JACK - Chapter 1

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JACK

by heartrate-monitor

Libraries: Drama, General, Original Fiction, Series

Published on / 1 Chapter(s) / 2 Review(s)

Updated on

Jack, nineteen, bitter, creative writing major, drug dealer.

SECOND WEEK OF CLASSES.



Monday, 10 pm

There's no use saying "My name is Jack Wagner, I am turning twenty in January." I talk to myself. Hmm, but for the sake of review:

5'11" not so sure about the weight, but I go running sometimes, and I take care of my body. Blond, I don't dye my hair. Negative outlook of life, that hasn't changed. Brown eyes. That's not going to change either, I don't think.

Sleep, I get enough of that, unless I'm writing essays for myself or someone else. I get paid for essays, depending on the complexity and pages. Essays help pay for food, stocking and packing job helps pay for the apartment, weed helps pay for college along with my 3/4ths scholarship. College kids are adventurous folk. I get mine from a dealer who lives in the city, and in turn I sell it for even more to stoner guys and gals.

I don't smoke it, personally, hadn't for a while. That would be less to sell. The kids like me, they're dumb and they're airy and they waste their family's money on frivolous things and all I can do is smile and count my cash. I get invited to parties. Girls hit on me, I look like boy next door, blond makes me look disarming. Aryan nation jokes all around on how depressingly white I am; the college encourages diversity in its applicants, and so on.

I'm not that handsome, I don't think, though I've heard people call me striking. It's in the eyes, why don't you have a boyfriend? You look like you can treat a girl right. You have money, you don't mooch off your parents. Nice and responsible.

Not interested.

What are you a faggot? It's cool, you can tell us Jack, we're cool.

Liberal state colleges are nice in that most people are only inwardly discriminatory. Tolerance- if it were better they'd call it acceptance. Tolerance, even towards faggots and black people and even females. The pot helps them get along, their little dreams of being musicians and famous writers and journalists and actors and chugging along through life for the time being.

I'm not a faggot, for the record, but no one's going to read this and I don't intend to prove anything. Let them think what they like. The mystery adds to it, I'm mystery meat. I borderline seduce the theater gays and they buy my weed and hit on me in hopes of fucking me in the ass. I woo the art girls and they tell me how I'm well read in post-modernity, about how I'm an old soul.

My main improvement in the quality of my life is that I don't want to die anymore, though I still see it as mostly pointless. Creative writing major- what a pointless major, it may as well be philosophy. But the professors love me.

Jack, you can definitely be something.

I like to smile, I brush my teeth and don't drink coffee, and pretend to (it's really hot water or tea) for the school kids who mingle with me. Blond hair, coffee in my hand. Disarming. What can I be, I wonder? Can I write beautiful things? Can I find a woman and have 2.5 children and have a variant of the American Dream, like the varying strains of marijuana? Whatever. I'm going to bed.




Tuesday, 10: 32 pm

I take most of my classes in the morning, get lunch, and then go to my job in the evening on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. I do inventory and carry shit at a big store specializing in bath and bed products. Toiletries and middle class. Just buy it at a dollar store, ladies. Honestly. Brand names are just there to keep you in line. Be frugal. Damn, it's good I don't work at registers.

In college, I'm a creative writing major, with some focus on copy editing so I can read other people's godawful works and rip them to bits, while being paid for it. I had most of my gen eds out of the way through high school AP classes, and now I'm taking things for my major. Short stories, structured poetry, analyzing famous writers, meaning and rhyme.

I'll make two senryu right now.




mother sells houses
father lies and defends
drug dealers like me

roses are red and
black eyes are blue- so bitter
I ramble to death




How about a short autobiographical story?

"My name is Jack Wagner. My mother and father got tired of me after I stopped being cute. I spent most of my days in extra-curricular activities, from sports to chess to art club. I miss the stars I saw in the country while visiting an aunt, though I’ve only seen them once. I would rather be friends with stars than people."

Spoken like a true faggot, Jack. Stars than people? Honestly.

Jack, said a professor, try to vary your sentences. Your honesty in your writing is commendable, but variation never hurt anyone.

Yeah, alright joke major, I don't expect to live a nice life. C+ is a-ok.

Tonight I have to write a sonnet for class. This might be fun. I'll write it about bodily functions and puberty.




Thursday, 5:16 am

Bad nightmare, I dreamt my mother got hit by a car. I haven't seen her in two years, and I didn't leave a phone number, but it wouldn't be that hard to track them down on the internet.

I wonder if my dad is the same emotionally bereft cold shoulder as he has always been. I shouldn't be complaining. I was never beaten to an inch of my life, nor was I molested.

They were busy people and I understand. And I hope they understood me as well when I walked out.




Friday, 12:12 pm

The class is divided about my sonnet. Half of them thought it was clever and the other half found it crude. Professor commended me on my wit. There is also this guy in my class, who looked like a scene kid, long hair, gangly and unusually tall (at least 6'2" ), asian with really tan skin.

He starts conversing with me in the hallway.

Hey, you're Jack right? My friend Mary knows about you!

I don't know anyone named Mary, but my mind connected it to my dealer in the city, who grows weed in his loft indoors. Chances are he was in another circle but knew of me.

Yeah, I'm Jack, what do you want?

L-H-O-O-Q, Jack.

Nice art history reference, but I'm not looking for a relationship.

Oh, you understood what I said? That's amazing, most of the people here have the intelligence of toasters.

That's nice.

I like you, I heard you don't have a girlfriend. You in the closet or something?

I just think relationships are a hassle.

Yep, in the closet. You a virgin?

No.


I'd like to tell him to fuck off, but he seemed amusing enough. I have a loose amount of acquaintances who all find me charming, and I may as well have another one.

I'm Hari, Hari Hu.

Harry Who, that's funny.

Yep, my elementary and high school classmates thought it was a bang. Indian and Chinese, ching chong walla walla bing bang, did I say something in your language? They'd say that. And I'd say, yeah, you said "I'm a raging cocksucking asswipe."

Ahaha, you're a lot more clever than me.

I don't know man, that sonnet was bangin'. I can't really wrap my head around this class. I'm not a words person. Art's more my thing.

Art major?

Yeah.

Figures.

You are so cute. Let's be friends.

Sure.

It's a date, Jack!


He was walking away now, and blew me a kiss. The alpha males walking down the hallway are laughing.






Sunday, 3: 05 pm

My hands are shaking.

Dad called- he got my cell phone number somehow.

My mother is dead.

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