Dear Friends – Naked At School


By Charlie Brown

Dear Friends

Today was like I came to school naked as the day I was born, every one of the incoherent drooling masses laughing their asses off at me. It may seem like I’m being overly dramatic but if it’s been going on for a while you tend to become paranoid, hearing people laughing at you everywhere you go. This tends to put a dent in your confidence which leads to you becoming more paranoid as time goes by. It’s a vicious cycle of self-induced torture; as if life wasn’t bad enough. Luckily like all things, the usually gut-wrenching sensation has deteriorated to a dull ache at the bottom of my scrotum; an annoying burning sensation not unlike if I acquired an STD from the mere presence of one Grace Cooper, our resident woman of the night wannabe. Literature is really liberating, I mean usually I’m stopped from expressing myself due to the inhibitions that compel me to be excessively nice to people. Not that I’m only nice because society forces me to be but you probably get my point; I’m just blabbing anyway. My problem is one Heinrich Muller, a joke slash jock in my class, which means he’s twice as annoying and everybody loves him. I’m in a damned if you don’t situation something that happens to be the story of my life.

On a lighter note, Concerts. I’ve only gone to a concert once in my life. This was awesome until the band made us sing out the lyrics to the songs. Have you ever noticed that when a crowd starts to sing that they always sound like a choir of retarded people? That officially destroyed my favourite songs for all time. This only solidified my lack of faith in humanity.

Life’s not all bad; I doubt everyone had such a bad life that they always get depressed about something. It seems like puberty is a sort of survival training for adulthood, you go around with your hormones out of control, constantly cycling between a sense of euphoria or a suicide inducing depression until we hit that point when it suddenly just stops. Your hormones balance out and you realize that the whole decade or so of bad decisions, alcohol induced sex and raving parties are over, not really but you understand. I wonder what I’ll miss about my teenage years.

I’m feeling a lot like a doormat these days, for example, this one girl I know who asked me for some advice. We chatted via text for about 5 hours and I thought we really connected, not that I wanted to date her but because we literally could talk for hours about any bull we wanted until the sun came up.  The very next day it was like we had never spoken at all, she didn’t greet or sat thank you or anything like that; once again I was a doormat for someone’s emotions.

An old proverb I read once says that the path to wisdom starts with a heart filled with love. I think that pain has something to do with it, the more love you have the more pain you’ll feel in life, the pain will make you smarter and the mistakes you made because of the pain will make you wiser. Frankly I would have preferred to stay a fool.

This reminds me of a book I read for school once, Of Mice and Men. It’s the story of two labourers, I can’t remember their names but they aren’t important. One is this huge retarded guy with a furry fetish and his best friend who also use to torture him when they were children. The only thing that set them apart is that they had a dream: to own a piece of land and be truly free to do as they please. The story goes on and you realize that the big ones furry fetish is going to get him into trouble and eventually it does. Long story short, the average one has to mercy kill his best friend and put an end to their dream of being free men together. In the end, the smart one was left to live out his miserable life as a man with a broken dream while his best buddy has gone to the great furry beyond to pet all the rainbow rabbits he wants. In my opinion the big guy gets the better deal; dying is easy, living is the real curse for some. Don’t believe me? Think about all the teens who attempt suicide because life was too difficult. My point is that ignorance is bliss. Maybe that’s why god was so angry about Adam and eve eating the forbidden fruit; maybe he was trying to protect them from the pain of knowing.


Slave to the Words


By Charlie Brown

It was 2003 when I became a school legend. Not to toot my own horn but I was the only second grader to read a book of 200 pages. My mother took me to the library and the first book I picked out was Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, needless to say it kept me busy. From that day I was addicted, by the third grade I was reading from the adult section, Lois McMaster Bujold and Bukowski were my favorites (Bukowski was my second favorite due to his profanity). I would read during class, at break times I could be found under the trees reading, in the bathroom, even after my bedtime; I would lie under my covers, reading with a laser light until my eyes became heavy. That was how life went for me, reading and television and video games. The Feeling was addictive, my mind growing with each syllable; slowly my grasp of reality strengthened as the veil of childhood faded.

By the fourth grade my childhood became a quest to see more, to be more that what I was the moment before. I was so immersed in English that I forgot how to speak my mother tongue.  I spent the day in the lands of Middle Earth and at night I could be found in the dangerous and intricate world of political schemes in Chalion. As a result of I didn’t have much of a social life, then again spending time with a 600 page book tended to put a dent in all aspects of life. But nonetheless I was happy. Until I wasn’t. The sun was at its zenith when it happened, its silent bellowing inferno cooked the earth; as if it were angry at my ignorance. It was in geography class when it happened, I remember because my teacher at the time was Mr. Robain, a tall lanky man who was also by far the rudest man I had ever met, at least that what my mother said; I just thought he was honest. Perhaps it’s because they tell the truth that people call them rude. But I’m getting off topic, it was geography class and Mr Robain left the classroom because of some emergency (I think he went to go smoke). Big mistake.  The silence lasted about 30 seconds before the class flared up in a chaotic buzz, whispers and sniggers spread like an epidemic;  infecting the all too receptive students with a childlike glee.

I confess; I wasn’t immune to it but for some reason this was different. The burn in my belly was for something else, the want that had grown since the day I opened The Philosophers Stone. It grew with every word I read, I couldn’t comprehend it. It expanded, swelled until it consumed my every thought and desire.

Then it hit me, so simple that I almost burst into a fit of laughter. My mother had me keep a diary in my younger years, I should’ve realized sooner. I was happy and scared at the same time, happy due to me finding my purpose but also scared; what if I wasn’t good enough? There was only one way to tell, my hand grasped the pen before I thought about it. I stopped before the ink hit the page; I waited for a moment and let my fear melt away. I waited because I knew that if I wrote that first word my destiny would be sealed. I turned my head, watched my classmates laughing, screaming, pulling and shoving in the chemical insanity of youth. I allowed myself to bathe in its childish anarchy for a moment longer and then I let myself go.

My mind exploded with impossible worlds and improbable heroes and heroines, a veritable tsunami of words and feeling and imagination. I roved among the cosmic deities and all the planets and stars were my domain. For those ten minutes, my hand became the hand of god. Magnanimous vistas and unimaginable worlds were formed from the flick of my wrist and the ink of my pen, like the great creator himself. I didn’t realize that I had become shackled to the words, bound in their siren spell. I took what they offered and like a child, I damned the consequences. The words haven’t let go of me since…