    ¡°Keep moving!¡±


    ¡°Move!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t push!¡±


    ¡°Stop pushing!¡±


    ¡°Stop or we¡¯re gonna die!¡±


    I squeeze through to the edge of the court. It''s bordered with more bodies and blood. This time instead of holes, there are arms, legs, and feet littered outside the court, while bodies bleed out on the inside.


    Next to me, a girl screams, pitching forward, shoved from behind. She''s gonna die. I reach out to grab her arm. I know I''m risking my life, but I can''t just watch her. But her hand slips through my fingers and she falls.


    As soon as her head crosses the line, she crumples to the floor, her head rolling away from her neck.


    For some reason, my head¡¯s clear, my mind focused. I can''t let anymore people die.


    First, it¡¯s not safe here. I have to get Izzy away. I grab her and push her back to the middle of the court.


    From there, I look around. Everyone¡¯s swarming the baseline, where the doors are.


    A few who tried to cross over the half court line is cut up in similar fashion. We aren¡¯t allowed to leave our half of the court. But the ones in the back of the crowd don¡¯t know and keep shoving the ones in the front who are trying to get away from the line. It''s some kind of sick pushing war.


    I look over at the juniors.


    The same thing is happening at the opposite end of the court but Jackson and the baseball team rip away the pushers at the back of the crowd. Somehow, he''s quickly calming things down on his side.


    More screams from the unfortunate ones on my side. I have to do the same. I can¡¯t let them die anymore. I need to take control. Like Jackson.


    ¡°STOP! EVERYONE STOP!¡±


    No one can hear me. I rush to the back of the crowd.


    ¡°You have to stop. They¡¯re dying up there.¡± No one bothers to listen. I try to pull on people but they just elbow me away. What can I do to save them?


    Defeated, I collapse in a heap next to Izzy. Sitting in a puddle of blood and vomit, surrounded by screams, I feel like a newborn baby, useless, unable to do anything except cry about the chaos.


    I don¡¯t want them to die. I don¡¯t want anyone to die. But I can¡¯t do anything. I can¡¯t stop them. I can¡¯t stop them from killing themselves.


    ¡°Please. Stop. Stop pushing. Stop dying.¡± I whisper to no one. At least Izzy is alive. She lays next to me, curled up in fetal position, with her hands over ears, trying to block out the massacre.


    In the back of my mind, I can¡¯t help but think that once enough people die, the ones at the back will become the ones at the front, and there will be at least some left alive.


    But I could save them. If only I could save them.


    Suddenly, someone pulls me up off my feet and onto his shoulder. It¡¯s Silas. Thank god.


    ¡°EVERYONE! SHUT THE FUCK UP!¡± Some of them turn around. ¡°AND STOP PUSHING! YOU¡¯RE KILLING PEOPLE!¡± His voice reverberates across the gym. The mob finally pauses. The ones at the front gratefully take the chance to escape from the edge of carnage and what would¡¯ve been their imminent deaths. ¡°It¡¯s your turn.¡± Silas looks up at me. The only time he¡¯s ever needed to do that.


    ¡°Listen up guys. Please don¡¯t try to leave. If you step out of the court, you will die.¡± From on top of Silas shoulder, I can see the entirety of the court. There¡¯s around 20 of us left on this side and 30 on the other. Jackson must have gotten to them faster than I could. The juniors are listening to me closely, too. ¡°If you cross the half court line, you will die. If you get hit by the ball, you will die.¡±


    "How do you know?"


    "Who are you?"


    ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s killing us?¡±


    ¡°How are they killing us?¡±


    ¡°There has to be an explanation.¡±


    "I have no idea what is going on or who''s doing this to us. But if you don''t follow the rules of the game, you will die. If we just play the game, we might all be able to live."


    "Game?"


    "Did she say game?"


    "What kind of sick game is this?"


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe any of this shit. And I sure as hell don¡¯t fucking believe you.¡± A junior with a mohawk shouts. Was his name Fred? ¡°Does anyone else believe this crazy bitch?¡± Murmurs of approval and disapproval ripple through the remaining survivors.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see the bodies everywhere?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. I¡¯m not staying here to become one of them.¡± He starts walking towards the door.


    ¡°Let me down, Silas.¡± Silas complies. ¡°You have to believe me. Please. You''re going to die.¡± I take a step before Silas catches my arm. I almost crossed the line.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong and I¡¯m going to prove it.¡± Mohawk tries to act nonchalant but he falters at the line of bodies. Again, the little voice tells me his death will prevent further deaths. He¡¯ll show everyone that I¡¯m right. But I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t just let him kill himself.


    ¡°Wait! Stop! Jackson! Stop him! You know what¡¯s going to happen!¡± Jackson doesn¡¯t move. He¡¯s probably thinking the same thing. He¡¯s one of those. Or should I say one of us.


    Before Mohawk steps over, he glances back at us. The entire gym looks back at him expectantly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry guys, I¡¯ll go and get help. Stay here.¡± His voice shaking, belying his assuredness.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t do it. We can all survive.¡± He takes the step. For a second, we all believe he¡¯s made it. I knew he wasn''t going to but I still hoped.


    ¡°See guys. I¡¯m fi-¡± His smiling face distorts. Then splits in the middle, one side sliding down grotesquely like a stroke patient, until it¡¯s impossible to match it up. And he falls to the ground, his body separating into two halves. The screams begin anew followed by more crying and vomiting.


    ¡°Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!¡± This time it¡¯s Jackson who gets everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Francis might be dead but Soph was right. If we¡¯re gonna survive, we should listen to her for now.¡± This was what he wanted. Order through fear.


    ¡°What should we do, Soph?¡±


    ¡°If we can¡¯t leave, what are we supposed to do?¡± I had no idea. When did I become the leader? I didn¡¯t sign up for this. I just wanted to save them. Jackson¡¯s non intervention policy left me with the responsibility. The manipulative prick. What am I supposed to do?


    As if to answer my question, the dodgeballs spin and start rolling. Each one splits off into a different direction, stopping at the nearest person''s feet. Four balls, four people.


    And of course, one of them stops in front of me.

 Chapter 4 - Or Not So Dead/Lets Begin

    All of us stare at the front of the room.


    ¡°Uhhh...did anyone else hear that?¡±


    ¡°Did Mr. Turner just talk?¡±


    ¡°See, he¡¯s not dead.¡±


    ¡°Did anyone check his pulse?¡±


    ¡°His head isn¡¯t attached to his body. I¡¯m pretty sure we don¡¯t have to check his fucking pulse.¡± We all stare at the body at the front of the room, but it doesn¡¯t move.


    ¡°Who said that?¡±


    ¡°Is someone fucking with us?¡±


    ¡°You heard that too, right?¡± Mo and Nick scramble to their feet from the desks, unsure of whether to run or help.


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t stop on my account. Finish what you started.¡± The voice seems to emanate from inside my head.


    ¡°Where is it coming from?¡± It had to be the box. Everything weird was because of the box.


    ¡°We¡¯re sorry, Mr. Turner. We didn¡¯t know-¡±


    ¡°You should go to the hospital.¡±


    ¡°Are we still talking to a decapitated body?¡±


    ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡±


    ¡°I said FIGHT.¡± The word reverberates across the room, penetrating our subconscious. My muscles tenses, fists clenches. I want to turn around and punch someone.


    Everyone else is on the same edge. Their faces a mix of an anxious scowl and a pained grimace. Which might be the same thing. You get what I mean.


    But Mo and Nick are a different story. Their faces are twisted in rage, a permanent furious snarl, teeth are bared like depraved animals and like depraved animals they throw themselves at each other. It¡¯s completely different from what could only be called a slight tussle before. This time, they were trying to annihilate each other.


    Nick tackles and slams Mo onto the floor, Mo¡¯s head cracking against the concrete underneath the thin carpet. Normally, he would¡¯ve been out, but oddly he¡¯s unaffected. He starts to claw and scratch Nick¡¯s back, tearing through his shirt, gouging flesh in long bright streaks.


    ¡°What¡¯re you guys doing?¡±


    ¡°Guys, stop it!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna kill each other!¡±


    ¡°Somebody stop them!¡±


    ¡°Somebody just do something.¡± Always shifting responsibility. Classic bystander effect.


    Surprisingly, Hannah¡¯s approaches the two. Although, as Nick¡¯s girlfriend, or should I say his acolyte, she would be the only one willing to risk getting caught up in that raging storm.


    She tries to hug Nick from behind but he tosses her away like a pillow. She falls to her knees crying.


    ¡°Please, just stop.¡± Hannah pleads, head bowed as if she was in prayer. I had a feeling I¡¯d be hearing that a lot more. The hopeless weeping, the begging, for all this, whatever nightmare this was, to end.


    When one girl cries, the others join in like a pack of howling wolves.


    And the top howler is Mary. Her hysterical wailing starts grating on everyone¡¯s nerves, pushing them closer to the edge.


    The edge of what, I¡¯m not sure. Maybe the edge of sanity, and in the dark depths of the crevice that sanity overlooks is a deep pit of insanity. Maybe this was all a test, testing our sanity, testing who can go as close to the edge without falling in.


    ¡°Shut up, Mary.¡±


    ¡°Mary, shut the fuck up.¡±


    ¡°Carissa, do something.¡± Her best friend/caretaker, Carissa was always by her side. Where Mary was quiet, Carissa was loud. Where Mary was shy, Carissa was outgoing. Where Mary was weak, Carissa was strong.


    ¡°Shut her up.¡± And sure enough, like a practiced mother, Carissa gathers Mary into her arms and burying Mary¡¯s head into her chest, muffling her cries.


    ¡°Shhh. Shhh. It¡¯s ok, Mary. Just don¡¯t look.¡±


    Similarly, on the floor in the middle of the classroom, Nick was on top, his head buried in Mo¡¯s chest. Mo was hugging Nick close, making sure Nick had no room to maneuver, knowing that if Nick got a full mount and sat on top of him, he was done.


    Nick jabbed at Mo''s kidney¡¯s with short staccato punches, not enough room for a full swing, but still jarring.


    Growling in frustration, Mo opens his mouth wide and clamps down on Nick¡¯s shoulder, his teeth sinking deep into the muscle.


    Nick howls, an inhuman guttural howl. He starts to shake violently freeing himself, loosening Mo¡¯s grip on him.


    Grabbing Mo¡¯s head, he starts to peel the teeth away, but along with it comes off a huge chunk of his shoulder still fixed in Mo¡¯s mouth. Ignoring the gaping wound, Nick slams Mo¡¯s head onto the floor.


    While Mo¡¯s momentarily stunned, Nick slides up and straddles Mo¡¯s chest with his legs on each side. Mo is finished.


    Squirming, he twists and turns, trying to throw Nick¡¯s colossal weight off of him, but to no avail. Nick starts laying down punch after punch, smashing through Mo¡¯s pitiful defense of waving upraised arms, straight into Mo¡¯s face, over and over.


    Even after the anguished moaning stop and Mo¡¯s hands are unmoving, the nauseating wet thwacks of slapping meat continue. I couldn''t take my eyes off of it.


    ¡°Please stop. I can¡¯t take this.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s gonna kill him.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s gonna die.¡± Mary resumes shrieking as Carissa tries to cover her ears. Whimpers and sobs accompany her.


    ¡°Get her to be quiet.¡±


    ¡°Shut her up.¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up! It¡¯s fucking annoying.¡± Colin grabs Mary¡¯s wrist and yanks it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch her!¡± Carissa screams, pulling her away from him, shielding her. This is the time when frayed nerves become jagged edges that start to point at each other. Where frustration transmutes to anger, anger directed at something they can fight against, instead of what they cannot. Things you would never say or do become the norm from the massive pressure. But I feel it¡¯s just the beginning.


    ¡°Alright. This is boring. It¡¯s over.¡± Like magic, Nick¡¯s bloody hands drop and dangle by his side.


    ¡°And the winner by Knock Out is...Nicholas Cardenas!¡± Nick¡¯s arm shoots up into the air, which he definitely had no strength left to lift. He stands over Mo¡¯s still body in a daze.


    ¡°Is he breathing?¡± Mo¡¯s face is swollen to twice the normal size, mottled purple all over, blood still gushing from cuts buried between bruises, his long black hair matted and tangled.


    ¡°Is he dead?¡± As if to answer the question on everyone¡¯s mind, he groans, stirring, having been unconscious for most of the massacre.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that an exciting little treat to start our day¡¯s entertainment. Don¡¯t worry, we have many more activities planned for today¡¯s class. And boy, is it going to be fun. Class is now in session so everyone back to their seats.¡±


    No one moves.


    ¡°NOW!¡±


    Everyone scatters. Carissa brings Mary to her seat before helping to straighten out the other desks. Nobody goes near Mo. Hannah inspects Nick¡¯s shoulder, but he brushes her aside and kneels down next to Mo.


    ¡°He needs help. Mr. Turner.¡± His voice hoarse and strange, lifeless, as if he was the one who got the beat down.


    Who was he talking to anyways? Did everyone somehow forget the fact that Mr. Turner still was lying headless beneath the table. We just accepted the fact that the voice belonged to Mr. Turner. We were so primed to following authority that we didn¡¯t even stop to question who the fuck was talking.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine. Get him to his seat.¡± Nick obeys, draping Mo¡¯s arm over his shoulder and dragging him over to a chair. Halfway there, Mo shakes him off.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Get off me.¡± He stumbles the rest of the way before collapsing into his seat. I guess he wasn¡¯t hurt as badly as I thought or he¡¯s just got a super thick skull. Although I heard people with concussions can look perfectly fine but die hours later. I kinda hope that¡¯s not the case for Mo. Yea, I like assholes. So what?


    ¡°Mr. Turner, what¡¯s going on?¡± Are we still talking to a dead body?


    ¡°Are you dead?¡± Hailey raises her hand before asking like it was just normal day of class. I had trouble telling if she was trolling or genuine, her oversized hoodie covering most of her face.


    ¡°Is that you talking?¡±


    ¡°How are you talking?¡±


    ¡°Ok, ok. Settle down class. I¡¯m sure you have many questions and I¡¯ll answer them to the best of my ability. Now, one at a time.¡± The voice sounded exactly like Mr. Turner, the pleasant intonation of a doting grandfather. But that same voice seemed to delight in the cruelty just a minute earlier. It was creepily ambiguous.


    ¡°Are you Mr. Turner?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t answer that¡±


    ¡°Is Mr. Turner dead?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t answer that.¡±


    ¡°When can we leave?¡± A murmur of approval from the rest of the class.


    ¡°When we¡¯ve finished with today¡¯s class.¡±


    ¡°When are we going to be finished?¡±


    ¡°After we¡¯ve finished the planned activities. When that is, I cannot answer.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck can you answer?¡± Colin challenges.


    ¡°I will not tolerate the use of profanity in my class.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck are you going to do about it? You¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°Then who is talking to you?¡± Puzzled, Colin has no answer.


    ¡°It¡¯s the box! You¡¯re the box.¡± Smart guy. Finally. Someone else figured it out. Well, Sal probably already knew. Colin stands up and walks towards the box. Be careful, I want to say. But I don¡¯t. Didn¡¯t he just see The Box make Nick beat Mo to a pulp?


    ¡°Please sit back down in your seat.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just a fucking box. You can¡¯t do shit.¡±


    ¡°Please return to your seat.¡±


    ¡°You locked us in here. You disconnected all the phones. You killed Mr. Turner. You made Nick almost kill Mo.¡± If he knows all this, what the fuck is he doing?


    ¡°Please do not touch the box.¡±


    ¡°What if I do?¡±


    ¡°You will die.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡± And he pushes the box.


    When we were in fifth grade, Colin Sharp disappeared for two years.


    He was full of energy and adventurous, climbing trees, getting hurt. He always had a bruise or two to show off the next day in school.


    In the first year of his disappearance, there were rumors that he was kidnapped and murdered by the man who lives in the woods or that his mom ran away with him cause his dad beat them both.


    But there was no man who lived in the woods, just an old trailer with a broken couch, and the bruises weren¡¯t from his dad, who loved his mom and never even touched Colin.


    He just had cancer. More specifically, acute myeloid leukemia, the worst kind of leukemia.


    But not that bad for children. Only a little less than half of them died. Compared to the 3 out of 4 dead for adults.


    When he came back to school, the days of romping around were over. He was a ghost, quiet and subdued. It didn¡¯t help that we shied away from him, ignoring him except for the occasional pitying sideways glance. We were kids.


    I¡¯m not sure when, but one day he decided to just say whatever he wanted to say.


    He must¡¯ve gotten some bad news at the hospital or something cause the first thing he said was ¡°I¡¯m dying.¡±


    Not in an attention seeking miserable way. But just matter of fact. He just kept saying: I¡¯m dying, I¡¯m gonna die soon, the cancer is eating me alive.


    We got used to it, so used to it, he started joking about it and we would join in. Laughter¡¯s the best medicine, unless you have cancer.


    The next thing he did was ask every single girl out. One by one, he went up to each girl and told them that he¡¯s dying and didn¡¯t want to die a virgin.


    Of course, they all thought it was a joke and laughed it off.


    All except one girl, Brianna Norman. Small girl, huge tits. Yea, I know, the best combo. Chorus, flute, disgustingly nice to everyone.


    Her friends kept warning her not to do it. But she had her own secret. She had been in love with him since third grade. Or so the story goes.


    They got lucky.


    His cancer went into remission. He slowly fattened up and put some meat on those sickly bones. Joined cross country, broke a few records. She won a few competitions with the marching band, sang at Carnegie Hall.


    But he never changed his outlook though, he lived as though he was going to die. Said whatever was on his mind, did whatever he first thought of.


    And Brianna was the perfect match for him, the sponge for his gushing faucet. Ok that was pretty gay. Anyways, they were definitely going to be the first ones to get married out of all of us and live happily ever after.


    Until now.


    Maybe if Brianna had been here, he wouldn¡¯t have had to die.


    Colin shoves the box, with his right hand.


    Before he can even touch it, his arm falls to the ground, unattached. The box had sliced his arm off, just like Mr. Turner¡¯s head. His shoulder sprays blood. Immediately, the ever growing familiarity of the screaming chorus fills the room. Don¡¯t they get tired? I wonder when they will stop, when they will finally be numb to the blood. After death number 3? Number 5? When do soldiers stop thinking about the death that surrounds them? Never?


    Poor guy. I¡¯m really gonna miss him. Brianna''ll never be the same. She''s gonna need a lot of comforting. Wink wink. You don''t have to tell me again. I''m a horrible human being.


    Aanya leaps off her seat and sprints to Colin, kneeling in front of the box. Ballsy. Who knows what that black box would do? Even if I knew how to save Colin, I wouldn¡¯t go near it. She tears off her own shirt and tries to staunch the blood, but her orange shirt soaks through in a second, turning a rust color. She''s wearing a sports bra. Damn shame it wasn''t something sexy.


    ¡°Someone give me a jacket, a shirt, anything!¡± Nobody moves. Who can blame them? Why should they help? The box said Colin will die. Who are we to defy the box? But Mary through her incessant tears moves to help.


    Oh, the kind soul. More like naive.


    Carissa pulls her back. At least she¡¯s cautious enough for the both of them.


    ¡°Are you guys really going to just watch him die? Huh? You¡¯re all fucking evil.¡± Evil? It¡¯s Colin¡¯s fault for touching it. Much as I like him, the box did tell him he was going to die. No matter how harsh the punishment, when the rules and consequences were laid out beforehand, it¡¯s easy to blame the culprit. I guess, that¡¯s why those fuckers in Iran are ok with stoning a cheating woman. Wait a minute. Maybe we are evil.


    ¡°Please, someone. Help me.¡± The begging, again.


    CLATTER. Someone standing. It¡¯s Brandon. The kid is fucking huge. At least 7 feet tall. Beneath the basket, he doesn¡¯t even jump to catch rebounds. For a moment, he seems to consider something for a second. He squeezes his eyes shut, sweat drips down his face. And then suddenly, he bounds forward. Two steps and he¡¯s there.


    ¡°What do you need me to do?¡±


    ¡°Rip your shirt in half length ways, but only three quarters of the way down. I need to make a tourniquet.¡± Soon, she is wrapping the stump.


    ¡°I need a strong stick or anything long and hard.¡± That¡¯s what she said. I know, not the right time. But I can¡¯t help it. It''s how I deal with stress and crisis. Or that''s what I say.


    Brandon looks around. He takes a chair and bends the chair leg until it snaps. Aanya inserts it into a loop she¡¯s made, and starts twisting it, tightening the makeshift bandage until the blood stops leaking out. She looks up at the box.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the fuck you are, and I don''t give a shit. But Colin''s lost a lot of blood.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry but there¡¯s nothing I can do.¡±


    ¡°You can let us the fuck out of here so he can go to the hospital.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I can¡¯t allow that.¡±


    ¡°Stop saying that. You¡¯re not fucking sorry.¡±


    ¡°I warned him, but he wouldn¡¯t listen. I¡¯ve been very patient in letting you help him. Now we need to start class. Please return to your seats.¡±


    ¡°He''s going to die! I can¡¯t just leave him here. Please.¡±


    ¡°I truly am sorry, Aanya. But there are rules I have to follow as well. You can blame his death on me. Please go back to your seat. I don¡¯t want to have to use anymore violence.¡± Jesus, pretty convincing act he¡¯s got going on there. I thought for sure he got off on all that blood. ''He'' doesn''t sound right. I''m gonna go with ''it''.


    ¡°Brandon, please help Colin back to his seat.¡± Brandon looks at Aanya for a second before listening reluctantly.


    ¡°At least, let me give him water. He needs some fluids.¡±


    ¡°That''s fine. See? I can be lenient. Finally, we can start class. We¡¯re going to be far behind the other classes so I¡¯m going to have to let you go a bit late."


    Does he think he''s funny? Acting like it''s still a normal school day?


    "Let''s begin. Lesson one.¡±

 Chapter 5 - Killer Introductions

    ¡°Now, first things first. You¡¯re all going to get these really cool wristbands.¡±


    The box opens up at the bottom, a compartment appearing out of nowhere, sliding out a tray of silver bangles. Peculiarly there¡¯s no blood anywhere on the box, like it had a coating of water repellent and anything that touches it slides right off.


    ¡°Starting from the left, come and get a wristband. Please do not try to tamper with it or take it off after you¡¯ve put it on. You will die.¡±


    I¡¯m sure this time nobody would break the rules.


    Actually, I can¡¯t say that.


    I¡¯ve already seen people do much more than I expected them to. I¡¯m sure if Conor wasn¡¯t passed out from blood loss, he would still be defiant. I never thought that anyone would help him when he was dying but Aanya did and then Brandon.


    Holy shit. Is it wrong that I¡¯m excited?


    I always thought people were boring. I always hoped that there were another facet, another side that I never got to see.


    But the more people I got to know and the more I got to know people, the more I found nothing but more sand. There were no hidden depths, just shoal.


    But in the last thirty minutes, yes it¡¯s only been thirty fucking minutes, I¡¯ve hit on more gold than I would have in a lifetime of slogging along in that same path that everyone¡¯s traveled a trillion times over.


    You really don¡¯t know anyone until they¡¯re face to face with death. I mean most of these fuckers acted exactly as I thought they would.


    The sheep. I guess I¡¯m one of them. I¡¯m smart though. But I guess, a smart sheep is still a sheep. Nothing to be proud of. I didn¡¯t mind observing the carnage. I wanted more. And the box was gonna give it to me. All I had to do was sit back and relax.


    ¡°Now, does everyone have a wristband? Let¡¯s start over, this time without any disruptions.¡±


    Hailey¡¯s hand shoots up. The box groans. ¡°What now, Hailey?¡±


    ¡°I have to go to the bathroom.¡± I still have no clue whether she¡¯s brilliant or oblivious.


    ¡°Good thing you have these wristbands Otherwise you¡¯d have had to go in the corner. I¡¯ll unlock the door for you. Do not talk to anyone, do not wander the hallways. You will die. Does anyone else need to go?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna try and get out of here.¡± Julian whispers, raising his hand.


    Beep. The wristband shows red.


    ¡°Please do not lie, Julian. Red means you¡¯re lying. These wristbands aren¡¯t just fashionable, they work as lie detectors, as well as microphones and GPS. It also can measure your blood pressure!" Is this an advertisement for the iWatch?


    Mary meekly raises her hand, her wristband beeps. It¡¯s red.


    ¡°Mary, you shouldn¡¯t lie.¡±


    ¡°I need to go to the bathroom for something else.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Uh...I-It¡¯s personal.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re already late. Are you on your period?¡±


    ¡°Uh no. Um. It¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t need to go.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for wasting everyone¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be a dick. She has to change her pants.¡± Carissa steps in, holding one of her soccer shorts.


    No wonder I¡¯ve been smelling piss. Poor little Mary pissed her pants. Mary had a little piss, in her pants, in her pants. Yea, I¡¯m a horrible person. I know.


    Nobody laughs at her, though. Well I do, but you know, on the inside. You don¡¯t want Carissa mad at you, she¡¯s a ferocious mama bear.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to let that slide this time, Carissa, but I am still your teacher so watch your mouth. Mary you can go. Everyone else, if you can just wait an hour, we¡¯ll be done with first period. Let¡¯s all get through this together.¡±


    ¡°Before we start our games, we¡¯ll introduce ourselves. Just like the first day of class. You can think of this as our first activity. Say your name, how many people you had sex with, and your darkest, most shameful secret. If you lie, you will die.¡± We all look at each other, incredulous.


    Mr. Turner''s pretty perverted. Or was it the box? Darkest or most shameful? Just sex? What does that mean? Is he making this ambiguous on purpose? How do you know which secret is your worst? Well, you have three tries so at least no one should die in the first activity. I can''t help but wonder what games we¡¯ll play after this.


    This is gonna be fun.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna die?¡±


    ¡°Is he serious?¡±


    ¡°Why are you doing this to us?¡±


    ¡°Why do we have to do this?¡±


    ¡°Silence. Only ask questions pertaining to the current activity. We¡¯re late, we¡¯re late, we¡¯re late. New rule. If you talk out of turn, you will die.¡± Not a peep. We have to listen, we all saw what it could do. ¡°Ok. Starting with Riley and we¡¯ll go down the aisle and snake around. So Riley, then Claire and so on.¡±


    Wow. Lucky. This means I¡¯m last. Sweet.


    The class looks at Riley. The first sacrifice. Everyone glad that it wasn¡¯t one of us. But before she can speak, Hailey raises her hand. Hehehe. This is gonna be good.


    ¡°What counts as sex?¡± Hmmm. I¡¯m starting to lean towards smart.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well, is it penetration or cumming? Does oral count? Like lesbian sex?¡±


    ¡°Oral counts but only for lesbian sex. For gay sex, anal is necessary. For hetero sex, orgasm by the man through penetration.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty misogynistic way of looking at sex.¡± Wow, Hailey¡¯s a feminist. You learn something new everyday.


    ¡°The fact is that seventy percent of women never orgasm from vaginal penetration alone. While ninety five percent of men do. So take it as you will. Any other questions?¡¯


    Sal raises his hand.


    ¡°You said darkest, most shameful. Which one should we do?¡±


    ¡°Both, either or.¡±


    ¡°To us or to the class?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Stop wasting time. Just figure it out.¡±


    ¡°What if we tell the wrong secret?¡±


    ¡°You get three tries and then you¡¯re out. Outta this world. Ha, see what I did there? Let''s start.¡±


    This isn¡¯t Mr. Turner. This is some weird twisted Mr. Turner.


    First of all, how did Mr. Turner¡¯s consciousness get transferred into the box. It has to be an AI with Mr. Turner¡¯s voice, intonation, and speaking habits. Or maybe he was always like this. We¡¯ve just never had the chance to see this deviant side of him.


    ¡°Remember, this is still history class. This is not just a fun way to reintroduce yourself to the class, but it¡¯s also a test of your personal history, your relationships, your repressed memories. Dig deep guys. Now that we¡¯re all set, you can begin, Riley. Stand when it¡¯s your turn and don¡¯t forget to speak up.¡±


    ¡°Hi, my name is Riley Hayes.¡± Ha. She said hi. Like it¡¯s actually just another first day of class. ¡°I¡¯ve never had sex.¡± Her wristband stays green.


    Haha. Virgin. Non adventurous loser. What are you waiting for? Don¡¯t you want to see what it¡¯s all about?


    If you¡¯re waiting for that perfect person, let me tell you, it¡¯s nothing special. Nobody will ever tell you that their first time was a magical moment. It¡¯s awkward as shit, a lot of fumbling around. You only get better with experience.


    And nobody falls in love with their first. I mean who the hell even stays in touch with who they lost their virginity to.


    I¡¯m sure the virginity percentages are about half and half. Even the half that did have sex, it couldn¡¯t be more than 1 or 2 people.


    Who knows, maybe we¡¯re are much bigger horn dogs than I thought they would be. I mean, I for one am a sexual predator...not. Maybe.


    Either way, we¡¯re about to find out for real. Cause you¡¯ll never get a straight answer from high schoolers. Guys try to beef up their sexual history, while girls try to slim down theirs.


    It¡¯s understandable. We''re at a sensitive time where girls can¡¯t have too many in fear of being called a slut, yet can¡¯t have too few in fear of being a prude. Guys who put too high of a number are labeled liars, while too low of a number is a low testosterone bitch.


    ¡°My most embarrassing secret is,¡± Drum roll, please. ¡°I¡¯ve masturbated using facebook pictures of guys in our school.¡±


    Beep. Green. Lucky bitch.


    That¡¯s her big secret? I shouldn¡¯t have expected much from a virgin. I mean who hasn¡¯t done that at least once. Get some nice beach or pool shots, where the shirts come off and the bathing suits on. What a boring girl.


    Maybe the next secret will be better. Looks like this shouldn¡¯t take that long. Quick and easy.


    ¡°Ok. Next. Let¡¯s keep it moving.¡± Seems the box has the same idea. ¡°Ryan.¡±


    Now, I know this guy¡¯s secret.


    He¡¯s a little creep who¡¯s either really horny or really perverted. I know cause I¡¯ve caught him jerking off in the middle of class.


    You¡¯d think it would be really easy to notice someone masturbating. But when you think of it as impossible, it¡¯s really easy to miss what¡¯s happening right in front of you.


    It¡¯s kind of like when God performs miracles all over the world and scientists just dismiss their findings as just anomalies. The evidence of God is everywhere, you just have to pay attention.


    Jk lol. Did I get you? Did you really think if I believed in God, I would compare faith in His existence to masturbation in class? I mean, come on. If there really is anything like God, he¡¯s definitely much more like the Devil.


    Anyways, back to the masturbatory story. I''ve watched him closely and when I get a new obsession, I don''t take my eyes off the target. Well until I get bored of them. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Since Ryan sits all the way to the right, he puts his right hand in his pocket and starts rolling it around. I think he ripped a hole in his right pocket cause he always puts his phone in his left pocket. Once, he put his phone in the right and it just fell out of his pants leg.


    He doesn¡¯t just massage that shit, he cums, too.


    I saw him rub his disgusting little hand on Helen¡¯s hair before. Helen sits behind him and when she turns around, he strikes. Like a cobra. A cum cobra.


    Sometimes he hikes his shorts up and sprays it onto Riley in front of him. Riley¡¯s too innocent to even know what spunk smells like.


    It has to be his fetish, to masturbate in public and get cum on unsuspecting girls. Honestly, sometimes I get hot watching him do his rape routine. Wait, I guess it¡¯s not rape, just sexual harassment.


    ¡°Ryan Little. Two people.¡± Beep. The tag shows red. Who the hell was he trying to fool.


    ¡°Uh...one person.¡± What I really want to know who decided to take pity on the little pervert and let him fuck them. Someone with really really low self esteem or naive as shit.


    Cause he looks the part of a pervert what with his pinched eyes always staring at tits and ass. You could almost see him mentally stripping every girl near him. He¡¯s the kind of guy that watches porn on his phone with his other perv pals during lunch and has circle jerk sessions after school. Despicable, I know.


    ¡°I¡¯ve masturbated in the school bathrooms.¡± Lie. Beep. Red.


    Already at student number two, we¡¯re at lie number two. I was wrong about this going smoothly.


    ¡°Please be careful Ryan. Only one try left.¡±


    ¡°And uhh...I¡¯ve masturbated...during class.¡±


    ¡°Final answer?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yea.¡± Ha ha. The bald faced liar. Does he really think he¡¯ll get away with that? It¡¯s not the whole secret and he knows it. Beep. Red.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Ryan-¡±


    ¡°No, wait. There¡¯s more! Give me another chance."


    "I already gave you three."


    "No! No! Please! I¡¯ll tell you everything! I¡¯ve ejaculated on girls who sit in front of me, and sometimes I wipe my hands off on girl¡¯s clothes or hair.¡± Beep. Green. What an idiot.


    Everyone around him looks at him in horror and disgust. The room can''t keep quiet. The no talking rule can''t even stop them.


    ¡°What the fuck, Ryan?¡±


    ¡°You sick fucking bastard.¡±


    ¡°You fucking creep.¡±


    ¡°Get the fuck away from me.¡± Helen tries to push her desk back.


    Riley turns around to check if she has any cum on her as if there was a time and place for him to secretly cum with everything going on.


    "I''m sorry! I''m sorry!"


    ¡°Everyone, quiet down. If it¡¯s not your turn, do not talk.¡± Seems like the no talking rule isn''t as strict as long as something fun was going down.


    ¡°See! I told you my secret. I told you what you wanted to know. Please!¡±


    ¡°It''s too late.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Mr. Turner. Don''t kill me. You can¡¯t kill me. You''re a teacher. I''m your student.¡± Didn''t he see what it did to Colin?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯ve failed the first test."


    Oh shit. I¡¯m not prepared for this. I didn¡¯t expect this to happen so soon. How could anyone be so dumb? I guess Ryan is.


    He had to have known this would happen. Why''d he lie? Maybe cumming on girls in your class is the kind of shit society won¡¯t get over. Like pedophiles and rapists.


    Is there any other crime where you¡¯re on a public shaming list that anyone can look up online and you''re forced to go door to door warning your neighbors that you¡¯ve just moved and might rape you or touch your children?


    Maybe he knew that only the worst kind of life waited for him, the one where your baggage not only never disappears but is always on display, dragging behind you for all to see.


    ¡°In the interest of cleanliness, the wristbands I''ve provided for you will conveniently inject a fast acting poison-"


    "No, stop. Stop! You can''t do this!" Ryan scratches at his wrist, pulling at the wristband. He smashes it onto the table over and over. Not even a scratch.


    "As I was sayiing, if you happen to fail any of the tests in this class, you will be put to sleep. Permanently. Just another cool function those wristbands have.¡± Damn and I thought there would be another beheading.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, there will be many more opportunities for bloodshed later.¡± Did the fucker just read my mind? Honestly, he might''ve. Who the fuck knows?


    ¡°Please. Don¡¯t do this. I told you the truth. I told you everything. You can''t just murder students. You''re gonna go to jail, forever.¡± They''re gonna arrest a box?


    ¡°Goodbye Ryan.¡±


    ¡°This shit is fucked! This can¡¯t be fucking real.¡± Ryan walks over to the box but before he can get there, he falls to his knees. With his remaining strength, he digs his nails into his bloody wrist. Whether he was still trying to get the band off or wake himself up, I wasn''t sure.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t real. This isn¡¯t real. I¡¯m going to wake up. I¡¯m going to wake up.¡± He continues to mumble as he finally slumps to the floor, planting face first into the carpet, like a buddhist prostration to the box. First death, and a shitty one at that.


    What a way to go. Dying right after your most shameful acts have been revealed to the world, to be always remembered as Ryan, the masturbator, the sex offender, the cum wiper.


    It¡¯s kinda hilarious. Ryan died from masturbation. Not directly. But it¡¯s funny when you say it like that.


    The little shit deserved to die. Am I right? Ha, caught ya, and I¡¯m supposed to be the evil one.


    Granted Ryan¡¯s secret was a bit excessive and a little rapey. It¡¯s still the same shit. Who cares?


    And why are we so ashamed about sex and masturbation? It happens. Like all the time. Everywhere. Everyone.


    "Go Helen."


    ¡°Helen Wong. Five people.¡± Green. Holy shit. You go girl. The prim and proper Asian girl has been getting around.


    Wasn¡¯t she supposed to be the winner of some state math competition? My kind of girl. I liked her already.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had a threesome.¡± Wow, what goes on in those math camps? Although this is only good because I would¡¯ve never expected haughty Helen to put out like that.


    It¡¯s even better cause she¡¯s staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with the room, obviously ashamed but trying to suppress it so cutely. That turns me on.


    But it¡¯s still pretty mediocre as a secret. Do these people have no imagination? Her wristband shows red, though. Apparently there¡¯s more.


    "That was the wrong secret. Please try again, Helen."


    ¡°Um...I¡¯ve cheated...during math competitions.¡± Beep. Green. Haha. She¡¯s more ashamed about that than the threesome. I guess it¡¯s all relative.


    "Next."


    ¡°Hannah Cohen. I¡¯ve never done it.¡± Beep. The tag shows red.


    Nick looks at her, dumbfounded. Cue evil laugh. Mua ha ha ha ha.


    Let the drama begin.


    ¡°I thought you said you were a virgin?¡± Mr. Turner or the box, I still haven¡¯t picked which name to call him/it yet, was definitely quite perverse as he lets this continue.


    He must be enjoying it as much as I am.


    ¡°I am. I swear.¡±


    ¡°But it says you just lied.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s broken. Something must be wrong with it.¡±


    ¡°It''s not. It hasn''t been so far."


    "It is. I swear. I''ve never had sex." Beep. Red.


    "We were supposed to lose our virginity together!¡± Nick is on the verge of tears.


    ¡°Please correct your answer, Hannah.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It wasn¡¯t sex!¡±


    ¡°Please correct your answer, Hannah.¡±


    ¡°Um...uh, one person?¡± Beep. The tag turns green. She immediately turns to Nick. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I didn''t know it was sex!¡± You didn''t know it was sex? The world is a comedy not a tragedy.


    ¡°You bitch." His tone is so vicious, so malicious, that Hannah immediately starts sobbing. I¡¯ve never heard Nick lose his cool but it sounded awesome. This was the real Nick. "Who did you fuck?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. It was just one time.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck? You whore. Who was it? Who did you fuck?¡±


    ¡°It was Eric! We were all a little drunk and you were passed out. He told me you did the same with him and that it didn¡¯t count.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck? What doesn¡¯t count?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know! It was only anal! Mr. Turner! You said that sex was vaginal penetration.¡± That¡¯s what happens when you¡¯re girlfriend is a submissive slave. Someone like Eric can easily manipulate Hannah using the power of Nick¡¯s name.


    ¡°Sorry, Hannah. I said it was orgasm by man through penetration. That includes anal. This has run it''s course. We need to move on. I¡¯m just going to assume that this was part of your secret. Nick, it¡¯s your turn.¡±


    ¡°You fucking whore. How could you let Eric do that to you?


    "Nick. It''s your turn."


    ¡°Nicholas Cardenas. No sex.¡± Red tag. Nick''s face turns the same shade of red.


    ¡°See! You did do it!¡± Hannah screeches. Holy shit. This is fucking good.


    Confused Nick. Angry Nick. Then ashamed Nick. Goddamn, this is better than any birthday present ever. Not that I ever got any birthday presents.


    Thank you God for the blessings. Or thank you Mr. Turner or Mr. Box or whatever the fuck. Thank you.


    You would only get to see this shit on TV. Props to Eric. He''s one pro bisexual homewrecker.


    ¡°I¡¯m not gay! I¡¯m not gay if he didn¡¯t give it to me.¡± Oh, you¡¯re definitely gay, my friend.


    ¡°Please correct your answer, Nick.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t right. This isn''t right. It doesn¡¯t count. I¡¯m not gay. I''m not gay. And I''ve never had sex.¡± Beep. The tag turns red again.


    ¡°That¡¯s your second try, Nick. Please think carefully about what you say this time.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re gay, Nick. Please. Just tell him what he wants to hear.¡± Nick doesn''t even glance at Hannah.


    ¡°Shut the fuck up. You betrayed me. You¡¯re dead to me.¡± This guy. What a hypocrite.


    ¡°Ahem. We¡¯re wasting more time here. Nick please tell the truth.¡±


    ¡°No. No. No. No. I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t. Fuck. I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Nick. I don¡¯t care if you hate me. I¡¯ll still love you. No matter what. Please. I don¡¯t want you to die.¡± I gotta say, Hannah is one devoted devotee. She reaches out to touch his hand, but he slaps it away. He takes a deep breath before speaking.


    ¡°Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I¡¯ve had sex with one person. And my secret is that it was with a man.¡± Beep. Green.


    Whew. I was afraid he was going to die, and just as I got to know the real him, too. Would¡¯ve been a crying shame. Well, not literally. Nothing to cry over. Just a slight disappointment.


    Jean Phillipe is next. He¡¯s gay.


    ¡°My name is Jean Phillipe Leblanc. No sex. And I¡¯m gay.¡± Green, green, green. I can¡¯t help but roll my eyes. No surprise there. It¡¯s cute that he thought he needed to keep being gay a secret. I¡¯m pretty sure everyone already knew he was gay. He always used to deny it. We probably knew before he did.


    I swear parents bless and curse their child when giving them a name.


    If your parents give you a crazy name, like Sparkle or Lexus, you¡¯ll be crazy. Known by name only, you¡¯ll either be that weird hippie who think unicorns are real or you¡¯ll be that super loud, super aggressive bitch.


    If you get too normal of a name, there¡¯s going to three other Brian¡¯s or Matt¡¯s or Emily¡¯s. When someone''s talking about you, they¡¯ll always have to go through the Brian S, Brian M or Brian C? Black Matt or white Matt? Smart Emily or cheerleader Emily? Always compared, never standing out, you''ll be the epitome of normalcy.


    Then there¡¯s the even middle, the Goldilocks just right portion. That¡¯s where your parents should aim to hit, where there¡¯s no one else in your school with your name but it¡¯s not so uncommon that no one¡¯s never heard of it. Like fucking Marley. God I hate my name.


    Anyways, my point is with a name like Jean Phillipe, his parents basically set him up to be gay. Self fulfilling prophecy.


    I¡¯m only half serious. But there is some truth to it. If you were a guy, and everyone treated you like a girl and told you that naked guys are hot. If all the TV and books you read told you that it¡¯s OK to be attracted to guys, suck a dick, take it up the ass.


    Do you think you would still be so straight?


    A lot of gay people say that it¡¯s not a decision, you¡¯re born that way. And I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a lot of guys like that. But where do you think one¡¯s nature comes from. Not just from genes, but your environment. What you grew up learning from. And we¡¯ve learned that gay is gay and straight is straight.


    Bisexual girls are cool, but bisexual guys are gay. It¡¯s all due to stigma. If the world is full of bisexuals, it would be a much happier and inclusive place, and more importantly I¡¯d be having a lot less awkward threesomes. You know, the good kind. With two guys.


    ¡°Next aisle, starting from the back.¡±


    Everything seems to be going smoothly. It doesn¡¯t look like anyone else is going to die in this stage. Maybe just die from embarrassment.


    Next is Nat. She¡¯s a transfer student. Two years ago, her family immigrated from the Ukraine. She has an accent but she can still speak English amazingly well. By the way, she broke a guy¡¯s nose for calling her a commie or at least that¡¯s what they say.


    ¡°My name is Natalia Boyko and I refuse to participate in such exploitative entertainment.¡±


    Goddamnit. I spoke too soon. Or thought too soon. Whatever.


    What¡¯s her plan?


    ¡°I still don¡¯t think this is reality. And if it is, I don¡¯t wish to live in such a depraved world. The value I place on my life is only determined by the world in which I live. And this new world places no value on life, so why should I? I will not debase myself just to live and I doubt my dead mother wouldn¡¯t wish for me to do so either. Have fun crawling around like the animals you all are. Humans should have dignity. I¡¯ve prepared for death, so kill me now.¡±


    Is that it? Is she going to die now? Amazing.


    I suppress the urge to give her a standing ovation that she so deserves. It¡¯s so hard to tell the difference between bravery and stupidity. But I applaud both, for different reasons. What does it matter, this girl¡¯s got balls.


    Speaking of balls, I heard she¡¯s also busted a few. Literally. When a couple of idiots watched too much Ukranian porn and ganged up on her in the bathroom.


    Well, now she''s done. What a waste of a warrior. She would¡¯ve been fun to play with later on.


    Too bad in a second, she¡¯ll be dead.


    We all know what¡¯s coming, but nobody tries to stop her. To persuade her otherwise, plead for her to participate.


    Maybe in that moment, we all looked up to her. We all wanted to be that girl who stood up to the system and made a stand, even in the face of death.


    Yet, of course, none of our pitiful selves would dare. All we can do is stare, open mouthed. Anticipation hangs amid the thick stuffy silence as we await the inevitable falling of the guillotine blade.


    Suddenly, sniffling. Loud. Then, like a train horn, a nose blowing.


    From the box.


    Is this motherfucker serious?

 Chapter 6 - Deadball (SOPHIA)

    Self rolling balls? I think I¡¯ve seen that somewhere on youtube. But for dogs.


    Are we just dogs to whoever¡¯s up there? The one''s watching. Laughing. As we chase our own tails.


    Fuck them. We aren¡¯t animals. We¡¯re humans. I¡¯ll show them the real depth of human capability.


    But first I needed to figure this game out to beat it.


    The board says 26:32. Fifty people dead in three minutes. Fifty friends dead. I¡¯m gonna kill whoever¡¯s behind this.


    ¡°Eek. Get it away from me.¡± One ball went to Lindsey, on my team.


    ¡°Why¡¯s it keep following me?¡± Another to Ellen, a junior.


    ¡°Nobody touch it. She said the balls will kill you.¡±


    The two girls step this way and that, but the balls keep chasing them down. The last ball is at Jackson¡¯s feet. He hasn¡¯t moved. He eyes it closely. Then, bends down.


    ¡°Wait, don¡¯t!¡±


    He picks up the ball. But nothing happens. It''s safe?


    ¡°Here, catch.¡± He throws the ball to Pat, one of his baseball buddies.


    ¡°What the fuck, man?¡± Pat jumps out of the way. But the ball only reaches a bit over three quarters the distance between them. He did that on purpose. No way he his throw''s that weak.


    The ball starts rolling, but this time, it goes to Pat¡¯s feet. He steps back, but it pursues.


    ¡°Come on, man. Why¡¯d you gotta do that?¡±


    BEEP. What was that sound? Did it come from the ball in front of me?


    BEEP. It definitely came from the ball. BEEP. BEEP. It¡¯s coming from the others, too.


    BEEP. BEEP. The girls are still running in circles, trying in vain to escape from the persistent ball. BEEP. BEEP.


    ¡°Someone plea--aaagghhh.¡± Lindsey trips, falling to the ground. A wide V of crimson sprays behind her. Her legs are missing.


    BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The sound gets faster and louder.


    Silas pushes me away and jumps on the ball, like a soldier on a grenade. It might as well be one. The beeping stops. But on the other side of the court, it continues.


    Ellen¡¯s ball. She¡¯s gonna die and I can¡¯t save her. The sound reaches the climax. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.


    She kicks it. Hard. Straight to our side.


    Before anyone can react, the ball tears through three people, three holes in a straight line, leading to a splotch of red where it bounces off of the wall.


    Screaming. Two screaming for help with Lindsey. Seven screaming near the three dead in a row. Twenty screaming bloody murder at Ellen. They¡¯re not gonna shut up anytime soon. I can¡¯t concentrate. I can''t figure it out. What are the rules? The ball went quiet when Silas jumped on it. Pat''s ball hasn''t made any noise. What happened? It should''ve started by now. I look over and Jackson has it. Pat passed it back?


    BEEP. The sound shuts everyone up. When faced with someone else¡¯s death, they¡¯re so loud. But when faced with their own death, they shut right up.


    The balls have found new targets, all of them on our side except for Jackson¡¯s ball.


    "It''s starting!"


    ¡°What do we do?¡±


    ¡°Are we all just gonna die?¡±


    ¡°We have to play the game.¡±


    ¡°Guys! Calm down. We don¡¯t have to play the game. Just give me a minute."


    "We don''t have a minute." I know. Jackson must''ve figured it out. He passed it back. I got it.


    ¡°When a ball¡¯s following you, that means it¡¯s yours and you have 30 seconds to get rid of it.¡± I saw the clock out of the corner of my eye. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°So we have to throw it.¡±


    ¡°We do have to play.¡±


    ¡°No! We don¡¯t! We can pass to each other and the countdown resets. Like Silas or Pat. We can just pass the ball to each other for the remaining time.¡±


    ¡°Is she right?¡±


    "That makes sense."


    ¡°We¡¯re saved?¡±


    ¡°Thank god.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not gonna die.¡±


    ¡°So everyone, we should get in a circle. If we work together, we can all survive.¡± I step away from Silas, trying to start a circle, but the people near us back away.


    ¡°Fuck that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going near the ball.¡±


    ¡°You guys do it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my problem.¡± The only people who come to join the circle, or square are the two unfortunate guys, Axel and Jayce, who ended up with other balls.


    "How do you know this''ll work?" Standing next to me is Axel, who¡¯s just as tall as me which means he¡¯s pretty short and scrawny for a guy. He''s a dick because of it. Classic height complex.


    "I don''t. But do you have any other plan?" I guess we don¡¯t need anyone else. It might even be safer this way. I don¡¯t want Izzy touching the balls either. In case, this doesn''t work.


    ¡°Ok, ready? Just keep passing it to your left.¡± I pass it to Axel who passes it to Jayce who passes it to Silas. I look up at the clock, we only need to do this for 25 more minutes and we can all live. We can make it. 24:30. 24:00. The time is going by--


    BEEP. It¡¯s the ball that I have. I pass it to Axel.


    BEEP. What¡¯s going on. I passed it. Axel gives it Jayce.


    BEEP. It¡¯s not working. Why isn¡¯t it working? Jackson¡¯s ball starts beeping. He stops and holds the ball, looking at it curiously, as if it wasn''t a ticking bomb.


    BEEP. It¡¯s getting faster. BEEP. I¡¯ve gotta think of something. I give the ball to Axel who passes it. Then, he steps away.


    ¡°I¡¯m done. I¡¯m not doing this anymore.¡± Is he joking? One of these balls was his and he¡¯s just gonna leave?


    ¡°I could just throw this ball at you.¡± Silas growls.


    ¡°Yea but I know you¡¯re not going to.¡± The bastard. I look at the other side. Jackson had handed the ball to Pat and was telling him something I couldn¡¯t hear.


    ¡°I¡¯m done, too.¡± Jayce throws the ball at Silas and backs away slowly, looking down at the floor, his greasy hair covering half his face as if he was trying to hide his shame or his acne problem.


    Guess we didn¡¯t set a good precedent when we let Axel go. Ten seconds left until the beeping stops. And we die.


    ¡°Gimme the last ball, too. We don¡¯t both have to die.¡± Silas reaches for the ball, but I stop him.


    ¡°No. We¡¯ll figure something out.¡± I can¡¯t think of anything. Do we have to throw it? Do we have to play this fucked up game?


    I can¡¯t. I¡¯m not gonna murder anyone to save myself. I''m not gonna play. I''m not gonna throw it. But where does that leave me? Dead.


    Wait, I don¡¯t have to throw it at anyone.


    BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.


    "Here, I have an idea. Give me the balls!" I grab all three balls, run to the half court line and dump them on to the ground.


    The sound finally stops. We¡¯re safe. BEEP.


    A ball whizzes by my ear and a howl erupts behind me. In front of me is Pat. He threw it. But not at the ground, he threw it at someone.


    ¡°I swear. We didn¡¯t know. We thought you had to throw it at someone to be safe. If we knew we could throw it at the ground, we would¡¯ve done that. We¡¯re not killers.¡± Jackson entreats my angry team. They don¡¯t believe him. I don¡¯t know if I believe him.


    "You''re all fucking murderers. You''re whole team is crazy."


    ¡°Why did the balls start the countdown anyways? I thought Sophia said passing it would be fine.¡± Shifting the blame onto me. He should go into politics, the shifty bastard.


    ¡°Deadball.¡± Izzy seems to have woken up from her stupor.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called a dead ball. Dodgeball rules. To prevent live balls from being kept out of play. When you hold the ball for too long, it¡¯s a dead ball. When you¡¯re team has the ball for too long, it¡¯s a dead ball.¡±


    ¡°Shit. What do we do now?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know."


    "Seems like Soph¡¯s plan won¡¯t work now.¡±


    ¡°You got another plan, Soph?¡± Somehow, Axel ended up with the ball again and therefore very curious about my thought process. He''s lucky cause I do have a plan.


    ¡°Yea,¡± Finally, I can help them. I can save them. ¡°We keep passing it between each other across the line. We just have to let it bounce first.¡±


    ¡°Great idea, Soph. You''re just full of them today." Jackson''s compliment doesn''t feel very complimentary. "As an apology, I¡¯ll volunteer the baseball team to stand on our side of the line and pass.¡± Isn¡¯t his team the one with three balls? Aren¡¯t we the ones helping him?


    ¡°Fuck this. I don¡¯t trust Soph anymore. I almost died last time cause of your shitty plan.¡± I also saved your ass.


    ¡°I promise it will work. We can all live.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been saying that the entire time and look how many people died.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not her fault, you asshole.¡± Silas steps in.


    ¡°Whatever. If you¡¯re so sure about it, why don¡¯t you put your own life on the line. Here.¡± Axel holds the ball out. My whole plan hinges on both sides working together. I can¡¯t refuse the ball or it might all fall apart.


    ¡°No problem. I¡¯ll do it. Let¡¯s get in line. Who¡¯ll stand with me?¡± Silas is already next to me. Izzy comes, too.


    ¡°Are you sure, Iz?¡±


    ¡°Yea, I think I can manage throwing a ball five feet.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll help, too.¡± It¡¯s Jayce. He still doesn¡¯t look me in the eye. He must¡¯ve felt bad about before.


    On the other side is Jackson, Pat, Victor, and Aiden. Victor¡¯s just as big as he sounds, the heavy hitter on the team. Aiden plays shortstop and is almost as fast as Jackson, but has spiky black hair instead of the afro Jackson¡¯s sporting. Pat¡¯s the pitcher and his subsequent ego is only tempered by Jackson¡¯s iron fist leadership style.


    ¡°Everyone matched up?¡± Pat¡¯s throwing to Jayce, Victor to Silas, and Aiden to Izzy. Jackson¡¯s mine.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    See, you fuckers. We¡¯re not dogs. We¡¯re human.

 Chapter 7 - Psychopaths. Maybe?

    ¡°Excuse me. I¡¯m just so moved by your speech. Give me a second, please.¡±


    We listen in amazement as the box proceeds to pretend cry for a minute straight, broken by sporadic absurd honks into an imaginary tissue.


    ¡°You know what? Executive decision. You pass.¡± We all sigh in unison.


    ¡°But.¡± There¡¯s always a but. ¡°If you don¡¯t participate, you will die next round. As your teacher, I counsel you to look at this as an opportunity to examine how to live with your said dignity in a world that tries to take it away. I agree that this part may seem exploitative, but to die is easy, to struggle is hard. Ok. Aanya.¡±


    ¡°My name is Aanya Devi. I¡¯ve had sex with two people. And one of them was with my brother.¡± Collective gasps.


    Most of you are like ¡®Omg incest! Ewww, that¡¯s so disgusting. Who would even want to do that?¡¯


    Some of you smarter ones are like ¡®We¡¯re genetically predisposed to not be attracted to close blood relatives. Even animals don¡¯t do incest.¡¯


    And accordingly, in the United States, barring New Jersey, Rhode Island, and Ohio, just the relation between close kin is punishable with time in prison anywhere from 1 year up to life and numerous levels of fines ranging from thousands to hundreds of thousands.


    In essence, people who do that kind of shit are reprehensible, repulsive, genetically flawed criminals, right? You agree.


    Do you know what that sounds like? It sounds like the same exact shit almost everyone was saying about gay people hmmm...oh just 25 years ago.


    But that¡¯s totally different!


    I don¡¯t think we¡¯re genetically predisposed to want to procreate with a sex that we can¡¯t have offspring with.


    Have you ever heard of sodomy laws? Probably not.


    Before 1962, sodomy was a felony in every state. And guess what? They included sexual acts between persons of the same sex. Impossible, right?


    Did you know it took till 2003 before there was even a complete decriminalization of same-sex intercourse in the United States. Of course, Texas was one of the last ones.


    Y¡¯all are out there celebrating gay marriage laws but do you know the dark and dangerous path so many people had to take to get to that happy and bright point? Those years where it was totally fine to beat a homosexual half to death on the street cause they were just criminals anyways?


    What¡¯s wrong with two people falling in love, no matter how flawed they may be? Y¡¯all are real close minded if you want to accept one thing and not the other.


    But wait, what about all the deformed, mutants they¡¯ll make? Every single culture dead or alive today has descended from incestuous ancestry so all y¡¯all are deformed mutants, too.


    Yea, but we know better now. Hmmm...let me see if I can think of some kind of practical solution to this problem. Whoa, by golly gee, I think I got it! What if, and this is a long shot, but what if they just don¡¯t have kids? Wait, what?


    Kind of like what same sex couple do? Or what if we use genetic screening to make sure the baby doesn¡¯t have any diseases, just like every other fucking pregnant couple?


    Genius, am I right?


    Y¡¯all are a bunch of hypocrites. Anything strange and unnatural, something that don¡¯t fit into your box, y¡¯all just flip out as if it¡¯s the end of the world and just exterminate. Sorry, bout all the y''all''s, got in the Texas mood.


    Still, it¡¯s fucking weird to fuck your brother. But I like weird.


    ¡°Next. Colin.¡± Colin looks like he¡¯s dead, slumped in his seat, if not for the panting as if he¡¯s short of breath, which he probably is. Aanya shakes him gently, trying to wake him but all he does is moan.


    ¡°Do you think we can skip him for now please, Mr. Turner?¡±


    ¡°Rules are rules. I can¡¯t very well let everyone just skip their turn if they wanted to, can I?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you can. You just don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°Fine. I don¡¯t want to. He¡¯s lucky I didn¡¯t kill him earlier. If he doesn¡¯t answer in fifteen seconds, we¡¯re moving on.¡± Aanya starts to shake Colin harder.


    ¡°Wake up, Colin. You have to wake up. Please.¡± Nothing. ¡°Colin, please!¡± She¡¯s on her feet, slapping his face. Trying to raise him from the dead.


    ¡°He was lucky to have made it so far. I¡¯m going to have to call it. Time of death-¡±


    ¡°Just give him a bit longer. Please, Mr. Turner. He¡¯ll wake up, I know he will.¡± Where is her confidence coming from? ¡°Colin, if you can hear me. I know you¡¯re a fighter. I know you¡¯ve had cancer and you survived that. You¡¯re still alive even though you¡¯re arm was cut off. This is nothing. Just wake up. Please. Just wake up!¡±


    ¡°Looks like Colin cannot continue.¡±


    ¡°No! Stop! He¡¯s gonna wake up! I swear!¡± When did she get so attached to him? Is this the Florence Nightingale effect? Sitting in front of Colin, Brandon has his eyes closed again, sweating furiously. I¡¯m sure a lot of people wouldn¡¯t want to see what comes next.


    ¡°Please step away from him, Aanya.¡±


    ¡°What? Are you going to kill me, too? Fuck you! Just kill me then. Natalia is right. This shit isn¡¯t worth living for.¡± So many fucking martyrs in this class. Who knew?


    ¡°Aanya. Last warning. Step back, now.¡± Without a word, Brandon stands and grabs Aanya from behind, dragging her away from Colin.


    ¡°No! No! Stop Brandon! Let me go! Nooo!¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Brandon.¡±


    ¡°Stop! Colin! Wake up! I don¡¯t want to see anyone die anymore. Please! Let me go, Brandon! I don''t wanna do this anymore. Just let me die!¡±


    ¡°What a racket. Can¡¯t a guy just take a nap?¡± Colin somehow wheezes out the eerily familiar words.


    ¡°Wonderful. It¡¯s good of you to join us Colin. Aanya, can you please explain the current game we¡¯re playing?¡± Aanya rushes to Colin, hugging him. They¡¯re getting real close, real quick. I guess death or near death does that to you.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re killing me here.¡± Colin winces.


    ¡°Sorry. Sorry. I was just so scared.¡± Aanya wipes away her tears.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? What happened?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Turner cut your arm off and I tried to stop the bleeding, but no one was helping me and then Brandon did but I thought you were still gonna die and Mr. Turner wouldn¡¯t let us get you any help and he killed Ryan cause Ryan lied and he was going to kill you, too and I was so scared that I couldn¡¯t save you. I was so scared.¡±


    ¡°Shhh, shhh. It¡¯s ok. You did really good Aanya. Thank you. You saved my life.¡± With his good arm, or should I say his only arm, he hugs Aanya, calming her.


    ¡°Aanya. We¡¯ve wasted enough time. Waiting. Again. I¡¯m so nice, aren¡¯t I? But we must continue the activity.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? What do I have to do?¡±


    ¡°Just say your name, how many people you had sex with and your darkest secret.¡±


    ¡°Ok." He doesn''t argue. Losing an arm made him understand the gravity of the situation. "My name is Colin-¡±


    ¡°Stand up, please.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Turner! He¡¯s injured!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ok. I got this.¡± Colin gasps for breath as he stands, leaning on the table with his one hand, and Aanya supporting him on the other side.


    ¡°My name is...Colin Sharp,¡± he pants, ¡°I¡¯ve had sex...with two people.¡± Beep. Green. Two people? I could¡¯ve sworn that Colin was a virgin when he started going out with Brianna. ¡°And my secret is that I cheated on my one true love.¡± Ah. There you go. The last part he says emphatically as if it was his final confession. He falls into his seat, his head dangling, unconscious again from the effort and the lack of oxygen to sustain him.


    ¡°Well, at least we got that over with. Brandon.¡±


    He¡¯s doing that stupid thing again where he scrunches his eyes like he¡¯s concentrating and somehow seems to be squeezing sweat out of his scalp. After deciding on something, whatever it is, he opens them wide and stares off into the distance.


    ¡°My name is Brandon James and I¡¯ve not had sex. I cannot tell you my secret even if it means I must die.¡± That fucking idiot. That¡¯s what he decided on?


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I cannot betray my friend¡¯s privacy.¡± Just say it, you dumbass. Save yourself. Who cares about shit like loyalty and friendship? When it comes down to it, everyone values themselves over everyone else.


    ¡°No one said you had to tell the whole story.¡± Haha, that idiot. The box was right. Did Helen say who she had a threesome with? Did Colin say he who cheated on his true love with? Hannah and Nick only mentioned Eric cause they were spatting. Yes, that¡¯s a word. Overthinking things again, Brandon.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t realize I could use anonymity. Thank you.¡± Who the fuck was he thanking? The box? ¡°I was an accomplice to murder.¡± Beep. Green. Wow. How do you end up being an accomplice to murder and have it as your darkest secret. You shouldn¡¯t have gotten involved in the first place. If it was an accident, then you wouldn¡¯t be an accomplice. If you''re that tortured, go to the police. What would make you help a murderer and cover it up if you didn¡¯t want to?


    ¡°Hailey?¡±


    ¡°My name is Hailey Bishop. I¡¯ve had sexual relations with two guys and one girl. I¡¯ve also had a dog eat me out using peanut butter. That¡¯s my secret.¡± Damn. She¡¯s kinky as hell. Hailey knows how to experiment.


    ¡°Alright, next aisle. Since all of you are avoiding sitting near me.¡± The first row near the box was empty. ¡°Gessica, you¡¯re next.¡±


    ¡°Gessica Meyers. I¡¯ve had sex with fifteen people.¡± Beep. Red. ¡°Sixteen people.¡± Beep. Red. "Seventeen?" Beep. Green. The girl didn''t even hesitate on her last try. Did she have ice flowing through her veins? ¡°And I¡¯ve never loved anyone.¡±


    Who cares if she''s never loved anyone? Everyone is thinking the same thing as I am. How the fuck? Seventeen people? How does that even happen without word getting around about it? In high school no matter who you fuck, word gets around. It¡¯s mostly the guys cause they can¡¯t shut up about their conquests of pussy.


    Is this the same angel that I had been pining over for two weeks? My angel?


    The slut.


    She didn¡¯t even remember the number of guys she fucked. I can say slut cause I¡¯m a girl. That¡¯s how it works, right? Or I can say it cause I¡¯m a slut, too. Does that work?


    It¡¯s just a fucking word anyways. And even the demeaning meaning attached to it. Why are you ashamed of being someone who fucks around? You should''ve thought about it before you spread your legs wide open.


    I feel no shame of being a slut.


    If you try to stop people from saying a word, you¡¯re giving them power over the word. Like nigger or faggot. If you ban it, then they can use it to their benefit, they can flaunt your arbitrary rules in your face.


    When they say cunt, they¡¯re purposely trying to cause offense. Don¡¯t give them that power. Shout your most offensive words off the rooftops, make it meaningless, and that¡¯s when you finally take that word and null its power.


    But yea, Gessica¡¯s a fucking slut.


    Who the hell did she fuck? Nobody in this school cause I would¡¯ve heard, someone would¡¯ve heard. Maybe she kills her victims like some kind of succubus or vampire. She looked pale enough.


    What the fuck? I still couldn¡¯t comprehend this. Who is she? What is she? I guess, this is the downfall of never talking to her. Now, I understand why I was always watching her, why I was drawn to her. She¡¯s like me. She¡¯s one of the masked ones. And hidden behind her mask, her true face. A pleasure seeking bitch.


    ¡°Diana, you¡¯re next.¡± Oh, did I forget to tell you that the number four hottest girl in the school is in my first period history class? Well, she is and she looks even more spectacular, disheveled from the disorder. I don''t know why.


    She¡¯s taken off her hoodie and the tank top she¡¯s wearing underneath is quite delicious. How could I be thinking about that right now? Do you not know me yet?


    She¡¯s wearing black thick rimmed glasses which accentuates her dark hazel eyes and olive skin. When she stands, you can see every curve highlighted by the tightness of her top and her yoga pants, and let me tell you, she¡¯s got some real nice curves, half hispanic, half white, she¡¯s perfectly round in all the right places.


    ¡°Diana Ramirez. Seven guys.¡± Seven lucky guys got to fuck a goddess.


    So the big question: why is she number four? Cause she¡¯s an absolute bitch.


    ¡°My secret is I made a girl kill herself in middle school." Beep. Red. "On purpose.¡± Green. And she''s a complete fucking psychopath, apparently.


    We all thought she was a bitch cause her best friend committed suicide in eighth grade. But it seems like there was an attribution error, classic correspondence bias. Her best friend killed herself because she was a bitch, not the other way around.


    Maybe she was born a bitch, a baby that cried through the night, threw up on the nice clothes, would take half a shit and then shit the rest right after being changed. All on purpose, of course. A demon baby. One percent of the population is a psychopath so if you know a hundred people, chances are you know a psychopath.


    Although, most of them are probably in jail.


    ¡°Next.¡± Jordan better watch out, she¡¯s Diana¡¯s new butt buddy and it seems as though Diana¡¯s on a killing streak. Well, not a streak cause it¡¯s just one, but she might want to start her streak with Jordan.


    ¡°Jordan Bailey. Five guys. I¡¯ve cheated.¡± Beep. Red. ¡°I like to cheat.¡± Beep. Red.


    ¡°Make sure you answer the question completely. Partial answers will be marked wrong.¡± Like Ryan.


    ¡°I like to cheat by seducing other girl¡¯s boyfriends.¡± Beep. Green. Looks like a couple of psychopaths have found their perfect partners. How sweet.


    You can¡¯t find that kind of connection in any normal relationships. Gotta be true love. Maybe they torture and kill cats together for fun. Why are all the fucking weirdos in this class? Or does every class have the same ridiculous ratio of fucked up people?


    ¡°Finally, things are moving along. Mohammed, go.¡± He rises, slowly. His face still a swollen mess.


    ¡°Mohammed Haddad. Zero girls.¡± Surprising. His jet black windswept hair alone could get him laid numerous times. ¡°I am betrothed to an eight year old.¡± Beep. Red. Well that sucks. Now everyone knows he¡¯s a pedophile and he still needs to tell us his real secret.


    Come on guys, eight¡¯s not that bad. I mean it¡¯s definitely bad right now, but he¡¯s not like fucking her or anything. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll wait till she¡¯s of age, not sure what that is in Muslim years. But when he¡¯s 26, she¡¯ll be 18. Could be worse.


    ¡°One of my cousins tried to recruit me for ISIS.¡± Beep. Green. Haha, a pedophilic terrorist. CNN should be on this shit.


    "Next."


    ¡°Salvatore Esposito. Zero girls. I have a deck of yu-gi-oh cards hidden in a shoebox, in the back of my closet.¡± Beep. Green. That sneaky bastard.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°That can¡¯t be his secret.¡±


    ¡°How did he just pass?¡±


    ¡°Quiet, please. Moving on. Adam.¡±


    ¡°Adam Schapiro. I¡¯ve done three girls. I keyed and slashed the tires of my ex¡¯s car.¡± Beep. Green. I was there for that one. It was hilarious. Sam broke a rib when one of the tires popped, sending the knife flying back at him. He could¡¯ve died if the knife had flipped around.


    Adam¡¯s real nice and never gets mad, like literally, never mad, like Buddha status, but he found out Karen cheated on him after three years together and apparently was doing it all through middle school and into high school.


    That¡¯s what happens when you start having sex before you¡¯re 13. Love knows no bounds. Or more like sex addiction knows no bounds.


    He couldn¡¯t even think of a good revenge plan and ripped this one off of a movie. But at least we¡¯re finally back to some normal people secrets. Jesus. That other side of the classroom is fucking crazy. Well, mainly Brandon, Aanya, and Diana. Maybe a little of Ryan, Hailey, Gessica, and Jordan.


    ¡°Next.¡±


    ¡°Henry Miller. I¡¯ve never done it. I watched my friend have sex.¡± Beep. Green. ¡°But I wasn¡¯t like peeping or anything. They asked me to.¡± Thanks for the explanation. You¡¯re not a total creep, just a partial one. But hmmm...it had to have been either Adam or Julian. It couldn¡¯t have been Sam. These guys have all been on the same soccer team since they were in kindergarten. Their team color was pink and they called themselves the pink piggies. Kids are stupid.


    ¡°My name is Samuel L Jackson.¡± Beep. Red. Nobody laughs. The fucking idiot. Read the crowd. Nobody''s in the mood. He was always doing idiotic jokes, that nobody really thought was funny. It¡¯s more cringey than watching a stand up comedian bomb for an hour straight.


    Didn¡¯t he see the two dead bodies on the floor? Maybe humor was his coping mechanism. Wait. No. Eating was definitely his go to. There was just nothing to eat, right now.


    If he had a superpower it would be whipping snacks out of nowhere, hidden in some deep crevice or fold.


    ¡°Sorry...uh...my name is Samuel Rosen and I¡¯ve never had sex. My secret is uhh...I¡¯ve skipped school to jerk off all day.¡± Beep. Red. It sounded pretty tame.


    ¡°Crap. Crap. I don¡¯t know. I thought that was it. If that¡¯s not it then I don¡¯t know what it is.¡± Shouldn¡¯t have made that joke, you retard. I¡¯m surprised this hasn¡¯t happened earlier. It seems like most people know that one thing that they wouldn¡¯t tell anyone, ever. Except for Sam.


    ¡°What do I do?¡± He looks around at us for help.


    ¡°Well, we kinda all knew that already.¡± Seems Mr. Black Box is allowing the phone a friend option.


    ¡°Yea, it¡¯s not a secret if it¡¯s obvious.¡± Don¡¯t tell me Sam has nothing really dark or shameful to hide. What happens then? Does he just automatically die?


    ¡°I¡¯m screwed. I¡¯m screwed. What do I do? Do you guys know that I jerk off in your bathrooms?¡±


    ¡°Yea, we can hear it and it¡¯s gross.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re always yelling at you to wash your hands.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t do that anymore dude.¡±


    ¡°Sorry guys, it¡¯s just sometimes the girls we hang out with are so hot.¡± The sad fuck. He knows he¡¯ll never get a chance with any of them.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a group discussion. Please finish your answer, Samuel.¡± Time''s up. Sorry Sam.


    ¡°Please, Mr. Turner. I don''t know what I''m supposed to say. I don¡¯t want to die. I don¡¯t want to end up like...¡±


    Ryan. He¡¯s definitely gonna end up like Ryan. He has no fucking clue at this point what his secret is.


    Well, it was good knowing ya Sam. Thanks for all those sweaty warm half melted chocolates you pulled out of your ass. You were the best of us, well not really. Only when we played Halo, you annoying shit, rocket launchering all of us to kingdom come.


    Your tombstone will read, chubby lacksadaisacal soccer player, full time Halo player, vending machine.


    At least it¡¯s better than Ryan, the public masturbator and semen sprayer.


    ¡°Please finish your answer.¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m not going to answer.¡± What does he think that will do? ¡°If I don¡¯t answer, you can¡¯t kill me.¡± Oh, he most definitely can. He can kill all of us right now if he wants to. ¡°Remember, you said there are rules you have to follow as well.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and one of those rules is to finish the activities. Please answer or we will have to move on.¡±


    ¡°What about Natalia? You let her go. Please Mr. Turner. I don''t know my secret. Please just let me go.¡± You¡¯re honestly comparing your blubbering ass to that fierce piece of ass?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t think I can let your case slide. I¡¯m going to count to three. One.¡± This is how you deal with a five year old.


    ¡°No. No. I¡¯m not going to. You can¡¯t kill me. You¡¯re not allowed to. You¡¯re not allowed to.¡±


    ¡°Two.¡±


    ¡°Please. Please. Just let me live. Please save me.¡± Come on Sam, you could at least try to answer.


    ¡°Three.¡± Either way, goodbye.


    ¡°Ok. Ok. Wait. I¡¯ll answer. I steal money out of my mom¡¯s purse to buy chips and candy at school!¡± Beep. Green.


    Are you fucking serious?


    That was the darkest most shameful secret? I don¡¯t even know what to think anymore. Wasn¡¯t that too late? Not that I wanted Sam to die. I didn¡¯t care if he did or not.


    ¡°That was cutting it close. You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m nice, Sam. Other teachers wouldn¡¯t be so forgiving.¡± What a favor he¡¯s doing us, by not killing us. I couldn¡¯t tell if he was serious, that sarcastic shitbag. Not that I had any right to complain.


    ¡°Kayla.¡±


    ¡°Kayla Lewis. No sex. And I almost got raped.¡± Almost? Your darkest secret is you almost got raped?


    Get over yourself. Rape is such a sensitive issue and it¡¯s become such a hot topic that it¡¯s been blown out of proportion.


    So much so that many women believe that rape is worse than murder.


    Are you fucking kidding me? If you think that then just kill yourself after you get raped. Problem solved.


    They claim rape is so emotionally scarring that the majority of rape victims end up committing suicide. WRONG. 13 percent attempt suicide. Far from the majority.


    Still, that might seem bad at first. But you know what¡¯s much worse. Battery.


    I would totally get raped rather than get my fucking ass beat. You think you have PTSD from getting raped?


    Wait till every fucking sound gets you jumpy and you flinch at the slightest touch. You want me to prove it to you?


    Battery victims will be five times more likely to commit suicide than non crime victims. But rape victims will be four times more likely to just CONTEMPLATE suicide.


    Not even attempt, but contemplate. How can you even compare the two? I¡¯m not saying like rape isn¡¯t bad but there are worse things. Much worse things.


    How do I know? You caught me. I''m a rape survivor. That''s my secret. Woop dee doo dah.


    I was raped by my step dad for three years.

 Chapter 8 - Catholic Priests (Revised)

    Rape is a first world problem.


    If you don¡¯t have enough food to eat or clothes to wear, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll worry too much about rape. Furthermore, you¡¯ll most likely give yourself to anybody who¡¯s willing to pay.


    Nobody in a domestically abusive relationship ever said ¡®Thank god he didn¡¯t rape me last night, he only broke a few of my ribs.¡¯


    There¡¯s two types of rape.


    The first one is where you get wasted and someone takes advantage of you on the couch or you take a guy home and you just wanted to make out or give him a blowjob, but he ¡®can¡¯t control himself¡¯.


    The second is you¡¯re walking your dog in the park and some motherfucker tackles your ass and takes you behind the bushes. See the difference?


    One is preventable, the other isn¡¯t.


    The first type of rape is the kind of shit college girls like to cry wolf about so they have something to complain about, something they can call scarring and emotionally traumatic, it''s like a defining moment for them, a significant event in The Cliche College Girl''s Diary along with their lesbian experimentation and fucking a college professor.


    But that''s not all of them. I¡¯ve talked to girls who¡¯ve gotten raped before and you wouldn¡¯t believe how many of them will just talk about casually, as if it wasn¡¯t rape.


    They¡¯ll say they pass out drunk and when they woke up, the guy they were with was on top of them or the boyfriend was horny and they couldn¡¯t bother to argue so they just laid there.


    In my head, I¡¯m like: that¡¯s rape! But to them, it¡¯s just another day.


    Then you have Kayla who think just the rape attempt is the worst thing to happen to them, who think there are roofies in all the drinks, who has pepper spray in their bag and a rape whistle around her neck.


    All this, when, honest to god, she¡¯s probably too ugly for anyone to even try raping her. I swear that attempt must have been a case of mistaken identity. Because I wouldn''t rape her.


    I¡¯d rather rape her best friend, Jamie with her fairy figure and Rihanna short cut as opposed to Kayla¡¯s messy afro she calls ''reclaiming her African American womanhood''.


    She can still watch, though.


    ¡°Jamie Bryant. Three people. I almost got my best friend raped.¡±


    What the hell? Is this Jerry Springer: High School Edition?


    ¡°You did what?¡± Kayla¡¯s incensed, her afro curls seem to spring up straight.


    ¡°It''s not a big deal. I just told Josh that you needed a good fuck.¡±


    ¡°What? Why? Why would you think that?¡±


    ¡°You were always complaining that there were no good guys out there and that¡¯s fine, but you would whine at parties when everyone¡¯s just trying to have fun. It was getting really annoying.¡±


    ¡°You had someone rape me because I was a party pooper?¡± I can''t believe she just said party pooper. Now my head''s stuck with the image of her performing the literal definition.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell him to rape you and he didn¡¯t rape you. You¡¯re so fucking dramatic. He stopped when you slapped him. I just felt bad cause you made such a big deal out of it.¡±


    ¡°I was scarred! I¡¯m always scared around guys now, and I don¡¯t drink anything except a bottle I bring with me. You fucking bitch. You ruined my life.¡± She waves her arms hysterically, as if her life is bigger than life.


    ¡°And I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t think you were such a prude. I thought once you lost your virginity, you¡¯d become more open minded.¡± Hey, that''s one of my philosophies.


    ¡°You mean turn into a slut like you. You wish. You are so not my best friend anymore.¡± There it is! The declaration of revocation of friendship! Kayla would make it so official. I volunteer as Jamie''s new BFF.


    ¡°Oh no! What am I gonna do? Hang out with more dope people than you? Shit.¡± Savage. Admitting to rape assistance then calling her ''not dope''. Jamie goes hard.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were such a bitch.¡± The bitch calling someone else a bitch. Buddha says you must first look within the bitch before naming others bitch.


    ¡°Ok, ok. Moving on.¡± The best part is, after they sit down and stare in opposite directions, they still have to be three feet away from each other. I giggle. Not out loud.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Why do I love this shit? I used to skip school and watch Jerry Springer marathons on daytime TV. It never got old, and I don¡¯t think this shit will either.


    ¡°Shane, you¡¯re next.¡±


    This guy is the epitome of a bitch. A born loser. He says he''s a skater cause he listens to Green Day and Sum 41. I know, who the fuck are they? And he sucks at skateboarding. He just hangs out at the park, acting like he''s part of the group even though everyone just ignores him. It''s kinda sad if it wasn''t funny as shit. It''s like watching a mime except it''s real.


    He used to cut himself, not real cuts with deep scars, but tiny little paper cuts. Then, he would show them off to whoever would give him the time of day.


    Not that I have anything against cutting. It feels amazing. Almost better than cumming. Almost.


    But I did it where no one could see, and when I started in on my arm, I wore long sleeves in the middle of summer. Who the fuck wants to go see a psychiatrist? They¡¯re literally drug pushers or a really expensive friend. I guess Shane does need a friend.


    ¡°Shane Brennan. I¡¯ve never had sex. And uh...I tried to kill myself three times.¡± Aww, the poor fucker couldn¡¯t even kill himself. What a noob.


    I understand failing once. But failing three times? You should probably be killed off just for that.


    You just proved that everything you ever hated about yourself was the truth all along. Now you know how useless a human being you are. Like you really suck at life and you really should consider finding a new profession. Oh wait, you did try and you were rejected by the Devil. And that guy will take anyone, even homosexuals.


    How do you even? After the first time, you might be an idiot but then you find a new and improved way to kill yourself. You live and you learn. Lol.


    The second time you fail, you¡¯re most certainly an idiot and you should think about giving up. It could also have been really bad luck.


    So you try the third time. If you survive that, then I¡¯m sorry but you¡¯re not trying hard enough. It¡¯s really not that difficult to kill yourself, there are so many different yet effective ways.


    At that point, all I can assume is you either don¡¯t really want to die and you¡¯re hankering for attention, which in that case you¡¯re a fucking bitch and you deserve to play a game with Jigsaw. Or even Hell doesn¡¯t want you and you¡¯re immortal. Time to be a superhero and star in your own TV show, maybe even land a movie deal.


    So in conclusion, Shane¡¯s a fucking bitch. I''d be worried that one day he''d come to school armed with a revolver, cause if he can''t kill himself how would he be able to plan a proper school shooting, and shoot the shit out everyone. But I''m not worried. Cause he''s too much of a fucking bitch.


    "Moving on. Mary."


    Three left till it¡¯s my turn.


    ¡°Mary Graves. I¡¯m a virgin. And my secret is I want to be a nun.¡± Shit. I almost burst out laughing. Why couldn''t high school always be this funny?


    I mean a nun fits perfectly for Mary. The cross she wears around her neck almost covers half her chest. I always thought it was a decorative piece, but now I know she was warding away sinners and demons.


    But still. Was she always that religious? I guess I wouldn¡¯t know cause she¡¯s never said a word louder than a mouse¡¯s whisper around me.


    "Next."


    ¡°Carissa Warner. I¡¯ve had sex once. And I¡¯m in love with my best friend.¡± Oh, the cruelty. God is definitely a quite entertaining joker.


    Mary looks up at Carissa in wonder.


    ¡°Um...is your best friend me?¡± The naivete astounds.


    ¡°Of course, who else?¡±


    ¡°Homosexuality is a sin, though.¡± Goddamnit. Why did God make it so hard to stifle laughter? Another joke he must be playing on us.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you love me, Mary?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but not in a sinful way. I love you like Jesus loves you.¡±


    ¡°But I love you like-¡±


    ¡°I thought we were like sisters.¡± Sisters who want to fuck.


    ¡°I did, too. But when I had sex with Ryan, I didn¡¯t like it at all. That¡¯s when I knew that I loved you.¡± Ah ha! That¡¯s who fucked that horny creep. A confused lesbian. Now everything makes sense in the world.


    Carissa reaches out to touch Mary¡¯s shoulder, but Mary shies away as if the same hand she held for so long has been contaminated, tainted with the devil.


    ¡°Why?¡± Don''t feign ignorance. You know why. You were keeping this a secret cause you knew what would happen if you told her. You knew how she would react.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Carissa. I¡¯ll help you cleanse yourself of sin. After all, I am a servant of God.¡±


    ¡°I don''t need your help. Just stop lying! You know you love me!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Carissa. I don¡¯t.¡± The power dynamic has shifted. Carissa the protector has now fallen to Carissa the pitied. Mary¡¯s eyes are full of sympathy and Carissa hates her for it.


    This is better than Jerry Springer. This isn¡¯t obese trailer trash fucking everyone they can ride their electric scooter to, which mostly consists of friends and family of the girlfriend/wife, and then rolling around on the stage, pulling each other¡¯s hair before getting tired after 30 seconds of effort.


    This is staining pure hearts, twisting pure intentions.


    This is dirty Catholic priests fingering innocent little boys.


    ¡°Julian.¡±


    ¡°Julian Becker. I¡¯m a virgin. That¡¯s my secret.¡± Nice. The guy who was always bragging about bagging so many chicks. We always knew he was lying for the most part. But to not have fucked any. What a classic high school secret.


    Only one death through this whole thing. Surprising. They''re not as dumb as I thought. I mean they''re all still idiots. Most of them.


    "Last but not least, Marley."


    I guess it¡¯s my turn now.


    ¡°Marley Glass. I¡¯ve had sex with 21 boys and 9 girls.¡± Beep. Red.


    ¡°Full answers only, Marley.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had sex with 21 boys, 9 girls, and 4 men.¡± Beep. Green.


    ¡°Thank you. And now for your secret.¡±


    ¡°I was raped by my step-dad and three of his friends.¡± Beep. Red.


    Oh fuck.

 Chapter 9 - Catch Ball? (SOPHIA)

    Of course, Izzy¡¯s the first to mess up.


    She throws it too soft and it doesn¡¯t reach the half court line. She has to go and nudge it over the line with her foot.


    ¡°Spread out, guys. We don¡¯t want to hit each other by accident.¡± This time Izzy throws too hard and it doesn¡¯t bounce but Aiden dodges it easily.


    ¡°What the hell kind of throw was that?¡± Tensions are high. When you¡¯re throwing what amounts to bombs at each other, it¡¯s bound to happen.


    ¡°Hey, watch it!¡± Izzy throws another one that sails over Aiden¡¯s head, scattering the watching crowd behind him.


    ¡°Throw properly, you dumb bitch.¡±


    ¡°You trying to kill us?¡±


    ¡°Sorry! I¡¯m so sorry!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright Iz. It¡¯s better to undershoot it than overshoot.¡±


    ¡°Hey, why don¡¯t you try rolling it?¡± Jackson suggests. She does.


    Why didn¡¯t I think of that? But before it can cross the line, the ball spins rapidly and rolls back to Izzy.


    ¡°Looks like rolling doesn¡¯t work.¡± Did he just want someone else test it out first?


    We continue to bounce pass the ball back and forth.


    Approaching the 20 minute mark.


    ¡°Can we take a break?¡± Pat asks.


    I look around. Everyone looks strained from the concentration. It might sound easy but when lives are on the line, each throw was a huge effort.


    ¡°Should be fine. I think we have at least two minutes.¡± Each side starts passing the ball to each other, but much more comfortably, knowing we can¡¯t kill each other.


    ¡°Hey, you guys know what that count down means?¡± Jackson calls out. It¡¯s been worrying me, too. Normally we¡¯d play till one side won, meaning the other side was completely eliminated. But this time-


    ¡°Is it a time limit? Whichever team has less people loses?¡± Jackson answers his own question.


    ¡°Is he serious?¡±


    ¡°Losing?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll just lose.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yea, he''s right."


    "Think about it. The game''s so fucked up already."


    "What''s that mean?"


    "It''s gotta be something bad."


    "Like we''re going to die?"


    ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s been happening. If you¡¯re out, you¡¯re dead. So if you lose, you must be dead, too.¡±


    I gotta stop them. I can¡¯t let them think that or things will spiral out of control real fast.


    But what else could it be? What if they¡¯re right? It doesn''t matter. If they start believing that, then more people will die. More than just the losing team. It¡¯s better to keep them calm.


    ¡°I set the timer.¡±


    I know I¡¯m lying. But it¡¯s the only way.


    ¡°What?¡±


    "Sophia did it?"


    ¡°Why did she-¡±


    ¡°Ms. Kennedy asked me before class. After dodgeball, we were supposed to merge with the freshman and sophomore gym class. She didn¡¯t want us to miss dodgeball but she didn¡¯t want us to run over time so I set the timer.¡±


    Izzy looks at me inquisitively. She knows I was with her before class but she doesn¡¯t say anything. Smart girl.


    Jackson looks at me the same. He doesn¡¯t believe me.


    Honestly, it doesn¡¯t really make sense. The door was locked. Where is Ms. Kennedy? I came late to class. But when faced with the hard truth and an easy lie, we pick the easy way out every time. It¡¯s why ignorance exists. It¡¯s why people deny climate change. It¡¯s why 42 percent of the US still believe in creationism.


    In this day and age, all the information you need is at your fingertips. We like to say the Trump supporters are ignorant, but they literally ignore the facts.


    Fun fact: Mar loves Trump.


    He also loves to spit statistics. That''s how I know the 42 percent thing. He¡¯s good with numbers. He whips them out whenever he makes an argument.


    I don¡¯t know if he actually believes them or he¡¯s just using them to his own ends. He uses them exactly as how whoever ''acquired'' them uses them, to manipulate.


    Someone once said there are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.


    I think he just feels secure in numbers, they feel concrete to him, they make sense of the world. As opposed to people. He thinks he understands people but he doesn¡¯t really. He treats them like machines, input output.


    He likes reduce everyone to statistics. He thinks he can predict how they behave this way or that according to the numbers. He thinks them all shallow so all he can see are shadows and blurry figures. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    One day he¡¯ll find out he¡¯s wrong, he¡¯ll see that people can surprise you. Sometimes the ball lands on zero. Or double zero.


    I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m thinking of Mar but it helps. It grounds me the way statistics does him. If things are crazy like this throughout the whole school, I know he¡¯ll still be alive. He wouldn¡¯t die so easily. And it gives me strength. It makes me believe that I won¡¯t die either. That I¡¯ll definitely see him again.


    BEEP.


    ¡°Time¡¯s up.¡±


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s line up again guys.¡± The throws come a little easier now. With practice and rest, nobody¡¯s messing up.


    The rest of the class sits around, waiting. It''s fine. It¡¯s safer that way. No need to involve more people.


    For ten minutes, we¡¯re fine. Up until Jackson throws the ball wide. Like way wide. Izzy throws her ball to me and goes to pick up mine.


    ¡°Sorry! My hand slipped.¡± I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s lying or not. Why would he though? Everything¡¯s going smoothly.


    ¡°Woops. My bad.¡± This time it¡¯s Aiden. He throws short and Izzy walks carefully to retrieve it.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I put up my hand, trying to stop Jackson before he throws, but he¡¯s already in motion. And it¡¯s going wide. Straight at Izzy.


    ¡°Watch out, Izzy!¡± I take a step trying to reach her. But I¡¯m nowhere near close enough to help. I''m not gonna make it. I told her I would protect her but she¡¯s gonna die.


    ¡°Nooo!¡± I cry out, helpless, as I watch the ball arc towards her head.


    WOOSH. It skims right past her face, through her red curls hanging below, and bounces off the ball she was reaching for. She jerks her head back, falling in surprise.


    Thank god. She¡¯s safe. She¡¯s safe! In an instant, I¡¯m there and I''m hugging her. She has no idea what just happened but I¡¯m crying in relief, burying my head in her arms. I thought she was gone for sure.


    Hold on. Is that screaming I hear?


    ¡°Hey, Soph. Jayce is dead.¡± What did he say? Jayce?


    ¡°How?¡± I look over and there¡¯s Jayce with a dodgeball sized hole in his chest and the culprit rolling around next to him.


    Is that the same ball? The ball Jackson threw? It couldn¡¯t be? How¡¯d it get all the way over there?


    Then I remember it bouncing off of the ball in front of Izzy.


    ¡°But it bounced! I saw it bounce!¡± Now, Izzy¡¯s crying.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong Iz?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s dead because of me!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong. You''re just in shock. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    ¡°Yes it is! The ball was live!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t touch the floor, it¡¯s still live. I should have got to my ball faster.¡± The ball that Aiden threw? And then Jackson messing up right after? This can¡¯t be a coincidence. As if reading my mind, Jackson coughs.


    ¡°I can''t believe that happened but you have to trust me. That was an accident. ''m sorry. How could I have known the ball would bounce off another ball at the perfect angle to hit Jayce in the chest?¡±


    ¡°You threw it at Izzy though.¡±


    ¡°Hey, if I was gonna throw it at Izzy, I wouldn¡¯t miss.¡± He¡¯s right. It¡¯s almost impossible. Almost. But with ten minutes left, I can¡¯t risk our tentative truce falling apart.


    I still need them.


    ¡°Fine. But if someone messes up a throw like that, we have to wait before we throw it again.¡± Another person died and somehow we¡¯re just skimming over it. I don¡¯t know if this is how I want to be.


    I walk over to Jayce and look at him.


    ¡°His name was Jayce! He died trying to save you guys! Remember that!¡± I find myself saying to no one in particular. Everyone looks down in shame. At least I hope they''re feeling some shame.


    ¡°What do we do for the fourth ball?¡± Silas holds both balls.


    BEEP. He passes them to me.


    ¡°Any of you want to help?¡± I doubt anyone will but I still ask. I wish I could cower in the crowd like everyone else. But I can¡¯t. I need to do what I can to save as many of them as possible. Even if they didn''t want to try and save themselves.


    "I will." All the way in the back a hand is raised. A small pixie girl with a matching pixie cut stands. ¡°Thank you...what¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Vivian.¡± Pixie voice, too. Small and squeaky. ¡°Uh...Jayce had a crush on me. I never liked him like that but he was sweet.¡± I didn¡¯t ask for an explanation but it¡¯s kinda cute.


    I need to motivate her to keep her head in the game.


    ¡°He was brave. I''m sure he wanted to protect you.¡± When did I start sounding like a general on the battlefield? With all the dead bodies, it definitely looked the part. ¡°You¡¯re brave, too. But don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t let anything happen to you.¡±


    ¡°Bravo!" Julian claps. "We done with your Gladiator scene?¡±


    ¡°Shut up. This is your fault.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I said I was sorry.¡± I want to shout at him. A guy¡¯s dead because of you but for some reason I don¡¯t think he cares. So I save it. At least until we get through this.


    ¡°Whatever. Let¡¯s line up.¡± We resume the throwing. But the casualness is gone. With a death between us, every throw is carefully placed. Nine minutes left.


    I watch all the other throws as well as Jackson¡¯s.


    I can¡¯t slip up again. Jayce¡¯s death is on me. So many people dead cause of me.


    Cause I wasn¡¯t strong enough to stop my team''s crowd like Jackson did. I could¡¯ve found Silas first and had him help me. I could¡¯ve figured out the rules before Lindsey had to die. Before Ellen kicked the ball away. There¡¯s so much I could¡¯ve done, so many people I could¡¯ve saved.


    I look up at the clock, it¡¯s already at five minutes. Five more minutes and everyone here will be saved.


    But I need to stay alert. If something¡¯s gonna go wrong, if Jackson has something up his sleeve, it¡¯s gonna happen now.


    ¡°Heads up!¡± Somehow Victor has lofted the ball high up in the air. This time I¡¯m not gonna fall for any distractions.


    I¡¯m already running to Izzy when Aiden starts winding up. I knew it. These guys aren¡¯t just messing around. They¡¯re seriously trying to kill us.


    I don¡¯t have enough time to pull her out of the way. If I knock her aside, the ball might hit me. What else can I do? I¡¯ll sacrifice myself if I have to but Izzy won¡¯t survive for long if I do. Think.


    He chucks the ball without looking. Straight at Izzy. Again. These fucking bastards. What can I do? What should I do?


    I can catch it! It¡¯s dodgeball so I can catch it! But will that work? It might just tear through me. I have no choice. I have to try. I reach out with one hand and grab at it, half expecting my hand to explode. But it doesn¡¯t and I feel the ball contact solidly against my palm. I got it. I tuck it under my arm like a football as me and Izzy tumble to the ground.


    ¡°Catch it, Silas!¡± He had backed away from the falling ball but he doesn¡¯t think twice and dives. A Sportscenter Top 10 Plays kind of dive. It falls right into his hands. I don¡¯t know what to expect on Jackson¡¯s side, but if someone can catch it, then someone¡¯s gotta be out.


    ¡°Looks like it¡¯s a little too late to call this one an accident.¡± Jackson stands over Victor and Aiden, their bodies lying in a pool of blood, their heads a few feet away. "Eh. I''m surprised you fell for the bit this long."


    "A bit? Your friends died for a bit? Trying to kill Izzy was a bit?"


    "I knew you''d protect her. I really wasn''t trying to kill Izzy. But now I am." He juggles his ball between his hands, menacingly.


    ¡°Why? Why are you doing this? We had five minutes left!¡±


    ¡°Do you know what¡¯s going to happen when the five minutes end? Huh? No one said everyone gets to live.¡±


    ¡°You have more people left! You would¡¯ve won either way!¡±


    ¡®Hmmm...you caught me.¡± He holds his hands up. ¡°That was just an excuse. Still, you got two of mine for one of yours. You¡¯re better than I thought. This is gonna be fun.¡±


    ¡°Fun? You¡¯re doing this for fun?¡±


    ¡°Yea, weren¡¯t you getting bored of all this.¡± He¡¯s a fucking psychopath. He¡¯s a legitimate psychopath.


    ¡°You¡¯re a murderer!¡±


    ¡°Takes one to know one.¡± He sticks his tongue out. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s have some fun.¡±


    He laughs and chucks the ball at me.


    From ten feet away.

 Chapter 10 - Statue Story

    My mother was one lazy bitch.


    She¡¯s never worked a day in her life.


    ¡®But she¡¯s a homemaker!¡¯ Do you know how easy that shit is? Why do you think gold diggers want to be a trophy wife? Cause they know stay-at-home moms got it good.


    ¡®But they have to cook and clean!¡¯ Bitch, I can do both of those in less than thirty minutes. What do you do for the rest of the 15 hours and 30 minutes? Drink wine and watch daytime soaps.


    Don¡¯t act like it¡¯s a hard job. Cause it¡¯s not. There¡¯s really nothing easier. Other than sitting on your ass with your hands down your pants. Oh wait, that is what you do.


    In some ways, it¡¯s all my dad¡¯s fault. In most ways.


    Swaying her with sweet words of some fantasy he had in his head of a perfect life. Seducing her away against the will of her family and their swollen estate.


    Then running away with the slip of a noose. She didn¡¯t have any other choice but to buckle down, work three jobs all the while making sure her kids were safe, right? Not.


    What did my mother do to take care of the family she was left with? She got married. To her brother-in-law. Surprised? You really shouldn¡¯t be after all this. You probably should¡¯ve expected it.


    How else was she supposed to pay the bills and feed her kids? She doesn¡¯t know any other way. Work hard and suffer for the sake of your children? Psshh. Fuck that shit. It¡¯s much easier to use your pussy. Or in her case, mine.


    Oh, Bill. Our glorious savior and my tender lover. He knew he wanted me since I was born. Well, that¡¯s what I like to think.


    He would bounce me around on his lap, with what I now know was his boner prodding my nubile ass. Always tickling, always wrestling, always groping. My parents didn¡¯t even suspect. Yet another case of ignorance of the supposed impossible.


    But my mother found out real fast how big of a pedophile my uncle was. First it was baths together, then nap times, which finally led to blatant sexual contact. At the dinner table, in front of the TV, he was always touching, probing.


    I¡¯m not sure why he didn¡¯t rape me immediately. Maybe he was building himself up for the final moment, teasing himself towards the climax. Or maybe he was resisting his urges, trying to hold back from crossing the line. I had to give him credit though cause he waited a full year and a half before he crossed it.


    I have a theory that most pedophiles have small dicks. I¡¯ve only met a few but they all had mini sized, micropenises.


    It make sense. When you can¡¯t satisfy normal sized women what else can you do but go younger.


    Maybe it¡¯s a slow descent trying to find the right fit, from high schoolers to middle schoolers to elementary schoolers until you find your perfect match. Because there¡¯s always an age and corresponding pussy size that¡¯s just right for you and your dick.


    Look, if you have a huge dick, you can¡¯t physically fuck an 8 year old. It won¡¯t fit. No matter how hard you push. I promise. And yes, I¡¯ve tried it.


    So if you can¡¯t fuck ¡®em what else would you do with them? It¡¯s kind of counterintuitive to be a pedophile at that point. The poor pedophile too hung for his own pleasures, yet another unfortunate paradox played by God.


    The first time he did it, he cried. Yup, not me, him.


    It was a humid summer evening, the windows were open and I could hear the older kids laughing outside, still riding their bikes around the block in slow lazy circles. My mother was sleeping off her afternoon drinking session in prepraration for the night phase of the daily cycle. My younger sister, Kay, was watching the nightly news. She loved hearing about the next big scare or the latest health obsession, even the wacky murders and missing children. My older brother, Gene, was out in some abandoned house, an empty park, or his dealer¡¯s place shooting up. His dealer was real nice in letting him chill on the couch. As long as he had the money.


    When Bill locked the door, I knew today was the day. I was extremely hypersexual as a kid. Maybe I was coping with my father¡¯s death but I ran around trying to kiss everyone in the first grade. In second grade, I started humping Ollie, an oversized stuffed otter we got at Seaworld years back. I had already done the doctor routine with the neighborhood boys and found my brother¡¯s porn stash on his computer at the tender age of eight. I knew everything about sex by the third grade.


    When you get raped, you don¡¯t have any control over your body. You still get wet, you still pop a boner. It doesn¡¯t mean you want it.


    But I wanted it.


    Look. I¡¯m not trying to justify his actions. To be honest, I would kill every motherfucking pedophile with a click of the button if given the chance. But that night, I wanted it. I was curious, I was turned on and I loved him. He was nice to me, nice to my family. Everything about it was a normal cherry popping except the fact that I was eight and he was forty.


    It didn¡¯t hurt at all. He made sure that it didn¡¯t hurt. He got me ready for an hour. Well, he got me ready for a year and a half. And it felt great. By the end, I loved him even more.


    But he hated me. At first, he wouldn¡¯t even look at me. He just kind of curled up into a ball and cried. I didn¡¯t know what to do so I just held his head and stroked his hair. He had these soft brown curls that I loved to run my fingers through. My dad had the same exact hair and when he held me high up on his shoulders, I would grab hold of them like the reigns of a horse.


    That''s when I found out Bill was a moral man. He never looked at me the same after that. It was my second heartbreak. He was ashamed. Every time he saw me, his face would fill with disgust. It didn¡¯t stop him from fucking me every night. It just turned a bit rough.


    Being moral doesn¡¯t mean you follow your beliefs rigidly with no exceptions. No one does that. No one can do that. We always end up straying.


    It simply means when you do stray, you feel guilty. Bill had evil tastes but he knew them to be evil and so after he acted upon them, he felt remorse. Which translated to drinking, joining my mother in her alcoholism. When that didn¡¯t help, he turned his self-reproach on to me. As soon as he was done with me, he would beat my ass. As if I was at fault for tempting him.


    Instant post-coital regret.


    But when Bill beat me, it was from a good place, born from his guilt and love for me. He didn''t want to hurt me so he hurt me. Ironic, huh? In the end, I learned to love the pain as much as the rape.


    And I loved Bill. And no, not in some stockholm syndrome, victim subjugation, helpless imprinting, manipulating immature emotional development sort of way. During those peaceful three years, I loved him or as close to whatever the fuck love is and whatever the fuck love I was capable of. I know what he did was despicable and unforgivable. Yes, he wasn''t perfect. But he also did good by us. He treated my family well. We weren¡¯t even his children but he kept us fed, clothed, and housed. He cared.


    You know who¡¯s truly despicable and unforgivable? My fucking parents. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The only people in the world whose duty was to protect me and provide for me. One offed himself and the other turned a blind eye to her children¡¯s abuse. I don¡¯t know which is worse but I know both are shittier than my uncle. It wasn¡¯t his responsibility to take care of us, but he did. Granted most of it was to rape me.


    But that¡¯s how the world works. You give and you take.


    No one¡¯s gonna do shit for you. No one¡¯s gonna give a shit about you. Unless you have something to give in return, no one¡¯s gonna watch out for you. Maybe that¡¯s why the idea of God is so comforting.


    ¡®But what about my wife, my husband, my best friend, my mom, my dad, my son, my daughter, my brother, my sister, my gran-mammy and grandpappy.''


    Perhaps, for a time and up to a point. There¡¯s always a limit. I¡¯ve seen it before.


    You end up paralyzed or disabled. Five, ten, twenty years later, who the fuck is going to be by your side? It¡¯s unreasonable to expect them to.


    They¡¯ll throw you in a shitty long term care facility where you sit in your shit for an hour or two before someone even checks on you. You¡¯re supposed loved ones will visit you maybe once a week at first but pretty soon it¡¯ll only be once a month, then just holidays and not even on the day of, usually the day after or the day before, cause the day of is reserved for real family.


    No matter what, you always end up a burden, just another obligation to fulfill, forgotten for all intents and purposes.


    Unemployed? Psychiatric issues? In the long term, no one will be there for you. No one will care.


    When you grow up, at one point, you realize you''re the only one you can rely on. Everyone will fake niceties, plaster smiles and spout sympathetic words. But who will really help you? Who will spend money on you? Who will risk their livelihood to save you?


    You like to say that you care, but do you actually?


    The human capability for apathy is extraordinary. You¡¯re all a little bit psychopathic.


    You say you should visit your grandparents more, you should call your parents, but do you?


    You don¡¯t want to lead this boy on or use this girl for sex, you know staying any longer with them will cause them pain, but you still drag it on as long as you can.


    You say you love pets, you would never want harm to come to them, but2.7 million cats and dogs are euthanized every year in shelters. What do you actually do to help them? Nothing. What''s the difference between slicing up a cat and letting them loose on the streets to be run over by a car or giving them to a shelter to have them euthanized? Dead is dead. Just cause you shy away from the cruelty you are inflicting doesn''t make you anymore human. It just makes you a pussy.


    You don¡¯t want to sacrifice yourself, your hard earned time or money, for someone else, for someone who is suffering. Of course, you¡¯ll take a symbolic action, the token effort, donate to a charity, volunteer a bit. I mean how many of you really do that?


    And don''t fool yourself, most of it is to make you feel better when you ask yourself late at night: am i truly a good person. That''s when you can say, ''but I bought (RED) Beats headphones and I marched on world feminism day!''.


    To live in this world full of pain and misery, you need to be a little bit of a psychopath. To buy your next car, you need to ignore the 3.1 million children dying from starvation each year. Every time you buy a case of water, there¡¯s 663 million people without your perfectly good faucet that runs clean water. More people have a mobile phone than access to a toilet. Absurd? Yes. But true.


    You like to say we¡¯re better than animals but we¡¯re not. Your instinct tells you only to care about those near us, who¡¯s friendly with you, who''s related to you, who can give you as much as you give them. You ignore the rest. Which is to your benefit. You¡¯d go insane if you were truly sympathetic about everything.


    You can¡¯t care about the entire world¡¯s torment. And so you don¡¯t.


    You aren¡¯t so high up the food chain that you¡¯ve detached yourself from your genetic ancestors. You like to think you¡¯ve ascended to an entirely different plane of existence, separate from the primal world. Or that you¡¯re descended from God, made in his image, while all else was made from the earth.


    But you¡¯re not.


    You¡¯re made from the same earth as animals, you steal, kill, and rape, you ostracize, you fuck, you betray, you hurt and cause pain, you take advantage of those weaker than you while you grovel and worship those better than you. You¡¯re just another animal on a long list of other species.


    And so I didn¡¯t mind when Bill started to pimp me out about a year later. Someone in my family had to work and his friends were gentle. They liked kids and they liked treating kids like kids.


    There was Smelly Pete who had his own orchard, always reeked of manure and loved to lick my asshole, the dirty little shit. Greasy Mick helped fix my brother¡¯s rackety old Grand Am, wiping his hands by running it through his hair before jerking off to me masturbating. And last was Retard Reuben, the handyman at our local church complete. Yea, we still went to church pretending like we were a real family. Rube had a stutter and loved to play Halo on my brother¡¯s Xbox with me, well until his wee-wee started to feel weird and I had to make it better. His words, not mine.


    This continued on for two years. I¡¯m not really embarrassed about this part of my life and it wasn¡¯t that dark. It was actually quite bright and full of laughter. We were like a makeshift family. Greasy Mick would be out in the driveway tinkering with my brother, who started doping up less. Smelly Pete brought over some tomato plants and dug up a garden for my mother, who even started to drink less when working in the dirt. Me and Rube taught Bill and Kay how to play Halo and we had epic four player battles, which led to Bill kicking my ass with a controller instead of a boot.


    I was finally happy. But happiness is a limited commodity in this world. If someone has it, someone doesn¡¯t. It dissipates, drying up, dissappearing into the thin air. So ephemeral in nature, it may as well be illusory. As soon as you grab ahold of it, it will slip away just as fast.


    I hit puberty when I was ten.


    My flat chest quickly started to protrude, my cute child¡¯s tucked vulva started darkening and opening like the proverbial flower. Little by little, my reverse harem started to gravitate away from me. To them, I was growing uglier by the day cause who wants to fuck a real woman much less a pubescent one. Prepubescent is where it¡¯s at, the sweet spot.


    When I entered middle school, the guys stopped fucking me and  Bill stopped beating me.


    After you give so much attention to a young kid like that and pull it all away with a sweep under the rug, I was garbage left by the curbside, unwanted. I felt so lost, without the sex, without the pain, without his sign of love. I was empty.


    That¡¯s when I began to cut myself. Aka self-mutilation.  First, I burned myself with cigarettes, putting them out on my thighs, breathing in the smell of burnt flesh. For the first time since I had been tossed away, I was alive.


    And immediately addicted.


    The cutting was the best. Not the pussy way with a razor. Like a paper cut, that shit didn''t hurt at all. The best way to do it is you take the tip of a knife and scrape away, peeling the skin back, layer by layer. At first, it''s just a white line, but you dig and you dig till you reach the pink, wiping away the beads of red. This way you feel the electricity run through your body with every stroke. There¡¯s just something about seeing the blood spill out that makes it so...romantic. The visual aid adds to the rush, the high.


    Of course after I had my fill of pain, I had to fill my other hole. I went on a frenzy, tempting, trapping and fucking virgins. That feeling of power I held over those horny boys, their faces filled with pure pleasure when they had that over the top first orgasm. I made sure I built it up, just like Bill did. He taught me well, never letting them prematurely ejaculate and ruin the moment. Thinking back on it, it was really nice of me to give them all such a mind blowing experience.


    I became obsessed with the control I had over them, what guys would give up for that little taste. I fucked anyone who was willing, so much so that Bill told me that I was bringing home too many guys. He had the fucking nerve to say that. He must¡¯ve still felt like he was my dad and that I still loved him.


    But I knew better now.


    I knew he was just a weak little fucker who couldn¡¯t control himself, who was held prisoner by a fucking orgasm just like these middle school virgins. Our first night when he cried, I thought it was sweet. But now I knew he was just a bitch.


    You''re not a real man when you couldn¡¯t even stick to your own beliefs.


    As much as I liked to play with the boys, I grew tired of the regular old sex real quick. I liked it better when they dominated me. I stopped fucking the pushovers and only kept those who would do anything to fuck me. Including rape.


    I had this bit where I would tease them to the point of no return and they would be unable to stop themselves. Then, I would refuse sex until they took it from me, held me down and forced themselves inside me.


    The number of partners continued to dwindle as I wanted it rougher and rougher. The pain and the pleasure, it¡¯s like chocolate and strawberries or like a vibrator and an asshole. They were just perfect for each other.


    But as I was experiencing this newfound pleasure, there was pain hidden in my house.


    I only noticed after who knows how long, but the guys had started hanging around our house again, Greasy Mick, Smelly Pete, even Retard Reuben. I didn''t understand. They weren''t here to fuck me. What were they here for?


    My sister.