Giggle Juice

"Mr. Sequentep. Do you KNOW why you're hear?"

The room was cold. Unnamed staines painted the walls and floor. The seemingly hard steel table had a slight bend in the center. Malcolm set his paper cup of mild temperatured water on the table. It fell over fast, but in his mind, it was like a lifetime. From it's tipping, to it's microscopic tidal wave of spillage. The donut crumbs on the table, like small citizens, standing still, in terror, of their impending doom.

"Mr. Sequentep? Are you listening?!"

To his right. One of those trippy windows. Y'know. The ones where you can't see the people on the other side but they can see you. Think of it like the feeling you'd have if you somehow knew god was glaring at you.

A/N Make sure you are reading this in Morgan Freeman's voice. For now at least.

Above him hung a dim light. Cone shaped. Dead insects littered the lights floor.

"Mr. Sequentep!!"

"Yes officer! Sorry officer."

"Cut the suck-up crap with me kid! I know you're guilty! I just need you to explain to me why."

Malolm studied the man up and down. He was wearing a baby blue button-up, so "proudly" adorned by a navy-blue neck tie. His hair was black with silver flecks hear and there, except for the sides of his head which were a silvery white. Below his big red nose was crowning a dark-grey handlebar mustache littered with flecks of apple fritter. His pants were a long pair of wrinkly black slack, held up by a clearly fake leather belt which seemed to strongly bring a lot of Malcolm's attention to his...

"Beer belly."

Malcolm by this point had realized that he was beathing in strongly, which meant...

"Exuse me?"

"Holy shit!" Malcolm panicked to himself.

"What did you just say Mr. Sequentep?!"

"Let's get into it! I said let's get into it!"

"Ok? Let's get... into it... then. Anyway. Tell me please; how did this all start?"

"Well, about two months ago."

A/N Now to be read in whatever voice you see fit.

Two months ago, I was in history class when my friend Dobby, who sat behind me, tapped me on the shoulder.

"Mulchy. Hey Mulchy."

Dobby was the kind of guy who told the dirty jokes and gave the nicknames to everyone. He was a skinny kid from the rich white people part of town. He was tall, had skin white as snow, and was thin as a skeleton. His hair was black and thin. He always imagined himself with perfect tall hair but the result of his styling efforts was always a bullcut.

The only nickname Dobby didn't come up with was his own. Dobby's real name is Donald Clifford Hawford but a couple of years ago he overcame near terminal cancer, made his body a twig. Now he's less skinny but still, hense the name. Dobby, like the Harry Potter character.

"Mulch!"

"Mr. Hawford!"

"Sorry Mr. Kelbyn!"

"What Dobby?"

"You hear about Cheron Green's Halloween party tonight? Dude there's gonna be booze!"

"Mr. Hawford! Something you'd like to share with the class?"

"No Mr. Kelbyn. Sorry Mr. Kelbyn."

I looked over to the right side of the room. There, in the third desk from the front, sat HER. Cheron Green. Eighteen years old, strawberry blonde hair, bright red freckles just above the cheeks, head of the cheerleading team, streight A's, a gorgeous smile, and big, I mean HUGE, well you know.