Week of Dream - Daily Horror Short Stories
'The Day I Skipped School'
by Michael Botur
Tsuru the Japanese girl is sitting at the front of the class and I totally want to throw darts at her back, or a knife, blades, needles. Just something to ruin her perfect posture. So uppity and foreign and goody-good, her white polo shirt sitting perfectly on her statue body. Her ponytail is shinier than mine; her bra is newer and sturdier, her tits harder than everyone's. This school is a write-off and we all wish we could stay away and it's frustrating that Tsuru seems oblivious to the shithole her parents have dumped her in.
The mean girls from my class throw a Green Rocket which crumples as it hits her back. It's a paper dart with boogers in it. Tsuru feels the snotty plane tap her spine, shivers once, adjusts her shoulder blades, continues to absorb the lesson, acting oblivious.
Bitch. Fuckwit. Dumbass moron. Girls High sucks balls, Tsuru. The least you could do to, like, raise the level of dignity is give us some push-back by reacting when we hassle you, girl... Jesus. Things are different where she comes from, I spose. Tsuru is from Japan. Her mum is a grumpy lawyer and her dad is an accountant for the Japanese embassy downtown. I saw them once and they looked frightened of the world, walking in front and behind her, protective of Tsuru like she was a little baby bird. It just made it worse, at school. Kids still call her Slanty or say 'Love you long time' or hiff condoms at her.
Our class right now is geography. It's boring as hell. Mz Bowker is tapping the whiteboard where she has projected a map of the world, showing all these exotic locations, Morocco and Easter Island and Patagonia and shit, talking about human migration and blah blah blah Koreans have more Neanderthal DNA than the rest of us and the land bridge from Asia to Alaska and how the Japanese Crane Wife fairy tale was transported to the Aleut native American people through continental drift or some shit, island dimorphism or whatever, and the Kamchatka people and the Kodiaks and...
I've tuned out, hunched in my corner hiding my manga comic under my geo book hoping Connie and Francine and Hannah don't fuck with me and steal it again. Uzumaki is this super-violent seinen comic about a curse that's taken over a Japanese town in the form of a spiral. It pulls people's heads into vortexes, curls people's spines into ropes, bends people like a cinnamon rolls... it'd be super-awesome if the Uzumaki curse hoovered up the Bitch Trio and contorted their faces with agony, let them know what it's like to suffer. The bitches are planning a keg party and they're discussing the invite list loud enough for Pops and Losers to hear if they've made the cut. I know I'll be on the Pop list because I play my way through the ranks, I put in my time to survive, throwing out strategic compliments and lending the bitches money and giving them cans of Monster energy drink but I honestly hate parties. My idea of a good time is sneaking out of school to rob a bank or write some gonzo journalism about an exclusive cult, something that'll really give my parents reasons to fret over me. Or maybe finding a swimming pool of rubies and diamonds in the basement of Mr English's big white house. He's the saggy-necked 56 year old gold silk dressing gown creep with the Jaguar draped in a tarpaulin who hits on me every time I accept one of his cigarettes when I'm dawdling in the alleyway to get to school slower. Al English stains my day every time his yellow alcoholic eyes touch me. I'll be kicking through drifts of leaves in the alleyway then find myself accepting a cigarette while he rests his fat frog-throat on the fence, breakfast cocktail in his right hand, stroking the cord of his dressing down, and prattles on about how his property management business has like a thousand clients, how he gets to spend all day in his slippers, how many kids he's put into this world, how dating is better than ever in his 50s, how his "pescatarian" diet gives him increased "virility," whatever the fuck that means. The gross old paedo just starts my day dirty, that's the point.
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Week of Dread - Daily horror short stories April 20-26 2020Horror
Keeping you chilled and thrilled with a blanket pulled up to your chin, author Michael Botur brings you daily doses of terror with seven new horror tales from his upcoming horror fiction collection. Monday April 20 - The Day I Skipped School Tuesd...