Psycho #11 – Ka-Boom
© S.B. “LullaDIEs”
A Tale of Cynicism:
Refers to a form of jaded negativity. A cynic may have a general lack of faith or hope in the human race or in individuals with desires, hopes, opinions, or personal tastes that a cynic perceives as unrealistic or inappropriate, and therefore deserving of ridicule or admonishment.
I hate everyone! Each person I come into contact with gives me one reason or another to absolutely loath them. Would you like the list? Well, here you go!
Let’s start with your classic sports player. Show me a jock with a brain and I’ll show you an abusive spouse with a conscious (half of them turn into wife beaters, by the way). These guys have only one talent; playing with balls. Ironic since most of them are homophobic as hell. Yet they always get the girl, they get the full scholarship to college, and they are always an asshole.
The only thing dumber than a jock is the cheerleader clinging to his arm. Nails, hair, jumping, and sucking dick. That’s really the extent of knowledge that can fit in the brain after all those harsh hair treatments turning it white, (not just blonde but platinum, reflective white). Over eighty percent of them will become pregnant before hitting eighteen. Seriously, look it up. Statistics man.
Then you have your know it all geek. I don’t care if it’s chess, computers, robotics, chemistry, history, band, whatever! They’re all idiots pretending to be smart. Without these ridiculous hobbies they would be eaten alive by society. They have no street smarts. They couldn’t possibly survive without their books and fancy crap!
Then, there’s the Jesus Freak; synonym for brainwashed zombie. Did you know the Bible’s author is unknown? They say “God” wrote it through his prophets; as if they were puppets. Hah! See how close “prophet” and “puppet” are? It was probably written by a guy trying to see how many people he could fool. Best. Prank. Ever. A little overrun though…
We can’t forget the ever present druggy population. Fucking Christ, really? How stupid are you! Get off the crack and do something useful. I know; become a murderer! That would be invaluable, you could start by killing off the others on this list.
Oh, and a little message to my teachers:
Piss off already. Stop calling my mum telling her I have an “attitude“. You’re programmed to spill meaningless dates, names, and places from your flailing jaws, making you nothing more than a robot wearing a human flesh costume. Stop assessing me, I refuse to submit to your programming. Get over it.
And to my parents, I’m not fucking crazy! I’m ok, nothing is wrong. Stop hassling me!
The list could go on and on, to include every bust boy, officer, bum, telemarketer, maid, musician, teller, and Jehovah’s Witness on the planet. Plus a few more. The bottom line is that I hate people, and people seem to genuinely hate me.
So why should I think it’s ever going to change? Why should I continue living? Why should I let them live?
I never could come up with a reasonable answer to any of these questions, and I allowed myself five years to ponder it. It’s my junior year of high school now and I’ve decided to continue on as if there is no acceptable answer. Turning on my computer, I start scouring the internet for a solution. I find my answer via an anarchist who gives out ‘recipes’ to anyone requesting them.
“I want to blow up my entire school, and I don’t want to risk having any survivors.” I email the mystery man.
I sit in the dark, staring at the blinding screen while awaiting my answer. Time escapes me momentarily as I wait anxiously. Suddenly, the computer bings and a message comes across the screen.
“Here’s what you need to do.” he replies, providing explicit details on what actions I need to take.
I am surprised at how easy it is to make an explosive from home. Seriously, why aren’t more people doing this? The majority of the ingredients are simple to obtain at local stores. Items such as bleach, salt substitutes, and vaseline are located almost everywhere, including my own home.
It’s these chemical breakdown steps that could trip a person up. Words like “Potassium Chlorate” and “Fractional Crystallization” confuse me. I’m not very good at science, so I guess I should be thankful the instructions are easy to follow since the products I’m fabricating are highly volitile. I could only imagine the amount of cash my mother would waste on a therapist if I blew her kitchen up.
I stir the bleach boiling on the stove, and watch carefully as it has some sort of strange chemical reaction. I notice the white crystals I’m suppose to gather and get excited. The hardest part is almost over.
It’s s my chosen day. My creations are perfectly placed throughout the school campus, just as the mystery man told me to. I needed to make more than one bomb due to the schools size, so I placed them strategically in areas that would ensure the entire school would crumble and burn.
Fucking burn! I think to myself, almost too giddy to contain it.
Tick tock. Tick tock. I watch the old clock’s hands move around the numbers. It won’t be long now and the detonators will be triggered, if I did it right.
Please let me have done it right. I silently pray to no one in particular.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
There’s a rumble, violent enough to shake the whole building. I glance at my classmates, and find satisfaction in their panicked eyes. People are heard faintly screaming on the other side of the building, as well as mass running footsteps outside the classroom. Most of the students in the room stand and bolt to the door, curious as to what the commotion’s about.
I’m the only one to stay in my seat, remaining perfectly calm in the midst of chaos and destruction. This moment, here and now, this is my Eutopia. There’s a large grin plastered to my face for the first time in my short life.
The tester bomb had gone off. My plan was working, I did it right. I know there’s only a few more seconds before the others follow. May this journal burn along with everything else.
“… Nine more explosions went off simultaneously, leveling the facility. Most of the students had been smashed by the falling debris and a large amount shredded and dismembered by the blasts themselves, including the suicide bomber. Only a few remain trapped within the ruined school, but there seems no guarantee rescue services will reach them in time-“
The mother of the mass murdering teen clicks the TV off and throws the remote in dismay. She begins bawling uncontrollably while slumping to the floor, something she did frequently since the terrible news was delivered. Wanting to be strong for his wife, the boy’s father stands from the couch and sits by her on the floor. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her close while smoothing her hair. Once she calms down, he suggests a trip upstairs.
The parents of the suicide bomber go into their teens room, trying to find some peace of mind in the revelation that their child not only killed most of the school, but themselves as well. While looking at the objects their son accumulated over the years, his old computer bings with life. Cautiously, the couple go to view the screen.
AnarchialAngel666- So, did your plan work or should we try again?