Before, I had a message begging people not to abandon this story. Now, I don't.
This story is an exercise in serialized loose-form structure that is based around satire, dark comedy, military science-fantasy, and metaphysics. I'm leaving it largely as-is due to a lack of time and interest. Feel free to comment and discuss this story in any tone you like so long as you don't break any laws or terms of service in the process. Minor corrections such as typos (oh, the avalanche of typos that wouldn't wash away in all my revisions), incorrect names, and unfinished sentences would be awesome. Narrative, thematic and character inconsistencies that would require more than a paragraph to rewrite aren't going away.
I feel it's also important to note that this story has some alarming attitudes within it. I don't mean that it's violent (it is) and disturbing (oh, yes), but I wrote it during a time when I was figuring out my own feminist identity and exorcizing a lot of demons on that topic. I'm not saying you can't handle a story with problematic elements, but thinking back on it, I handle some really sensitive social issues (e.g. depression, gender identity, sexual abuse) in a horribly crass, exploitative fashion. By all means, criticize the hell out of these elements and warn others of what's inside.
I'm releasing all rights to the original characters and scenarios of this story (i.e. things not owned by Square-Enix, Disney, or any number of music labels) to the public domain. Ethically speaking, those that feel like copying and remixing anything from this story should give credit and send me a link, but honestly, I'll never find out if you didn't and wouldn't bother doing anything if I did. Enjoy.
Our legendary tale of intrigue, adventure, and mystery begins on a sunny autumn day in Hometown, USA. The birds are singing, the insects are biting and no doubt spreading some crippling epidemic that will wipe out the human race, and the squirrels are hoarding for the winter just around the corner. The natural cycle of life continues day in and day out on this beautiful blue planet, broken only by the irrational humans with their eclectic desires. Today is Friday and our protagonist is stuck in school, sitting through the boring history lecture about the battle of Concord. Why anyone thinks teenagers care about this crap that happened long before last week is anyone's guess. As the words of the teacher drone through the room, she pretends to take notes as she writes out another daydream based on her favorite video game series: Kingdom Hearts.
In this one, Riku is feeling sad about having let Maleficent use him and needs the warmth and comfort of an original character, Miss Kiko Fluffy Pants. Wise, perceptive, well-traveled, and pure of heart to such a degree unseen since Kairi and company, there is no grander beauty, no softer mind, no finer girlfriend than her. The perfect companion, always with the right thing to say with never a misstep or trespass to mar her flawless social record. Perfection personified. She is up to her favorite part of the daydream, where she... her original character relieves Riku of his burden of virginity, resulting in-
"Emily Tennenbaum," the teacher announces, looming over her desk. The thus-named girl looks up to see the towering man staring down at her, a look of passive disinterest in his face.
"Yes?" Emily asks, startled.
"I asked you a question," the teacher sarcastically comments.
"Oh, um... America won?" Emily answers, giving a weak smile. She is a very tall girl of 5'9", unnaturally thin and thoroughly lacking in muscle. Her brown shoulder length hair, hazel eyes, and frumpy T-shirt and jeans combo give her a boring look; as though she is cut from the cloth of a burlap sack compared to the silk and satin of the other people around her. An unfortunate reality mirrored to her by the teacher's unusually reflective glasses. Pretty clever to always mirror the students as being lower than him...
"No, the British won..." the teacher responds in a deadpan fashion, rolling his eyes, "Do you mind if I read your notes?"
"Oh, I don't-" Emily starts, the shock of her teacher grabbing the 'notes' anyway startling her, "Hey!"
"Let's see what we have here..." the teacher ponders, walking off as he flips through the 'notes', "My, my, I don't remember this part of the American Revolution... I don't understand how this is physically possible."
"Please give that back, Mr. Selacia," Emily pleads, her face going deep red with humiliation.
"You... I mean, 'Kiko' sure is flexible," Selacia continues, "She must be hollow inside, though. I don't see how else she could accommodate something the size of a tree stump. Is it painful?"
"Please," Emily implores, ducking down towards her desk to avoid the stares of her other classmates, "It's for my sex ed class."
"Oh, what a novel defense," Selacia retorts, slamming the notebook shut between his hands, "But it's not going to work on me. I used to teach the sex ed class and I already know that all it consists of is us telling you not to have sex. Certainly no smutty writing cribbing all the sex scenes from the GCSE biology textbook."
"I... I..." Emily stutters, her face a deep crimson as she unconsciously tries to burrow into her desk.
"I'm going to have to confiscate this, Miss Tennenbaum..." Selacia starts, giving a look of pensive thought for a second, "On second thought, I'm going to call you Kiko for the rest of today. Kiko, the question was how many British soldiers were in Concord when the first shot was fired."
"Why does all this even matter?" Emily responds, "This all happened so long ago."
"Because, Miss Fluffy Pants," Selacia continues, eliciting a wince from Emily, "We are trying to teach you good study skills and the ability to deflect boredom. There are a lot of jobs out there with boring things you have to memorize and it's my duty to prepare you for them. Look at my job, for instance: I have to stand here in fifty minute increments and endure students not paying attention as they write about their unrealistic sexual fantasies."
"You don't have to say it that way," Emily says, sheepishly.
"Please just pay attention and take real notes," Selacia counters, "Next time I catch you dawdling, I'm going to read this story for the whole class."
"Read it!" some jock in the back row shouts. A couple short murmurs erupt in parts of the room, just as quickly silenced by a couple glances by the teacher.
"Show some respect for your classmates, Mr. Mercer," Selacia dryly comments, giving a look that could kill, "Maybe you can tell us how many British soldiers were in Concord?"
"I... don't know..." the jock says, giving an exaggerated look of obliviousness on his face at the teacher. Now this is a product of No Child Left Behind if there ever was one.
"Right..." Selacia sighs, looking irritated as he starts writing on the board, "Everyone, please start paying attention..."
.
The bell mercifully rings to signal the changing of class not too long after this incident, the tension of the stares and whispered gossip of fellow classmates weighing heavily on Emily. She rushes out of the room as fast as possible, careful to avoid drawing the attention of the other kids as she strides out the door. Out of immediate sight of her harsh peers, she starts a run down the locker filled hallway while avoiding as many people as she possibly can. Once she reaches the sanctuary of her locker, she opens the door and ducks her head inside. Tears stream down her face as she tries to hold back her outpouring of negative emotion. How could a teacher violate her privacy like that?
"Looking good, Kiko," some boy from out of her view says as he walks by. Not even anyone from her class that she can recognize; rumors sure do spread fast with text messaging. It takes a few minutes for her to regain her composure, wiping away the tears and closing her locker. As much as she wants to spend the rest of the day in solitude, the school would only hunt her down and drag her into the next class. There is no escape from education.
She heads over to the lunchroom down the hall, turning away from a couple mean looks of the self-appointed 'guards' of the 'cool kids section' as she walks to the 'losers section'. As she files inside along with the other social outcasts that seem to make up the vast majority of the student body, she grabs a tray and goes down the greasy buffet. Today's menu is whatever is in surplus, with lots of moldy apples and brown meatloaf and some stuff that looked like it crawled in from a meth lab. Considering this was originally the snack aisle before the great social divide, it's not much of a surprise. She decides to just grab some stale bread and a carton of government issue milk as her 'lunch' for today. It doesn't take her long to find her friend near one of the exits.
"Hey, Emily," her friend greets, pulling out the chair next to her as she waves. She is about 5'2", her hair and eyes artificially purple from dye and contacts. She is dressed in some dark blue lace outfit with a small coffee stain on the left sleeve, a black beret adorning her head. In a crowd of losers, she stands out as their fashionable-unfashionable queen.
"Hey, Jamie," Emily says, placing her tray on the table and sliding her backpack down to the ground. She sits down facing the wall, huddling towards the table to try to avoid being seen.
"I see you got the stale bread sandwich," Jamie says, noticing the sparse contents of Emily's tray.
"I guess," Emily responds, "I wonder what the royalty is getting today."
"They have grilled cheese," Jamie says with indignation, "Grilled cheese! Can you believe that?"
"Yes," Emily responds, a tone of squashed desire in her voice. A proper lunch would do her good. It can't possibly help her near-skeletal figure to consume worthlessly empty calories in the middle of the day.
"Let's go get some," Jamie declares, getting up with poise and determination. Almost audacious enough to gain the attention of all the nearby outcasts.
"Let's not," Emily quickly says, motioning her palms towards the table, "I still have that bruise on my hip when Dana pushed me into the tray cart. She's standing guard today."
"I can't believe the school won't do anything about this," Jamie shrugs, reluctantly sitting down, "Can you believe it? Our parents' tax money going towards this bullying and social isolation."
"I can," Emily responds. At that moment, two boys walk by, slowing down as they go by their table.
"Hey, Kiko!" one of them calls out, "How's the sex ed paper going?"
"Piss off!" Jamie shouts, giving the boys the finger. Emily just stares downwards at the table, humiliated, as the boys walk by, laughing at them. Which is funnier to them is anyone's guess.
"See?" Jamie says, "They can only make fun of you if you let them. Just be firm and they'll go away."
"I had the worst class ever before I got here," Emily starts, forcing her tears back, "I was writing a story and my teacher grabbed it from me, describing it to the class."
"Your Kiko Fluffy Pants stories, I take it?" Jamie responds in a knowing tone.
"Yes," Emily says, looking away from Jamie, "I don't get what's so bad about it. Is it wrong for a 15 year old to daydream?"
"See, that's why you should be more careful," Jamie consoles, patting Emily on her back.
"I hate my life," Emily starts in an anguished tone, "None of the boys ever ask me out and nobody likes me."
"I like you," Jamie consoles, "And plenty of boys have asked you out. They sometimes ask me if you're available."
"I mean real boys," Emily quickly revises, going into a dreamy tone, "Like Jack Thomas."
"The captain of the football team?" Jamie asks, looking downright shocked at Emily, "But he's a jerk. He dumps every girl that doesn't put out five times a week."
"Well, maybe I want to put out," Emily counters, eliciting a wince from her friend.
"You're better than him," Jamie counters, "You deserve a nice guy; not some over-privileged, muscle-bound jerk. Let me introduce you to Marty."
"I don't want to go out with Marty," Emily responds, "He's so icky. Have you seen the clothes he wears?"
"But he's so perfect for you," Jamie says, "He's nice, loyal, and plays video games."
"Ixnay on the ideovay amesgay," Emily says, giving a shushing motion to Jamie, "What if the popular kids heard?"
"I think you're blowing this out of proportion," Jamie responds, "Lots of popular kids play video games."
"The boys do," Emily starts, "But the boys don't want tomboyish little brats like me. Boys don't like girls that play video games on their own or can beat them."
"I don't know what to say," Jamie responds, "I don't think anyone would decline a girl just because she plays games. A person that would is just an asshole you shouldn't date and I don't think many people even know about it, to be honest."
"I'm going to ask Jack out after school today," Emily says with little regard for the conversation, a dreamy tone in her voice again.
"That's a bad idea," Jamie says, "Come on, he's not worth it. He's going to just humiliate you the next chance he gets. He's an asshole and we both know this. Besides, didn't you just suggest being forward is something boys hate?"
"I've made up my mind," Emily states, ignoring the question, "I can't just be a wallflower my whole life. I need to take control of my own destiny and live the life I want. If I want Jack as my boyfriend, I'll have to ask him myself."
"I won't say 'I told you so' when it goes bad," Jamie sighs, "I'm going to be performing at the poetry cafe tonight at 7:00. After Jack turns you down, want to come? I can get you free coffee and everything."
"If I'm not on a date with Jack, sure," Emily responds in an obligatory manner. It's important to always keep an out when it comes to situations like this. After all, if one commits to an event and no longer feels like going, it's less a fall if it the commitment was always uncertain in the first place.
"Thank you," Jamie says, "I appreciate it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head to the computer lab and check my email. I hope nobody sniped my auction."
"I wish I could be like you," Emily says, "So unashamed of being a geek."
"I'm proud of it," Jamie says, rising and picking up her artistically designed backpack, "You should be, too. All the popular girls will get after high school are washout jocks working at gas stations. Geeks like us will get the software designers that are going places."
"Whatever you say," Emily responds doubtfully, starting on her stale bread sandwich as Jamie walks out the door.
.
The last bell of the day rings, letting the masses out to their brief reprieve. The parking lot jams up really quickly as all the popular students drive their Audi and Acura and BMW cars out. If your car is less than 35 thousand bucks or not legally your's, you're not cool enough and you better not come out until the place is deserted because a harsh bullying awaits 'shovers'. Emily is too young to own a car and has little reason to be in the parking lot, but the way she figures it, it is her one opportunity to single out Jack. She already knows from rumor that he likes to wait a little after school so he can roll right out in a blaze of banshee tires and engine roar. Sometimes, he even waits longer to hold up the 'shovers'.
Her hopeful future boyfriend finally walks out, separating himself from the other football players as they head towards their convertibles and SUVs that will never touch a single blade of grass until they're in a landfill. What a great country. She follows behind him, walking up to him as he stops by a candy-apple red Mercedes SL65 AMG sporting blue leather seats and a 'Got Nitrous?' bumper sticker pointing at some brightly colored gas canister.
"Hi," Emily greets, waving and smiling at the tall, muscular guy as he presses a button on his remote. The car gives those two slight beeps and flashes as the locks pop up, the hard-top roof retracting backwards as some bass-heavy hip-hop song blares from the radio. 'Den SuperMAN, dat OHHhh~...'
"Hi, there, um... Kiko," the jock with the six digit car replies very loudly, wearing a mean smile as he gives an unfamiliar hand signal off to the side, "I heard about history class earlier. I wish I could have been there."
"Yeah..." Emily responds reluctantly, holding back her blush as she forces herself onward, "Want to go out on a date sometime? I'm free this weekend."
"Hi, Kiko," says a short blonde girl wearing a cheerleader outfit as she walks up beside the jock, "How's the hip?"
"It's... okay," Emily says, feeling really uncomfortable as the cheerleader wraps her arms around the jock. Kind of hanging off him like she's a toga draped on his shoulder, pulling herself in for a long, tongue-jabbing kiss angled just perfectly for Emily to see in all its ostentatious glory. She can just tell that there's no way she's getting out of this with her dignity intact, but would she really be the master of her destiny if she backed away so easily?
"I'm sorry, Kiko," the jock eventually replies with sadistic glee, barely even breaking away from the kiss to talk, "But I don't sleep with desperate loser girls like you. Why should I when I can have actual standards?"
"But-" Emily attempts, feeling too spurned to just walk away. Is it her pride speaking?
"Why don't you go write some more fairy tales about boys finding you attractive?" the blonde asks as she backs off from the hug, laughing loudly for a few seconds before regaining her composure and continuing, "Only way you'll ever get any action is as Kiko Fluffy Pants!"
"Oh, be kind to the loser," the jock comments in a mocking tone, "I don't want Kiko to kill me off in her next story."
"Ooh!" the blonde says, hiding behind the jock in a playful manner, "Please don't kill me, Kiko! I'm too young and beautiful to die in your stories! Please, think of how much worse the world would be!"
With that pretty much sealing this as a lost cause, Emily turns around and starts walking away. There's no way to salvage this situation. To stay any longer is only an invitation for more cruelty. So much for her stand-in idol having a heart of gold under his jackass shell. To think she put that much faith in some guy like him...
"Yeah, get to work on your revenge story!" the jock calls out, laughing, "Maybe Selacia will read that one aloud!"
Emily holds back her tears as she walks down the parking lot towards the sidewalk of shame. How can anyone be so utterly cruel beyond belief? She's a good girl, loyal, virtuous; why are these such bad traits? Why does she have to be shunned because she grew up too big, or doesn't dress in skanky cloths, or simply not have 'it'? Why can't the world be more like Kingdom Hearts where the good are rewarded, the bad are punished, and everything works for the better?
Around this large puddle she goes. One of those leaks from an old car, prismatic light bouncing off; probably a teacher's vehicle. She hears a loud engine roar followed by a deafening screech of tires and almost instantly gets smashed by some large object. The force of this sudden impact flings her head-first into the puddle of grease, no doubt ruining her hair and forever staining her outfit... not like it's a very good one, anyway. She glances up out of the stinging fluid to see a red Mercedes convertible cut off one of the teachers, the jock and the cheerleader laughing hysterically as the latter closes her freshly dented door.
"That was so worth it!" the jock shouts at the top of his lungs through forced laughs as they roll through the stop sign of the exit and completely ignore the irritated honk of a car that has to swerve out of their way, "I guess I'll just have to drive the Porsche while this is in the shop!"