So, I decided to write a story about suicide and bullying, because I was recently involved in an incident thing of sorts. I am a horrible writer, bash my writings accordingly.
I Killed Mortimer Echeman
I got off of the bus and went into my house like a normal day. Mostly because it was a normal day, a few good jokes in class, some Algebra homework everyone cheated off of each other to get done, and a nice presentation in English class by yours truly.
I go upstairs and dropped my binder on the floor, and kick off my shoes next to the door, both hitting the carpet with the squish sound stuff makes when it hits sorta thick carpet. I grab my laptop and open up my web browser. I go toface book, and opened up Photoshop while the page loaded.
I think I’m was pretty good with Photoshop, and I exercise that talent by picking up a few good pictures and shifting around faces or adding stuff that shouldn’t be there. Sometimes it seems a little mean, but I don’t care.
I see the page load, and I get a blurry view of a photo Mortimer posted. I clicked on it without reading the comments to enlarge the photo. It’s a piece of paper with a bunch of shaky writing on it. It was taken with a webcam, probably the only camera little Morty ever had his hands on, so it’s really grainy. I start to read it, and I realize it was a suicide note.
I start laughing, because it describes how bad his life was, when his parents were actually kind of rich, and how mean people were. At this point I almost can’t stop laughing, thinking it’s a joke. Lyle the joker, always the first one to laugh. And then it gets even better, he starts talking about me in the note. I remember this because we wrote letters a few months ago about how mean and nasty and over all flawed the other person was for a joke, and I sent mine to him. He started tearing up at the time, but I guess he thought this was a way better prank. So, I get to the end, where he finally says he’s going to kill himself with a bunch of sleeping pills. I look at the comments, which are a bunch of different “I’m sorry” and poems about suicide and death. A few people made fun of Mort habitually, and some were my friends. Wow, had he gotten them. I mean, there has never been a better joke about suicide ever. So, when I scrolled down to the bottom of the comments list, I posted “Damn Mort, you got everybody with this one. Good to see you grow a sense of humor.” . I close out of my browser, and click my laptop shut, content with all of the digital social interaction today. I dosome of my other homework, and started texting a few people, trying to work around my crappy touch screen.
That Evening
I go down stairs after dinner (the ribs were great, especially with that new barbeque sauce) and turn on the t.v. to watch the news. I watch the news because I like to know what’s going on outside of my small town hell, unlike most people who think the answer to everything outside of the united states is “Nuke it.” It’s some special interest story I’m not really listening to while I get a bowl of chips from the kitchen, but it sounds like something a bout some kid doing something. I get the chips put up in the cabinet next to the fridge, and then walk into the living room and sit on the couch, skipping back to see what I missed. Someone killed themselves in my town. When I hear the name, my jaw drops and I knock chips all over the floor to run up to my room to get to my phone. The name was Mortimer Echeman. He WASN’T kidding. It was all serious, someone, Mortimer, had actually committed suicide, and blamed me for why they did it. That’s not supposed to happen, people don’t do that, and more importantly, not supposed to happen to ME.
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Topic: Blackmagechill's writing makes slashfic look like Shakespeare (Read 628 times)