A Shane Dawson Story-Youtuber Fanfic

Pizza Man

I finished up writing and put my things away into my bag, pulled out all of my clothes, and laid them out. I arranged them so I'd sleep comfortably, and I fell asleep right away.

I woke up feeling new, refreshed, happy. I had a smile plastered across my face and the sun was going down. I was in a completely different place. I spun in a full circle to figure out my surroundings. The air suddenly felt heavy with melancholy as I turned around to see our old house. I felt dread wash over me and my heart dropped. It was where we lived when my dad would abuse us. Where he would come home after a day of drinking and take his anger out on my mom and my brothers. The reason why I don't drink is because I'm afraid that I'd do something to harm the people I love in my life, like my father did. Except I don't think he felt compassion, just hate. I didn't know if I should walk up to the door or what. I adjusted my backpack on my shoulders, except it wasn't my backpack. I took off the back pack and realized it was a pizza box. What the hell? Inside was one pizza and it smelt great, I was almost tempted to eat it. I looked down at my outfit, I was wearing a red polo shirt and khaki pants. I was in a pizza man uniform. What am I supposed to do? Deliver the pizza? Is that it? I started walking towards the front door of my old house.

Suddenly it hit me.

Wait, what if I see my dad?

I'm not prepared for this.

I thought I wasn't going to see him for a few more tiers, I was supposed to get permission first?!

Is this a test? I need the mirror to talk to Ariana, maybe she knows.

I started to walk towards the green painted house, my mind set on maybe I can get this done and over with. I set foot on the sidewalk. My surroundings suddenly all became a blur. My focus was on the house, then the doorbell, then the door. Then possibly my father? By now, I'm pretty sure I'm dead and this is hell. I took a deep breath, pushed my hair to the side, and walked up the door steps. I rang the doorbell.

I heard some yelling, what was possibly my brother, then some foot steps. I quickly pulled the pizza bag off of my shoulders and into my hands, unzipping it.

Nothing really scares me, no horror film, no spiders, nothing.

Except for my father.

I thought for a few moments, what if he's sleeping, or not home yet?

I heard the door handle begin to open.

My heart was racing, my chest hurt, and it was getting harder to breathe, it was all going in slow motion. I was having a panic attack. Not here, not now, I thought. I pushed on my chest to help stop it, and squeezed my eyes shut. I heard some yelling and what sounded like my brother tell me to hang on a second, and then some running up the stairs. At least I had a minute. I took some deep breaths, and counted to ten, it settled me down a bit, but I think I was okay. Then before I knew it, the door opened.

"Hey,"

It was young, chubby, but not yet fat me. I just about dropped the pizza. He was handing me the money, and all I could do was stare. "Hey, wake up, are you okay?," He said to me. I thought that was my brother's voice I could hear inside, I guess it was mine. What am I supposed to do, just sell him a pizza? "Hey, can you hurry, please?" I saw the fear in young me's eyes. "I, I um. I-," I started to hand him the pizza when I heard yelling and someone stomping down the stairs. "Where's the f-cking pizza?! Why the hell is it taking so long?!," It was my father. He was staggering down the stairs, basically tripping on his own feet. I wanted to drop the pizza and run, but I would feel remorse for leaving my old self alone with him. The asshole made his way over to the door, pushing young me on the ground, and out of the way. "Get out of here, you useless shit," He said to him, and then the old me got up, fixed his glasses, and started up the stairs. Then my dad hit him in the head, "You better run, you couldn't get a pizza from the pizza guy, are you serious?! What's so hard about that?!" He screamed up the stairs. "Listen, you can't treat a kid like that." I could tell by the alcohol in his breath, that this was one of his worst days, and he must have been drinking all day. Probably ranting, and throwing shit around the house, too. "You can't tell me how to parent, faggot." He said poking his finger into my shoulder. I turned around and threw the pizza onto the front lawn. "You asshole! You're gonna pay for that!" I turned around and looked at him. He was disgusting. He had a beer gut, blonde hair, and his eyes were yellow. His eyes were always yellow from drinking. I remembered feeling how scared I was when he would go on one of his fits, beating up my mom, and then coming after us. Yelling things I wouldn't ever forget. "I ain't paying for shit. And I'm not no faggot either." He looked at me with rage in his eyes. "You skinny little shit, think you can disrespect me like that? I think not. What straight man straightens his hair?!" He spat in my face, pushing my shoulder back. "Don't touch me, don't talk to me like that." I said sternly. He opened his eyes wide, got in my face, and spit out, "Faggot," He pushed me. "Faggot," I fell over the rail and onto the grass. "Faggot." Then he spit on my head. "You drunk bastard!, You're gonna fucking get it!" I yelled standing up, wiping the spit off of my head. This was reminding me so much of my childhood. Every f-cking minute that I put up with him, never saying anything. Taking the beating, watching my mom get the beating. It all came back to me. I stomped over to the stairs, rage in my face, and tears pouring out of my eyes. He looked down at me, "I'm so scared, gay boy's gonna hit me!" I ran up the stairs at him.