February 30th, 2000

Written for the English language paper as an essay after I got bored and finished the paper in an hour. I wonder how many marks this will get.

(The starting was something with a landslide blocking the road)

There was a landslide blocking the road ahead. And the roads everywhere. Still, it looked small. I was confident of my resources, and I was going to climb it and go to the other side.

Hey, my name is Shapp. Why? That is question I have often asked myself. I used to worry about it a lot, like so much I wanted it legally changed. But then other things started becoming more important. When I was very young, my parents divorced. It was fun. The judge roared at my dad when he admitted he had me taste whisky. A person was swearing and almost everyone stared at me, dressed in my Sunday best, a suit my dad claimed he stole.

My mother was not really awesome either. She was a, what do you call it… a… a ventilokist. I think that’s it. She also had this thing where her eyes would change colour, and her voice would become hoarse and she would speak in a language I did not know. The jury actually cried when I admitted I was scared of my mother.

In the end, I was put in a place for childrens whose parents had divorced. I ran away after sometime. They caught me and put me in a hole with a smaller hole, but I ran again. They caught me again, and this time, I was older. I beat the person who caught me, and this time… I was smarter, and I ran better.

 

I found myself in a jail cell… you know, there was no door. I was shaking for some reason, and I had an injection with white liquid in my hand. I am dead scared of those pointy things, they hurt. So I sat back in my head and tried to remember, tried to understand, but there was a thumping sound in my head, like the bells of gorgonzola, and it hurt. It reverberated in my ears and hit me hard. I tried to shut my ears, but my hands were hot, hot like molten mercury, and my ears were burning, and everything was thumping in a huge echoed GONG. Then this guy came and claimed that if I injected myself, it would hurt less. I did not believe him, how can pain lessen pain? GONG. Now I was screaming maniacally, trying my very best to contain this enormous noise. GONG. What the fuck is wrong with me? GONG. I take the injection and hold it in my hand. GONG. Flash of pain, and it’s gone in as smooth as butter. GONG.

 

I am kissing this girl, she looks like a million bucks, you know, the kind of figure which hurts the eye and sparkling teeth, pointed canines, shaped perfect, like twin diamonds in a moonless sky. We are near a pool of water. And I don’t know, she really likes me. We end up in bed, and she is whispering all kinds of shit, and all I can think of is trying to remember her name.  I remember mine, my name is Red. Knew that? We are swimming in that pool, okay, and she is splashing the water over me. Only, the water is red. Water is black, isn’t it? She is screaming with pleasure now, my ministrations with the knife are fun, I know, I have tried it out myself. On myself.

Have you ever used a razor? Not to shave, silly, to cut? It’s beautiful, the feeling. Pain is very addictive, scientists tell. People enjoy pain. I don’t know, all I can do is stare at that green blood near my shoulders, and I am like… king of the world.

I am reading this book, in a brown cover and it’s pretty interesting. But the grammar is pathetic; this guy does not even know the spelling of ventriloquist. How weird is that, huh? Today I was in a weird mood, and I found I forgot my name. Then I checked this document I had signed, and the signature was, ‘Signature.’ My name is Signature, how cool is that?

I was still stuck in that road, and the landslide was still there. It looks really high, like Eight Thousand Eight Hundred and Forty Nine feet high. And its so deep too. Looks like Ten Thousand Two Hundred and Eleven feet low. Still, I soldier on, and I am nearing this end. Only, I can’t breathe for some reason, it hurts my gills. There is a gun in my hand. What the fuck is a gun doing in my hand? I am scared of guns. I am trying to put it in a pocket, but there’s no pocket in my pants, heck, I ain’t wearing any pants. I am now hurtling towards the top like billy-o, and then voila, here I am. Wow, we live in a beautiful world. It’s so beautiful I don’t want any of it. Beauty is overrated. What the heck are guns there for? To shoot. I shoot.

 

There is a white light above me, and there is a black light below me, and then they merge. What do black and white form? Grey? Nope dude, black and white mix and form red. Elementary, my dear. The red is growing, but I shoot once more. More red, but not enough. Once again. Bye guys, this was a good ride.

Signature.

 

“This was the suicide note of a certain Preston Hailey, thirty years old, an award winning scientist. Hailey committed suicide yesterday, in his bathroom with four shots to different parts of his body. He is survived by his parents (very much married) and his wife.”

 

No swear words were written during the paper.

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