It began as all bad days do: the weather alarm was sounding through the neighborhood. I woke up with my heart pounding. An F-5 tornado was barreling towards my abode, dodging all of my other neighbors’ houses as if the weatherman had a personal vendetta against me and me alone.
My family scrambled out of the house with all of their valuable belongings. I couldn’t grab anything because I was still in my half-awake, morning mood.
The tornado sucked up our house in a matter of seconds and immediately subsided. The clouds parted and a rainbow stretched across the sky over the rubble of my life’s memories. On top of this tragedy, my sister laughed at me for not saving my favorite stuffed animal and my mother scolded me to get ready for school.
I grabbed a half-torn backpack from the debris and scampered to the bus stop.
The bus pulled up at an awkward angle so that one of its front wheels was resting on the sidewalk where I so happened to be standing. The vehicle had run over my right foot and it swelled beyond recognition.
I limped up the stairs and the bus driver called me “ugly face” like any other morning, followed by the kids erupting in mass hysteria. I was the laughing stock of my neighborhood after all. I dragged my feet to the back of the bus, as every seat was taken. The bus jolted forward and I experienced major whiplash.
I entered the school with every student attempting to trip me. I passed by the principal in the hallway. He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “you are the worst student to ever attend this district.” Surrounding children applauded his sentiment.
After that demoralizing encounter, I spotted my school bully, Butch. He stomped up to me and demanded for my lunch money. I pulled out my wallet and handed him a twenty.
“More,” he said.
“That’s all I have!” I pleaded.
“You have a credit card.”
He snatched my MasterCard and swiped it on his personal credit card reader. The only thing I could do was watch as he transferred one hundred thousand dollars from my account to his. Butch also had the urge to confiscate my gym membership card and my state ID, which means I had to renew it for the 4th time this month.
Butch thanked me for my time and proceeded to shove me into a nearby locker with the force of a thousand bulls. I was trapped in the moldy, pitch-black, metal capsule, and each passing second l was losing more and more oxygen.
After 4 hours, the locker door was opened. I collapsed to the floor, and the girl to which the locker belonged to screamed that I was a pervert for snooping around in her stuff. The vice-principal was in earshot of her and gave me 5 hours of detention after school.
I entered the classroom of my fifth period, English, and Ms. Great berated me for my tardiness. I informed her that I was already going to detention that day so further sentencing was not necessary. She agreed and told the class to start rumors about me as punishment. They did not hold back with their creative writings because I was later convicted for crimes I did not commit.
Eventually, the police had to let me go because of the lack of evidence against me, but that didn’t stop them from using a taser on me. The police also refused to clear my track record of the false misdemeanors.
I was dropped off at my school once more and it was 7th period, the last class of the school day. Art class with Mr. Jenson was my favorite class of the day because I had the opportunity to express myself unlike in any other class. Also, Mr. Jenson was actually nice to me.
I sat down at my chair and started painting the floral still-life in-front of me. It was so relaxing to draw flowers after such a terrible day. Mr. Jenson stood next to me as I painted.
Suddenly, he bursted out in a fit of pure outrage and shouted, “I cannot hold it in any longer! You are the worst student I have ever had the displeasure of teaching! And your paintings are truly deplorable!”
My heart shattered, and I was forced to exit the room.
So yeah, my day wasn’t the best.
The night before I was Jamison Gunther, now I was a famous philosopher.
I woke up and found myself in a green room lying on a soft couch. I was startled to say the least, but I had no time to think, because 3 workers pulled me up from my resting position and frantically escorted me to the stage, warning me, “you’re on in 10 seconds, Bonny!”
I was just offstage, right behind some curtains, and I saw the announcer on stage hyping the crowd up.
“You know him, you love him, you follow his every word! May I present to you the famous philosopher, Bonny Arback!”
The workers pushed me onto the stage just as the announcer left. The stadium was packed. Thousands of little eyes on me. My pits were sweating like nobody’s business. I am not Bonny, I am Jamison Gunther!
I was thinking that I could just bluff my speech and talk about something easy like ‘live life to the fullest’ to get it over with. I just wanted to get back to my original body, but then I had a thought. A dubious thought. Let’s seize the moment here, shall we?...
I cleared my throat and tapped the microphone. “Hello everyone, I am famous philosopher Bonny.. uh.. Ar.. I am Bonny! And.. uhh.. I would like to talk to you today to discuss the meaning of life. You see, life is complicated; some things make you sad, and some things make you happy. But you know what makes everyone happy? The gift of giving. When we make other people happy, we make ourselves happy.
“That is why I ask all of you, my adoring fans, to Paypal as much money as you can to my friend Jamison Gunther! His PayPal link is paypal.me/jamisongunther. Everyone write this down! I’m serious! Paypal.me/jamisongunther, no spaces. You got that? He is in dire need of money. If you all do this for him, it will make him extremely happy, thus making you all happy. Again, the PayPal link is paypal.me/jamisongunther.
“Any amount you send to Jamison is enough, and you will feel happy, but if the amount is not in the triple digits then you should feel terrible. Jamison needs our money. He is dying. Personally, I will be withdrawing as much money as I can from my bank account and donating it to Jamie.
“And, oh yeah, one more thing that I would like to say before I leave. Having a significant other in your life makes life very meaningful, so if you’re single, you should hit up Jamison Gunther. Take it from me, he is a hot stud and an excellent kisser. Ladies, he is the perfect man. There are pictures of him on his Instagram; his handle is JamisonGunther7. I highly advise you all to check him out, and don’t be afraid to DM him a flirtatious message.
“Alright, thanks for listening. I’m out. Peace!”
A dreaming, happy boy I was, But like every morning does It ends at times I cannot choose.
The mortal realm, a gloomy place, I wipe eyelid crust off my face. I roll over and press the snooze.
The dream world I do return to. I dream of cats, I dream of you, But, sadly, it does not last for long.
The door bursts open, enter Mom. “You’ll miss the bus.” She’s far from calm. I pretend to sleep; my act is strong.
She yanks my feet from resting pose I scream, I shout, she tugs my clothes. My pajama pants go flying off.
My mother whips across the room. She strikes the wall. It goes BOOM! She spits up blood and airs a cough.
She’s had enough, flips on the light. I curse with words I googled last night, But Mom is having none of it.
The blanket is torn from my bed. There lies crying sleepyhead Drenched in sweat, pee, and spit.
She grabs me by my matted hairs And throws me down a set of stairs. Just to get me to school on time.
She packs me lunch with moldy fruit. The front door cracks; I get the boot. The bus zips to school on a dime.
The invitation to go skinny dipping was indistinguishable from a fraudulent one. It was convincing to say the least, but Devin wasn’t surprised to find out that no one else would show up at the pool.
This college friend group had always tested Devin. For instance, they tested his strength back in September when they taped him to the couch while he was asleep, or in January when they covered the entire bathroom floor with over 100 cups full of water to test his agility.
This time, Devin made a test of his own. He bellowed a maniacal laugh.
“MWAHAHAHAHA!”
But Devin quickly realized that his chuckling could make him look suspicious, so he played it off like there was something stuck in his throat.
“MUAH- cough HA cough clears throat. Mmm, that’s better.”
A couple minutes go by, and no one showed up. He was getting angry, mostly at the fact that his fingers were getting extremely pruney.
Finally, he heard voices, and not the ones in his head; they were of his friends. James, Tyler, and Beano walked into the backyard from the side of the house.
James spoke to Devin, “Sorry we’re late, I was having trouble finishing my homework. Multiplication tables are harder than you think.”
“So are the girls coming?” Devin asked.
“Not really. In fact, we were about to prank you,” James said.
“Interesting,” Devin said
“Beano, would you mind stealing Devin’s clothes?” Tyler asked.
“No problemo,” Beano said ecstatically. He yoinked Devin’s clothes from the pool chair and the gang darted off into the wilderness, thinking Devin would run after them.
A few yards into the jungled area, the gang saw a woman standing next to a giant, white box-like structure.
She shouted, “what y’all kids runnin’ from?”
“We stole our friends clothes as a prank!” Tyler replied.
“That’s really funny! I bet if you hide in this giant box, he will never find y’all OR his clothes!”
They collectively smiled at the idea. They did a 3-way high five, but it was at a weird angle, so they damaged their wrists.
Severely injured, the gang limped into the box, and the woman sealed the door.
Little did James, Tyler, and Beano know that the woman was actually an under cover animal trainer hired by Devin to put the boys into the big box. After a few seconds, the woman released thousands of clothes-eating moths into the contained area. No matter how much the gang swatted the moths away, there would always be more. The flying insects accumulated onto their clothing and began the munching session.
Screaming and buzzing could be heard from inside for miles, and the woman and Devin smirked to themselves.
After a few minutes, the door to the box was opened, and millions of moths and their little moth babies zoomed out. Inside lied three fear-stricken boys, their clothes eaten off by the buggies that had just exited.
They were naked as the day they were born, but Devin did not consider the fact that at the end of his plan, he would be naked as well.
“Gorsh!” Devin exclaimed.
The alley way was precariously narrow, slicing down two adjacent cyber-punky buildings. The moist ground was of cracked concrete and littered with grime and futuristic amazon boxes.
Emerson walked down the thin passage to greet a shady man in a big, puffy jacket.
“Evening,” Emerson said.
“Howdy,” the shady man replied dubiously.
Emerson’s throat tightened in fear, and he swallowed a cartoonishly large amount of saliva. Gulp!
“So, y-you got the goods?”
“Probably,” the shady man retorted with a crooked grimace.
The man opened his puffy jacket to reveal an assortment of pockets, each holding a different powdery substance. “You wanted the powder that tells you how you’ll die, right?”
“Nah just cocaine,” Emerson said.
“Well I’m out of that right now so you’re taking the sleepy death powder.”
“What? No way!”
“What if I told you it was the most accurate sleep powder on the market? No other powder can predict your death as accurately as this!”
“Ugh, fine! You’re getting 1 star on your website, though.”
The shady man was visually distraught by Emersons words — he was shaking and holding back tears — but he proceeded to hand over the sleep powder anyways.
“Bruh,” Emerson muttered.
That night, Emerson applied the powder on top of his eyelids and subsequently fell asleep. He was a bit of a snorer, so his neighbors prepared themselves for another sleepless night. They had not slept ever since Emerson moved into the apartment, which was 3 months ago.
In his dream, Emerson was standing in a white void. He looked around frantically to see what would happen. How would he die?
A tall figure in white robes and a grey beard emerged from behind.
Emerson shrieked, “WHO ARE YOU?”
The figure spoke. “Hey man. I’m god!”
“Dude no way.”
“Yes way!”
“Do you know how I will die?”
“Yeah, in your sleep.”
“When?”
“Mmmmm, about 2 minutes ago.”
Emerson was stunned. “I beg your absolute pardon?”
God explained, “Yeah the powder you put on your face was highly toxic. You died 2 minutes ago.”
“Huh.”
He stood there awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs not knowing what to say to the all-knowing being that stood before him. It reminded him of his apartment elevator and the interactions he would have with his neighbors.
A neighbor would walk into the elevator and Emerson would go, “Hey Sheryl, how is your day going?”
And Sheryl would respond, “Not great, I had terrible sleep last night. Some bozo wouldn’t stop snoring.”
And then they would wait in the elevator together with no other words being exchanged. To add insult to injury, the elevator took ten excruciating minutes to get up to their floor, which was floor 230.
To break these long periods of stillness, Emerson would say, “awkward silence!” It did not help to ease the tension, however, it was a habit Emerson could not shake.
“Awkward silence!” Emerson said to God.
“Oh. Am I awkward?” God asked.
“A little”
“Well at least I’m not dead.”
“Damn.”
Moe the shopkeep was working at the repair shop like any other day. He was sowing up a children’s toy like that one scene from Toy Story. Sticky sweat was trickling down the side of his face as he viciously restored the doll’s former glory.
The doorbell chimed as a funny little guy entered the shop.
“How may I help you today?” Moe the shopkeep said, his back facing the customer.
The funny little man did not respond, and sternly walked over to the front counter where Moe was working.
“Sir?” Moe said, turning around and stopping abruptly. He was frozen in place.
The funny little man held a gun up to Moe’s face, the barrel staring through his eyes.
The funny little man said, “my gun is broken. Can you fix it?”
Moe couldn’t speak. He legs felt tingly, and not in a good way. He stuttered, “i... i... i...”
The funny little man stated his terms. “If you don’t fix my gun, I’ll shoot you.”
“Oh ok,” Moe said, “that’s fair.”
“So are you gonna fix my gun?” the man asked.
Moe responded with a confident NO with a cheeky grin on his face. The funny man was furious and smoke bursted out of each of his ears.
He pulled the trigger with shaky hands, but the gun did not fire at Moe because it was broken. Instead, the bullet traveled backward through the barrel and hit the funny man in the arm. He let out a blood curdling scream and wet his trousers.
Moe said, “you’ve got a bullet hole in your arm, now that’s something I can repair.”
The funny little man looked up from his wound and started crying tears of joy. “Thank you Moe :)”
