(Jschlatt X Le Monke) A Letter to the One Who Bested Me

To Monke

Monke,

If you're reading this, I've already disappeared. You won't be able to find me anymore, not that it was ever in your mind to begin with. Everything between us was built on irony. Above all else, I want you to know that. Every gesture I made to you was to make fun of you. You should hate me, but you didn't play the game. You lie to win. It's how you stay on top. It's theater. To be loved, applauded for, you have to lie. It's a skill. If you play your cards right, You're rewarded with a feeling beyond warmth, the satisfaction that you're their everything, that's what you get when you lie. You can't judge me since you never knew the feeling. If you played the game, you could have been where I am now. Endless crypto. Every gamer girl in my dms. Timberland Boots. The ignorance you used to protect yourself is stalemate. But now at the finale, I've asked myself if, 'I'm happy' with my winnings. Truthfully, I can't characterize it as happiness. The feeling is best described as a radiation. It's a fleeting sense. The warmth comes, and like a harsh gust, an emptiness replaces it. I can only think of one time in my life I was genuinely happy. And it's the reason I'm writing this to you.

You remember 9th grade Economics. Mr. Wallace? How he would drawl his lectures on the simplest conceptual aspects of theory. How you could get on his good side by pretending to be enthralled with something so simple as a demand curve. And that he'd light up in awe if you shallowly related something tangentially to his crap. And Stacy? Do you remember her? How she would shepherd her clique around so effortlessly. All the dumb shit that flung out of her mouth treated like gold. Wasn't it depressing how low all their self esteems were? You probably aren't following me on this. At the time I was foolish enough to believe their admiration would make me whole, so I came up with a scheme. I'd play the cliché dream boy. I'd get the attention and love from Stacy, and from that, obtain happiness. It was too easy to get into her, Monke. All you had to do was make out anyone outside their clique as worse than them and you would win them over. They didn't have the capacity themselves to do it. I initiated my relationship with her, Monke, by pointing at you, crossing my eyes, sticking out my tongue, and making a fart noise with my mouth. It was all too easy. By the end of the week, I was kissing her and touching her, Monke. You may wonder if this is the moment where I felt genuinely happy, but it wasn't. Even hearing the soft moans leak out of her as I played with her inverted nipples didn't give me happiness, Monke. It was just satisfaction from conquest. It was just another reward from the game, and it wouldn't be the last. As I continued to play my part Monke, the teasing and 'rewards' became far more depraved. It's probably when you started to feel like I became your 'friend.' In truth, it was all for a cum. All my gestures to you were backhanded, except for one.

One of the more elaborate types of prank I did to you was to give you snacks in class. Since Mr. Wallace was too busy regurgitating the prisoner's dilemma, we had free rein over the classroom. The bit goes as such. First, we would fling a snack onto your desk. Then, I would motion to you that the snack is a gift from your best friend, Jschlatt, as I knew you were so hungry all the time. This would lead to you messily consuming the snack, leading to Mr. Wallace turning to see the mess you made, and giving you detention as the rest of us burst into laughter. For this prank, however, I was to give you something special. A banana pudding cup. What you told me was your favorite snack. But it wasn't just any banana pudding cup. Sprinkled into the banana pudding cup was none other than 10 Doses of MiraLAX. I'll never forget the eager look on your face the moment I gave you that banana pudding cup. Simultaneously so characteristic, yet genuine, You snatched the banana pudding cup and flung it into your mouth. Then you did something I was unprepared for.

You farted. Not a dry fart played for comedy, but a wet, wretched fart. Followed by a surprised expression. What came next obliterated me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FveF-we6lcE

I couldn't tell what shocked the class more. My hollering or your beautiful speech. At that moment, none of them mattered. Wheezing. I couldn't breathe for two reasons. Wallace evacuated the class, leaving us alone together. We couldn't stop laughing. My face felt wet. Tears of joy. As you continued to stink, Wallace sent us outside to get a hold of ourselves, which was really code to get your gas and my laughter out of his classroom. Do you remember sitting on the side on that white prefab, with the mud and grass? It was such a sunny day too. The last thing I remember vividly was that beautiful, dumbfounded expression you had on your face. Your mouth agape in both surprise and awe. My schemes froze in your gaze. It was the first and last time I ever felt like I could love someone.

For a long time, I thought I loved you based on my deep understanding of who you are. I'm writing this to you on the realization of the opposite. That the games I play, the character I play, is so devoid of what's truthful, that I've built an impenetrable barrier around myself to no one else. I replay the memory that broke through the guise. Of the one who got through to the inner-workings of my being, and the truth is that I can't laugh at that memory anymore. That I've become so enveloped in this act, that the me worth anything is long gone. I will always treasure that moment we had, even if it meant nothing to you. None of this matters anymore. The thing i've become now isn't meant for such relationships.

You beat me in a game I thought was unlosable, and I forfeit. A monkey is more human than I will ever be,

Jschlatt