DC Comics: The Misadventures of Darren Kozlowski
Part One: The Life of…
Chapter One: The Life of an Office Drone
It wasn't hard to view my life as boring and uninteresting, nor would I take offense if you'd outright say so. For it was, from an audience's perspective, just that. Repetitive, tedious, monotonous, pretty much every possible synonym associated with bland would be apropos detailing what my job ensued.
It was easy to procure my job, for only a select few would outright search for a position as this. On paper, the title "Data Entry Operator" often tricked those looking for work. Upon closer inspection, one could pull back the welcoming vile of cozy font use and immaculate grammar to see what sort of dull hell awaited you if you were to sign on the dotted line. Your world would be seized by a warlord dressed in a suit, hell bent on setting what little social life you had left ablaze, with spreadsheets and forms acting as the kindling, and overtime the lit match.
But not for me. From my perspective, this was all I ever needed. A quiet job with steady income, antisocial coworkers with no desire for meaningless conversation, and free coffee every morning from the office lounge. For me, this was all I ever needed.
My name is Darren J. Kozlowski, and for most of my life, I've dreamt of finding a job like this, where my existence was ignored for the majority of the day and pay was optimal.
I am content.
I am happy.
"Hey their DJ!"
Fuck, I thought.
"Hello Jase. How can I help you?" I asked my optimistic coworker, his blubbery belly swishing and swooshing all around as he walked.
More like waddle, after that thought, I immediately silence any other negative comments swimming around in my head.
Jase was a kind soul, pure in every sense of the word. Diligent worker, faithful husband, and an all-around jolly guy. Apparently, the continuously strenuous work as the department's head accountant wasn't enough to break the offices' most kind-hearted employee. He didn't deserve my unjustly wrath. It wasn't his fault I despised social interaction. Therefore, I usually ignored my one rule when it came to communicating with other people. That is to never engage in meaningless conversation, on wasted breath. For if there was one thing Jase was an expert at, besides balancing the offices' finances, it was meaningless conversation.
"Oh nothin'," he said through his thick, brown moustache, "Just wonderin' what you were up to."
Figures, I thought.
Hey, I never said I liked talking to the man, I just said I'd ignore my anti-social tendencies for him. Didn't mean I don't still have them.
"I see," I replied, my sullen eyes never leaving my screen.
Multitask Darren. You don't need to look at the man. Just appear really busy and he'll take the hint.
"Yeah, I finished up not too long ago, and I thought I'd stop by!" Of course you did, "Sitting here alone must suck," Not to me, "Glad my office isn't back here, I might've gone crazy. You're basically all alone over here!" That's the point!
I sigh, finally giving up on whatever work was in front of me. I then turn around to face my chubby 'friend'. Now I can see his finely cut, brown hair, which showed signs of receding. Not uncommon for a man in his mid-thirties, yet I felt a bit bad for the guy. Although, I suppose his thick patch of lip-hair was his way of compensating. Knowing him though, he probably didn't care. Other than that, besides his hefty weight, the only other distinguishing quality was his cheery attitude. Like everyone in the office, including me, he wore a short, off-white button up shirt that perfectly contorted around is bulbous stomach. Unlike me, he wore beige slacks and black work loafers. I, on the other hand, wore black khakis and my favorite pair Chuck-Taylors.
"So DJ," Stop calling me that heathen, "I was thinking of going out to drink after work," Uh oh, "Wanna come with?" Hell no!
"Uh, depends," I slowly start to say, unsure of what to do, "Anyone... else coming?"
"Yeah! I invited Miguel," Who? "Steve's assistant," Ah, I remember him, he's quiet therefore tolerable, "Hank's also coming," Shit, "I figured the hardest workers here deserved a drink! So what do you say!?"
Fuck, I thought in utter anguish, I really, really, REALLY don't want to. Especially if that asshole's coming.
Thing was, Jase was a really good guy. Better than most. He had an aura around him that somehow brought out the best in people. He was even able to drag assholes like Darren Kozlowski out of their shells.
I am REALLY gonna regret this.
"... sure."
…
I rarely drank. Me and alcohol just didn't get along. Smoking, whether it be tobacco or weed, was also out. My vice, which I drowned my miseries in, will and always be pills. Xanax and Valium for my crippling anxiety, Ambien for my endless insomnia, and of course all your trusty Triptans for those pesky migraines, to name a few. I was already on thin ice when it come to my weekly medication pallet, adding a sip or two of the Devil's Piss was NOT gonna fly.
"Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug!" cheered my fiery coworkers.
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.
And just like that, my mug hit the table, all of its earlier contents now swimming around in my stomach.
"Nicely done my friend!" Jase called out, clapping my back affectionately.
"I agree," said Miguel, having already finished his.
"Hell yeah! That was bitchin'!" Fuck you, Hank.
There I was, sitting on a stool, at a table, with my coworkers, in a bar not a block away from our office building, wondering how the fuck I got talked into this.
I don't even drink! I thought, sipping a glass of water I had ordered along with my now finished drink.
"I got to say, I'm surprised you got Kozlowski to come with us, Jase," commented Hank as he ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair.
Nice comb-over over jackass, at least Jase is taking it like a man.
"Right!?" replied my chubby companion, "I'm glad you came DJ. Working all those late hours by yourself must suck the life out of you, huh?"
"Eh," I decided I might as well be real with them, let them know what kind of guy I really was, "Not really. Honestly, I kind of like the solitude."
"Really!?" spoke the crew.
Jeez, you'd think I had just told them all I was Superman or something.
"How come?" asked Miguel, sipping every now and then from his mug.
"Yeah, that's kind'ah odd my friend." Glad to hear that from you of all people, Hank.
"Well, since my mind, and therefore my sense of reason, is numb with booze, I guess I can let you guys in on a few things," as I take a sip of my cool refreshing water, the guys sat there waiting patiently for me to continue, "I got about half a dozen mental issues rattling around in my brain, on top of being an anti-social shut-in. I truthfully hate having to deal with people. Always have, always will. That's why I took this job. I figured I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. Me and people just… don't get along."
"Wow," spoke Jase, having taken a sec to digest my words, "Darren I'm… so sorry man."
"Hm," I chuckled to myself, staring at my empty glass, "It's fine. I've lived with this shit my whole life. I've learned to deal with it. To tell you the truth Jase, I'm having a good time. I…"
I look back at the man, seeing his worried gaze barring into my soul. Hell, even Miguel and Hank gave their own sympathetic looks my way.
Sigh… fuck you Hank.
"Thanks… is what I'm trying to say," I finally manage to spit out.
After that, we 'clinked' glasses, forgot our troubles and Miguel (our most sober compadre) drove us home.
All in all, the experience was… tolerable.
…
There wasn't much to say about the trip to my abode. Jase laughed like a maniac, Miguel waved goodbye, and Hank cried like a bitch.
I staggered up the stairs towards my apartment's door, thanking every god I knew that tomorrow was my day off. Going into work with a beer and pill induced headache would be agony.
The apartment building I lived in was mostly vacant. The manager rarely fixed anything and was kind of a creep, so he normally drove customers away. Thankfully for him, he managed to snag a weirdo like me. With almost no one around, besides an odd visitor here and there, I was alone to do as I pleased. Plus, there was an unspoken agreement between me and the super: If I pay the rent every month and keep away from him and his hobbies (I don't know why he stays quiet about it, those porcelain dolls he makes are astounding), then he lets me do whatever I want with no supervision. Seriously, I could be a crazed homicidal maniac for crying out loud and he'd have no clue! Still, it was this fact that kept me here.
Three years ago, this uninhabitable shit-hole of an apartment had been transformed (by me of course) into a cozy little pile of crap.
Before I had fully committed to the refurbishing, in one of our rare conversations, I asked the super if he was willing to let me pay for the room next to mine and turn them both into one. Bold question, I know, but I had hunch he'd say yes, and he did! Since the rooms themselves were considered average sized, once I knocked down the rotten piece of wall separating the equally as disgusting neighboring apartment, they combined to form a nicely sized living space. Plenty of room, two bathrooms, and since I didn't need two kitchens, I removed the sink and what not, and replaced them with more cabinets of all sizes, transforming it into a sort storage space.
Finally reaching my door, I pulled out the key, turned the lock and the nob along with it, and enter my safe haven. Stepping inside, I let the door close by itself, leaving all my troubles and worries behind it.
It's good to be home…
I closed my eyes, willing my mind to wander around my residence, feeling every inch of payed space surrounding me. And just like that, nearly every single thing in the room that wasn't nailed down to the floor rose off the ground and around my person, creating a mini vortex that swirled around me. Faster, faster, and faster still!
"Urrraahhhhhhh! IT FEELS GOOD TO BE FUCKING HOME!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Ever felt like you've had to hide the real you from everyone else, less they freak the fuck out? Whelp, I do, and as you can see, my reasoning is pretty solid.
There are a few different names one could use when describing my condition, but I personality have always liked the term Esper. Psychic always seemed to eluded to seeing the future, which was definitely not something I can do, at least not yet (I hope). Telekinetic was too vague, since telekinesis was just one of the few things I can do. In the end, I figured Esper was a more catch-all term. Plus it just sounds pleasant to the ear, ya know?
ESPER…
So yeah, I have psychic powers. Ever since I was born, I've been able to lift things without physical exertion. No matter how heavy or light, big or small, I can usually move it around, with almost surgical precision. Along with that, I can also "feel" around with my mind. The best I ever came to describing it was like using sonar, except on a deeper level. I never pushed it to its max so I don't really know my limitations, which also goes for the telekinesis.
Then there was the mind reading. Knowing one's thoughts without them knowing themselves, was a god like ability. It was also the reason I grew to be weary of people in general. Reading one's true thoughts, what they kept hidden from everyone else, it was not a pretty thing. You'd be surprised what people actually think of you, or anyone for that matter.
However, that's pretty much as far as my powers go. I may be able to do other stuff, but I stopped experimenting with them after a certain point, seeing as how having these powers came with some drawbacks.
Thing is, when it comes to the mind reading, I can't turn it off. Can you understand that? Always having someone else's thought, opinions, and emotions flying around your noggin'?
Oh, you thought that was me wanting Hank to shut the fuck up? NOPE! That was Miguel! That guy HATES Hank, with a burning passion. I just… felt his emotions.
… okay, maybe I hated Hank a little, but that's only because I can't stand people who use outdated terms and phrases, which was Hank to a T.
So imagine that; never being able to turn that shit off for most of your life! It sucks, I'll tell you that for free.
The best I've ever been able to do is condense it. Make it so only those standing three feet around me get their mind's violated. I cannot tell you how much relief it gave me when I figured that out.
Now, let's get to the headaches. Oh, you thought that was the end of my suffering!? Fuck no!
You see, as powerful as my telekinetics are, they constantly beg to be used. So, when I refuse to do so, seeing as how moving shit continuously with my mind throughout my day would hinder me (I hope you can guess why), my mind basically yells "Fuck You" at the top of it metaphorical lungs in the form of a pain splitting migraine.
This is why I pop pills every day. This is why I hate socializing. This is why I work at a job that minimizes human contact. This is why I can't just go out regularly with a bunch of work buddies for drinks. This is why, the only time I can truly be free is in the safe confines of my own home. This is why I am alone.
This is why I hate… anything.
So yeah, me and my powers aren't on the best of terms.
I will say this though. There's a reason I dislike Jase's company the least. It's because I know what goes on in that fat noggin of his. All the positive reinforcement and kindness. It just seeps from that man's dome like a fire hydrant.
He's a good guy. I wish him the best of luck.
I decide to forgo my usual nightly rituals, instead opting to head straight to the bedroom. At this point, I'd guess I should go into detail what I actually kept in my apartment, all my interests and what not, but it's way too late for that.
So instead I'll leave you with this, while I crash on my creaking mattress.
I don't know what my future holds. Maybe I'll live the rest of my life hiding this, dying before ever showing a soul that doesn't already know, the amount of which I can count with my fingers.
Or maybe… something else with happen.
Who knows. I certainly don't.
I do know I ain't gonna be a hero. We got plenty of those already, flying around, bein' assholes.
End
…...
End Notes:
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