The Demon in the Doll

Chapter 7

On the way home, I ran into my English teacher. It was a chance encounter. He was out getting exercise.

He said, "I try to hoof it at least a mile every day. I'm old and my joints are stiff."

I said, "How old are you?"

"Fifty-three."

"You don't look it. I thought you were in your forties."

He laughed out loud. "I wish. I'm closer to sixty than forty. And I feel it. My elbows and knees are always aching. I fear that I might have arthritis."

"Why don't you go to the doctor?"

"I'm afraid that he might find other problems—such as cancer. I'm too chicken to go."

"That's silly. No offense."

"None taken." He quickly changed the subject. "Your nose is bleeding."

I wiped my schnoz with the bottom of my t-shirt. "Better?"

"No. It's still leaking. I hope it's not broken."

I shook my head from side to side. "I don't think so. I'm not feeling any pain. If it were broken, it would probably be throbbing."

"Did you get into a fight?"

I nodded.

"Did you win?"

I nodded again.

"Where are your friends?"

"Excuse me?"

"Usually, the victor celebrates with his buddies after the battle."

"They left me."

"You were deserted?"

"Yes."

"That's actually literary. You see it in a lot of narratives. The abandoned hero."

"No kidding?"

"Yes, no kidding. Have you ever heard of Beowulf?"

"No."

"Beowulf was a great early medieval warrior who did battle with all kinds of supernatural monsters. He was a Viking from frozen Scandinavia. Like all of his people, he liked to fight and drink. But the poor guy was deserted on more than one occasion—both in Denmark and Sweden."

"Did he stay pissed at his friends?"

"No, he forgave them."

"Well, he's a better man than me."

"Don't be too hard on them. They're only human."

I arrived at my humble abode at 4 p.m. and went straight to my room. I switched on my computer and clicked the World of Warcraft icon. It was my favorite game. It didn't take long until I was lost in fantasy. I played for hours and hours before hearing the sound of the motorcycle. It was Lonnie, and I knew he was here to fuck my mother. Soon, my stomach was in knots followed by the urge to vomit. Then my asshole began to pucker. Strange. My asshole always puckered whenever I was angry.

Suddenly, my smartphone rang. It was Donald. I grudgingly took the call.

"Yeah?"

He said, "I heard you kicked Road Rage's ass. Knocked him out cold. Sorry I left you hanging. What can I tell you? I'm a coward."

"That's OK."

Donald said, "Road Rage went to the hospital. You gave him a concussion. He's going to have to miss the first game of the season, but he should be OK in the long run."