Adventure, horror, sci-fi; it’s all great, but only from a distance. I’d much rather just see that shit in a TV screen than in my face; gun, tentacle or otherwise.
No, I’m completely content sitting in a painfully uncomfortable school desk as a teacher six rows up drones on about the relevance of algebra in my future life as an office slave.
With every movement of the chalk on the board, her gnarly yellow fingernails scratch against it with an earsplitting screech, and her gravelly voice keeps throwing me off as I mindlessly doodle in the textbook until the bell finally rings.
My dainty hand brushes a spitball out of my hair before lifting my books, pens and pencils into the backpack.
“New guy,” a bigger teen with a hipster cut says as he puts one hand on my shoulder, “You payin' attention in class?”
“Not really, no.”
Once the teacher walks out to gather paperwork, he slams my head on my desk before I can get up.
“Only the second week of you being here, transfer student,” he says as he nonchalantly flips through my books, “and all your shit's already covered in drawings.
I try to yank the book out of his hand, but he’s too strong, and he passes it on his buddy with ease.
“Save this school some trouble,” he says as the one with the buzzcut tosses that book out of an open window, “and follow your book out of that window.”
“Jerks...”
Once they leave, I gather my things again and head home, making a detour to fish out my book from the muddy garden two stories below.
“My life couldn’t get any worse…” I mutter under my breath.
A bus ride and a thirty minute walk later, and I unlock the front door of my cheap apartment; lazily tossing my backpack onto the beer stained couch and searching the fridge for edible leftovers. I toss an old carton of milk and bag of moldy shredded cheese into the trash before grabbing the open bag of tortillas and one of the numerous plastic bags of lunchmeat.
I pray to God that this is only temporary, and take a breath before shitting out answers into my homework and getting ready for work; a quick shower, shaving the patches of peach fuzz from my face, and putting on a new change of clothes, more specifically the itchy uniform of a third rate burger joint.
…
“Medium fry is up!”
My voice cracks a bit as I yell out on completing another order. Beads of sweat are already running down my face and I’ve only been here for a few hours, I think as I look up to the clock.
6:38 PM
“Hey! You got that shrimp order frying yet?!”
The bleach blonde manager of the place, Garret Sawyer walks about the kitchen with a permanent pair of angry eyes and a slackjaw, wagging his mouth about as much as he pleases.
“And you, ‘newbie', need to speed up,” Garret rudely sneers.
That mean-spirited jeer proves to soon be his last words, as the next sound to follow an opening front entrance is a warning blast from a shotgun.
“Get on the floor! This is a fucking robbery!”
YOU ARE READING
Things Are Amiss: a lampooning of anime tropes
ParanormalA freak incident which lead to powers, talents, and big breasted friends? Sounds bad to me. Cover credit to strawhat_pirate
