My name is Frank Iero and I am a fifteen year old misfit.
Chapter four – Sticks And Stones
What am I supposed to say? I’m not very sure about what to write in diary entries. Just the word “diary” kind of freaks me out. Isn’t keeping a diary a girl thing? I mean, I know that’s a little sexist, but still... I guess I can’t really erase this now, to make sure nobody finds my inner ramblings brought out on paper. Serves me right for writing in pen. Well, as long as I’m doing this, do I have to tell you about me? And who exactly ARE “you”? This is beyond confusing for me, please try to understand. I don’t even get who I’m supposed to write to. But I’ll tell you this...
My name’s Frank Iero and I am a fifteen year old misfit (like the band, Misfits, get it? Haha. I’m so funny.) I really can’t believe I’m writing this, but I’m not allowed to go home unless I do. I am being held captive in a small-ish room by the school’s guidance counselor whom I am supposed to address as “Paul.” He is a very strange guy, dresses like a hippie. He thinks it’s still the ‘60s. Poor guy. Anyway, on his orders, I’m apparently going to write down how I feel about what happened to me today. I think it’s pretty obvious how I feel, though; fucking pissed off (thank goodness my mom isn’t reading this.) However, let me oblige my dear guidance counselor.
I guess I gotta start out explaining my situation. Let me set the mood for you...my face is being squished against the wall, paint flecks falling off as my nose scrapes against it. Loud, pleading screams leave my mouth and still, no one cares to help out. I think that was because the person who was ramming my skull onto the wall is pretty damn scary. His arms are muscular and his head is large. I’m not supposed to mention names, but seriously? I don’t give a shit. This large species of male was christened Kenneth Craven, but he was later nicknamed “Kenny the Caveman.” Stupid, huh?
So Kenny the Caveman was messing up my oh-so beautiful facial features while snarling for me to pay him five bucks. I would have loved to grant him his wish had I not been broke. The most I could manage was fifty cents, and this displeased the Caveman. Hence, my screaming. He finally dropped me from the wall though, probably feeling sympathetic. Haha. No. He was just moving to the verbal portion of the program; he wasn’t too good at multi-tasking.
You know that old saying, “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me”? It’s a terrible lie that adults tell kids for whatever evil reason. Words actually hurt more than both sticks and stones put together. I tried to block out the sounding coming outta Kenny’s mouth but a certain name just kinda hit me.
See, just like Kenny the Caveman, I had my own nickname; Frankie the Faggie. Cute? I think not. Faggot is such a rude name to call somebody who’s homosexual and I made it clear that I thought so. But this made people think I was gay, which made them hate me even more, and then the name stuck. Whatever. Homophobia is just gay.
Anyway, my pissed off mood is not exactly good news for anyone, including myself. Once the awful name passed Kenny’s lips, I kinda just blew up. In all my blind fury, I just swung my fist at the Caveman’s face. You don’t know how surprised I was when he stumbled backwards, clutching his eye. Guess I don’t know my own strength. But punching someone is not a good idea when there’s a teacher watching you. She was apparently standing there during the whole name-calling session and did nothing. This school is seriously fucked up.
Well, I got sent to the principal’s office and so did Kenny. After both of us getting a week’s worth of detention, we had to go to the guidance counselor’s office and “talk about what happened.” I think Paul really thinks that through his long lecture, he made an impact on the two of us. I feel sorry for myself. Paul probably only made Kenny want to his me even harder. Maybe I should move to Pennsylvania. I heard that people are a lot nicer over there.
That’s not the point though. Right now, although Kenny was dismissed a while ago, I’m still here. Oh the cruel, unfair world. That’s only part of the reason I’m pissed off. The other part concerns my brain. There’s gotta be something wrong with it cause I actually wrote this whole thing down. I’m a looosurrrrr! But what pisses me off the most is that I feel a little better.
Writing this down kinda helped. I never thought it would. It pisses me off to be proven wrong.
I’m gonna stop now because, God, I wanna go home.
Bye bye diary thingie,
Riley smiled upon coming to the end of the journal entry. This Frankie dude, she decided, was her official best friend. She could relate to every last sentence and word he had written down in his school girl handwriting. Waiter or not, this guy was like, her personality clone. And well, if he said writing this stuff down made him feel better, then she believed it. Deciding to read his other entries at a later time, Riley flipped the pages until she reached her own messy scribbles. Her eyes trailed over to her backpack as she sat up. Reaching forward into one of the compartments, she pulled out a stray pen. It soon met the surface of her page in Frank’s diary as she began to write, starting with an extended, “Ummmmm...”
Yeah, I know that was a crappy exuse for a chapter. I'm sick and the horrible-ness I'm feeling kinda came out in this. Hopefully, the next chapter's gonna be better. Will anyone review this piece of shit?