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 Now online (1)belb ...and 422 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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yes, another story. what's with this recent fascination of mine? i don't know. anyways, here it is. once again, no editing, solid stream of writing. What I remember of Kindergarten is little. Mostly bright colors, learning how to spell and read, talent shows, and the other boys showing off their ability to yo-yo and make friends. My teacher, Miss Heartwigson, was a nut-case and I believe she went insane in her later years. This type of gossip spreads thick throughout Edina, Minnesota. My fondest memories are of Mary Ekholm, my first love. She griped my soul with her beauty and to this day I have been searching for a match. Mary Ekholm was a quiet girl. Smaller then most, with dark brown hair and a thin face. Quite delicate in her ways. I never once shared a word with her, but it is my fantasy that we had a wild lust for each other. I would catch her staring at me and she would catch me starring at her. On such occasions our cheeks would blush a dark red and we would look straight down at our desks. Yes, Mary Ekholm loved me. I first took notice of Mary when we were assigned one of those "get to know your classmates" assignments. We each had to draw a picture of our family and then present this to the class. The kids would point to each picture they drew and explain a thing or two about that person. I didn't know anything about my family except that my mom taught at a school, my dad left every day and went somewhere, and my sister was a very hyper girl. When it came time for my presentation I looked at my stick figures with arms and legs attached to a giant sloppy circle for a face and thought, "Okay, what know?" Mary Ekholm had me at hello. "Hi my name is Mary and this is my family" as she held up a poster filled with an elaborate drawing of her family standing outside with the sun beaming brightly down and a rainbow off in the background. I thought, Mary, that is a lovely name. |
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And it turned out that she was a lovely person, too. Like me, Mary struggled to make friends. And also like me, Mary didn't seem to mind that she had few friends. We would sit quietly at our desks trying to decipher words like "Cat" or "Hat" or "Bat" and pay no mind to the insolent toddlers that seemingly knew every word in the English language. I was still struggling to spell my own name by the time others were writing short stories about their parents and family vacations. On top of this, my teacher quickly labeled me as the class idiot once she realized that I did not know the difference between the letter "B" and "D." Little did this foolhardy teacher know, as she scheduled conferences with my parents to address my slow learning, that I was well above all the other children. How many of the others were in love? How many of the other boys had studied the facial structure and mannerisms of a brilliant little girl so intricately as I had while the teacher rambled away about "sharing" or "writing" or whatever the hell she talked about that somehow filled 1 year of my life? The answer, none of them. I may not have known how to spell "Dad" or "Bed" or even "Chris Smalley," but damnit, I knew how to spell "Mary Ekholm" forwards and backwards. And then it happened, the greatest day of my life. We changed seating arrangements mid-year and low and behold, I sat right across from Mary Ekholm. By this time Mary had a few friends and a decent reputation in the class room. I was still an obscure face among the crowd. If anything, my social standing stood just above Spencer Fine's, the kid that ate his boogers and wore thick wire-framed glasses. I thought, now is the time I can really make my move. I noticed many things about Mary Ekholm sitting so close to her. One, she liked to write with big pencils. Two, she doodled and wrote notes to her friend sitting next to her. Three, she was madly in love with me. |
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How did I know these things? That's easy, I was a stalker. Talking with people seemed so dry and boring and simply took away from my notes and perceptions. Most of my class thought it was quite odd that I would stare at people for long times without ever saying a word to them. I never had a problem with people staring at me, so I thought, why can't I stare at them? Well, my staring was not unnoticed and I would soon suffer grave humiliation. It was towards the end of the school year and I was admiring the shape of Mary's nose and how it folded gently into her brow, giving way to a round forehead covered with a tuft of brown bangs. People were gathering around tables looking at yearbooks and I was trying to build up the courage to ask Mary if she would like to sign mine. I stood up and walked around the desk, where she sat gossiping with a few girls from class. I was standing right behind her chair with my yearbook in hand when I simply froze. It was as if I was suffering a stroke or an aneurism, like that one time I couldn't move my head after smoking Salvia, and I simply looked into the fine chunk of hair that nestled atop her skull. After a few moments, the others began to notice. Why is the quiet dumb boy standing inches away from Mary? Does he like her? Do boys actually like girls? One girl giggled and told Mary to turn around. She did so and her eyes met mine. In this moment we shared a heartbreaking realization of our love. It was as if I said, "Mary, I love you." And she said, "Chris, I know and I love you too. But we can never be together, they do not understand." Giggles erupted from all around us and the kids chanted, "Chris likes Mary, Mary likes Chris, Chris likes Mary, Mary likes Chris." I felt like vomiting all over Mary's face and from that moment on we didn't so much as glance at one another. That day, as the final bell tolled and I sluggishly carried my backpack home on the school bus, sitting in the front seat, I felt the pain. I felt the fear. I felt t |
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That day, as the final bell tolled and I sluggishly carried my backpack home on the school bus, sitting in the front seat, I felt the pain. I felt the fear. I felt the humiliation. My mom asked me how my day was and I most likely said it was fine. I put my backpack in my room and sat down on my bed for a moment and thought about the years to come. When will I die? I surely won't live past the 6th grade. If I do, that would be a miracle. I felt it was somehow wrong to want to know another girl badly. I felt that this urge would surely kill me. That night, as my dad watched Star Trek and my mom sat and read college essays, I wrote a letter to my family, preparing for my death or alien abduction. I took my careful time so that they could read every word clearly. "Dear Family, If you are reading this then you already know. I am either dead or have been abducted by aliens. Feel no need to keep my belongings, as they will be of better use to someone else. When the child replacement comes, allow him/her dwelling in this room. Chris Smalley, your son" The End. |
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Mary then picked up a hammer and starting smashing herself in the face. I said "No no", but secretly I was enjoying the spectical. To everyones surprise she then turned it around and stuck the claw end into her chest and just walked away. |
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Too much words. I didn't read any of it...is it about paedophilia? |
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Aw. |
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i had like 4 girlfriends (at the same time) in kindergarden and they all wanted to marry me what the fuck happened to me :( |
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You discovered the joys of food? |
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oh man thats cold shit |
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oh snap. |
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lets find some pictures of Mary Ekholm alikes ;) |
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