Categories > Celebrities > The Used > Tales About God (Or The Closest Thing)
Chapter 1
It started out with one, like it always did. Just one miniscule tablet slid down my throat and sank to the depths of my stomach, never to be seen again. Not physically anyway. What could be seen, though, was the way I behaved. Because quite obviously, I couldn’t possibly have just one; nobody could. My parents thought I’d lost my mind for a while; defying all their fucked up Mormon laws. Later they both agreed that I never even had a mind to begin with, not a complete one. Thus began the still-raging war.
Living in a Mormon household was similar to living in a room without any doors or windows. There was no way out unless some kindred spirit decided to come break me out. Unfortunately, my loud, obnoxious nature tended to drive people away from me. In other words, I didn’t have any friends. Who’d want to help a fifteen year old nobody anyway? All the other kids loved to touch me though. Punches, kicks, slaps they just couldn’t keep themselves off me. They even had cute little nicknames for me. The most popular one had to be freak or maybe it was faggot...
Anyway, being a freaky friendless faggot caused me to be trapped inside this straight-edge world I’d never wanted to be a part of. Everything fun was considered wrong, sinful; no drugs, no sex, no cursing, and worst of all, no beating up the motherfuckers who beat me up in the first place. The best I could do was rebel against all that, but trouble seemed to spark every time I did. If I had the guts, I would have dropped out of school and ran away; far, far away from Utah, land of the Mormons. However, fear held me pinned down against the wall. I highly doubted that I’d survive on my own. So the only choice I had was to grit my teeth and suffer through it (and meanwhile, piss off as many people as possible) until I was old/rich enough to buy flight tickets to California.
Walking to school had always been the worst part of the day for me. Each step I took, it felt like a dread-filled step towards hell. Hell, in my own personal bible, though, had a different name. Timpanogos High School.
I clutched the strap of my pitch black backpack as the brick building came into view. Kids of various ages were scattered across the schoolyard. They all looked so happy, even the little, ignorant freshmen whom I had been a part of a mere year ago. A particular freshman group, the “popular” ones, leaned against the metal fence nearby. Laughter echoed from the cluster towards my ears. Jealousy lashed through my body as I walked closer to the building, giving them the evil eye. I’d give up all my luscious black hair to trade places with one of them; to actually have people who surrounded me and laughed at my admittedly horrible jokes.
Leaving my eyes to envy the ninth-graders happened to be a terrible idea. But, honestly, how was I to know I would slam into somebody? Staggering backwards, I steadied myself to stare blankly at who I’d bumped into. The larger boy grinned devilishly while my eyes stretched so wide they began to hurt. He wasn’t supposed to be here today, not this year. He should have graduated. The giant lump in my throat was slowly forced down, only to be replaced by yet another one. Hesitantly, I took an enormous step away from the scary senior, by the name of Leslie Ackerman. I guess it wasn’t too surprising how tough he acted. If my parents named me Leslie, I would have been pretty aggressive too. I trembled in his presence. His hands formed into fists and he moved towards me. A vein in his neck throbbed, and just to freak me out, so did one near his forehead. His eyes worried me as well. They were black, blacker than ink. No human being could possess eyes that black. He wasn’t human, quite obviously. Of course not. He was the devil; Satan himself...which just led back to my point of Timpanogos High being hell.
After a few moments of scaring me shitless, he decided to speak, “Hey, Bertie. Haven’t seen you all summer. Did you miss me?”
What came out of my mouth made me want to crawl into a ditch and die, “N-n-n-nuh...nooo...hi...”
He laughed at my obvious discomfort and brought his powerful arm forward to grip me by the shirt. I squirmed as he lifted me up off the ground, backpack and all. My throat didn’t allow me to even scream. A crowd had gathered around the two of us, watching excitedly as the first fight of the school year was taking place before their very eyes. Leslie brought his fist up far back behind his head. My stomach tied itself up into a hard knot, preparing to embrace the first punch. Leslie, however, seemed to know how much I adored surprises. Instead of striking me immediately, he swung me around by the collar and then threw me like I was a fucking Frisbee. I flew through the air, wind whizzing by my face as I attempted to somehow reach the ground without killing myself.
I landed on the rough blacktop, scraping my knees and hands. Spectators beside me laughed hysterically for some unknown reason. Words could not explain how I felt at the moment. I wondered if it was a sin to steal a gun from somewhere and shoot all those bastards down. I would have loved to do that. Wincing in pain, I scrambled up to my feet. Leslie was strolling closer with a mocking smile on his face, obviously ready to hit me again. I pressed my lips close together, vowing to myself that I wouldn’t end up in tears. I stood in fighting stance and slid my backpack off; the least I could do was try and fight back. That way, when I went down, my dignity would remain standing. While the brown-haired boy stepped closer, my confidence began to crack. He was so... big ...and I was so... not. My entire body shook.
At the final moment, I decided I’d rather keep my face than my dignity. Rapidly, I spun around on my heel and ran. I wove through the giant swarm of people attempting to block me and push me back into Leslie’s knuckles, using my small size as an advantage. Finally, I stumbled out near the entrance to the school. I laughed a bit when I realized I actually managed to get away. My celebration was cut short by an angry roar behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, frightened upon spotting Leslie. He was chasing me. My feet acted quicker than my mind. In an instant, I broke through the swinging doors. The hallways were deserted, except for a few nerds here and there. It failed to shock me; class didn’t actually start for another ten minutes. Panic rushing through my veins, I contemplated which direction to go. My right side, my strong side, won the match. Doors and doors whirred past as I ran. Teachers surely were behind them, but I hated the teachers even more than I hated bullies. Sympathy was what I received from them, and sympathy was far worse than punches. I froze on spot, reaching a fork in the corridors.
“Keep running, Bert! It’s more fun this way!” Leslie yelled from behind, too close.
I let out a nervous shriek before, in fact, continuing to run. My own erratic, frenzied breathing was the only sound my ears could pick up now. Frantically, I darted into the next door I spied. I yanked the doorknob and panted, slipping down against the wooden entryway. Minutes passed, and I heard no voices from the hallway. I sighed with relief. Glancing around the environment, I realized I’d stumbled into a janitor’s closet. Perfect. A broom suddenly fell down onto my leg, reminding me of the cuts I had acquired. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I examined the wounds. None of them were very deep or painful, but the bright red color of blood dripping down scared me. Leaning back against the door again, I strained my ears. Hurried footsteps of a heavy-built person greeted my ears. My heartbeat raced against my chest. Burying my head between my knees, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help but let myself cry. In and out, in and out, my breathing refused to restore a steady rate. Tears endlessly slipped down my cheeks and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because this sort of thing happened every day.
__________________________
Does anyone wanna review this for me, please? Quinn's obviously not in this chapter...he should be stepping in soon, though...
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Used.
I do not own the right to Bert McCracken's name.
I do not claim that what I write is fact, because it really is not.
I do not wish to be attacked by lawyers.
I do not wish to stop starting my sentences with "I do not..."
I do not promise you that I will continue this story.
It started out with one, like it always did. Just one miniscule tablet slid down my throat and sank to the depths of my stomach, never to be seen again. Not physically anyway. What could be seen, though, was the way I behaved. Because quite obviously, I couldn’t possibly have just one; nobody could. My parents thought I’d lost my mind for a while; defying all their fucked up Mormon laws. Later they both agreed that I never even had a mind to begin with, not a complete one. Thus began the still-raging war.
Living in a Mormon household was similar to living in a room without any doors or windows. There was no way out unless some kindred spirit decided to come break me out. Unfortunately, my loud, obnoxious nature tended to drive people away from me. In other words, I didn’t have any friends. Who’d want to help a fifteen year old nobody anyway? All the other kids loved to touch me though. Punches, kicks, slaps they just couldn’t keep themselves off me. They even had cute little nicknames for me. The most popular one had to be freak or maybe it was faggot...
Anyway, being a freaky friendless faggot caused me to be trapped inside this straight-edge world I’d never wanted to be a part of. Everything fun was considered wrong, sinful; no drugs, no sex, no cursing, and worst of all, no beating up the motherfuckers who beat me up in the first place. The best I could do was rebel against all that, but trouble seemed to spark every time I did. If I had the guts, I would have dropped out of school and ran away; far, far away from Utah, land of the Mormons. However, fear held me pinned down against the wall. I highly doubted that I’d survive on my own. So the only choice I had was to grit my teeth and suffer through it (and meanwhile, piss off as many people as possible) until I was old/rich enough to buy flight tickets to California.
Walking to school had always been the worst part of the day for me. Each step I took, it felt like a dread-filled step towards hell. Hell, in my own personal bible, though, had a different name. Timpanogos High School.
I clutched the strap of my pitch black backpack as the brick building came into view. Kids of various ages were scattered across the schoolyard. They all looked so happy, even the little, ignorant freshmen whom I had been a part of a mere year ago. A particular freshman group, the “popular” ones, leaned against the metal fence nearby. Laughter echoed from the cluster towards my ears. Jealousy lashed through my body as I walked closer to the building, giving them the evil eye. I’d give up all my luscious black hair to trade places with one of them; to actually have people who surrounded me and laughed at my admittedly horrible jokes.
Leaving my eyes to envy the ninth-graders happened to be a terrible idea. But, honestly, how was I to know I would slam into somebody? Staggering backwards, I steadied myself to stare blankly at who I’d bumped into. The larger boy grinned devilishly while my eyes stretched so wide they began to hurt. He wasn’t supposed to be here today, not this year. He should have graduated. The giant lump in my throat was slowly forced down, only to be replaced by yet another one. Hesitantly, I took an enormous step away from the scary senior, by the name of Leslie Ackerman. I guess it wasn’t too surprising how tough he acted. If my parents named me Leslie, I would have been pretty aggressive too. I trembled in his presence. His hands formed into fists and he moved towards me. A vein in his neck throbbed, and just to freak me out, so did one near his forehead. His eyes worried me as well. They were black, blacker than ink. No human being could possess eyes that black. He wasn’t human, quite obviously. Of course not. He was the devil; Satan himself...which just led back to my point of Timpanogos High being hell.
After a few moments of scaring me shitless, he decided to speak, “Hey, Bertie. Haven’t seen you all summer. Did you miss me?”
What came out of my mouth made me want to crawl into a ditch and die, “N-n-n-nuh...nooo...hi...”
He laughed at my obvious discomfort and brought his powerful arm forward to grip me by the shirt. I squirmed as he lifted me up off the ground, backpack and all. My throat didn’t allow me to even scream. A crowd had gathered around the two of us, watching excitedly as the first fight of the school year was taking place before their very eyes. Leslie brought his fist up far back behind his head. My stomach tied itself up into a hard knot, preparing to embrace the first punch. Leslie, however, seemed to know how much I adored surprises. Instead of striking me immediately, he swung me around by the collar and then threw me like I was a fucking Frisbee. I flew through the air, wind whizzing by my face as I attempted to somehow reach the ground without killing myself.
I landed on the rough blacktop, scraping my knees and hands. Spectators beside me laughed hysterically for some unknown reason. Words could not explain how I felt at the moment. I wondered if it was a sin to steal a gun from somewhere and shoot all those bastards down. I would have loved to do that. Wincing in pain, I scrambled up to my feet. Leslie was strolling closer with a mocking smile on his face, obviously ready to hit me again. I pressed my lips close together, vowing to myself that I wouldn’t end up in tears. I stood in fighting stance and slid my backpack off; the least I could do was try and fight back. That way, when I went down, my dignity would remain standing. While the brown-haired boy stepped closer, my confidence began to crack. He was so... big ...and I was so... not. My entire body shook.
At the final moment, I decided I’d rather keep my face than my dignity. Rapidly, I spun around on my heel and ran. I wove through the giant swarm of people attempting to block me and push me back into Leslie’s knuckles, using my small size as an advantage. Finally, I stumbled out near the entrance to the school. I laughed a bit when I realized I actually managed to get away. My celebration was cut short by an angry roar behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, frightened upon spotting Leslie. He was chasing me. My feet acted quicker than my mind. In an instant, I broke through the swinging doors. The hallways were deserted, except for a few nerds here and there. It failed to shock me; class didn’t actually start for another ten minutes. Panic rushing through my veins, I contemplated which direction to go. My right side, my strong side, won the match. Doors and doors whirred past as I ran. Teachers surely were behind them, but I hated the teachers even more than I hated bullies. Sympathy was what I received from them, and sympathy was far worse than punches. I froze on spot, reaching a fork in the corridors.
“Keep running, Bert! It’s more fun this way!” Leslie yelled from behind, too close.
I let out a nervous shriek before, in fact, continuing to run. My own erratic, frenzied breathing was the only sound my ears could pick up now. Frantically, I darted into the next door I spied. I yanked the doorknob and panted, slipping down against the wooden entryway. Minutes passed, and I heard no voices from the hallway. I sighed with relief. Glancing around the environment, I realized I’d stumbled into a janitor’s closet. Perfect. A broom suddenly fell down onto my leg, reminding me of the cuts I had acquired. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I examined the wounds. None of them were very deep or painful, but the bright red color of blood dripping down scared me. Leaning back against the door again, I strained my ears. Hurried footsteps of a heavy-built person greeted my ears. My heartbeat raced against my chest. Burying my head between my knees, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help but let myself cry. In and out, in and out, my breathing refused to restore a steady rate. Tears endlessly slipped down my cheeks and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because this sort of thing happened every day.
__________________________
Does anyone wanna review this for me, please? Quinn's obviously not in this chapter...he should be stepping in soon, though...
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Used.
I do not own the right to Bert McCracken's name.
I do not claim that what I write is fact, because it really is not.
I do not wish to be attacked by lawyers.
I do not wish to stop starting my sentences with "I do not..."
I do not promise you that I will continue this story.
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