Psychic City: A short story about 2D's school life. I think this'll have chapters, since I don't want to go on making this one shot too, too long. Though, it won't have too many. Hopefully there's interest in this! But, everyone's been writing about Murdoc's school life lately so I thought: why not? 2D went to school, didn't he? Of course, I realize that he probably didn't garner much knowledge during those years in the school system, but, nonetheless, he went.
I'm going to be adding my own twists to it. Possibly 2D will even have an encounter with an older Murdoc somewhere along the line? ;)
Let me know what you think!
Chapter One:
Grade School Trip
Stuart Pot lie like a board, his hands pitched behind his head of shaggy blue hair. Perhaps he had smoked far too much, but the ceiling was beginning to look fuzzy. It was starting to flake, 2D noticed, and each crumble of plaster fell to the shag carpet like little snowflakes. How typical it was for Murdoc to give him such a fucked up room; one located under the bloody water, too, of all places. But the banged-up man had to admit, however, that perhaps he should have seen it coming- the gassing, the kidnapping, the imprisonment. It wasn't as if Murdoc's actions were anything out of the ordinary. And it wasn't as if 2D hadn't expected him to snap. But perhaps it was the timing. Maybe the timing had just been... off.
Behind the frumpy curtains that hid the sole window in 2D's bedroom, the vast ocean swayed. 2D could feel the wight shift, the shadow off something massive behind it. He knew it was the whale, the big massive thing that had been stalking him for months. Murdoc had hired it to do so, the sodding bastard; he'd read in 2D's diary how he'd had a fear of that bloody fish. As if blown out through a microphone, the whale's elongated cry rung out through the speaker's of 2D's migraine-ridden head. He cupped his hands against his ears, curling up into a tight ball upon the stern mattress. But the whale's presence was just completed everything. Without it, Murdoc's twisted plastic paradise just would have not been the same. 2D both acknowledged and detested this fact. But still he kept his eyes pressed shut.
He left the swirl of his painkillers to embrace him, his only true bit of company since he had been drafted against his will for the third Gorillaz album. He felt the intensely calm haze of it as the effects readily wore in. The side effects, 2D noted, had always been the best part. It had been almost ten minutes since he'd popped five of his painkillers into his open mouth, and already he was beginning to enjoy the numbness. He could never forget about the numbness; the way it slowly crept up on him was magical, something welcomed and loved all at the same time. It was his more cherished past time, despite being on Plastic Beach at the moment. He overlooked the swing in the pit of his stomach, raising his knees.
Oh yes, this was going to be one hell of a trip.
Usually the ringing bells came first, sounding off in his head like an unwelcome rhythm. He wasn't sure what had made his mind come up with bells, though. They rang like a timer, set off to annoy him relentlessly. As he felt himself lose feeling in his fingers, he considered bells and all things related to them. Of all things- why bells? The intolerable ringing made his eardrums ache, made his heart pound feverishly in his chest. What was the deal, anyway? They were just bells, for fuck's sake.
But that would have sufficed if only it were true. As the fog slipped back over the image of 2D's vision, he found himself thinking back. Bells... those bloody bells, ringing out from the speakers of his primary school, his grade school, and his high school. The same fucking bell, that same Godforsaken 'bring'. It had marked him as late to class for twelve impossible years in a row.
Perhaps he should not have consumed so many of them, because whatever it was about the ringing noise made the sound start to morph into something physical. The room underwater begun to twist and turn away from him; the shadow of the watchful whale grew longer and wide until it covered the entire bedroom completely. He was hurdled into a curious darkness, a strangely awkward galaxy that grew out massively before his own damaged eyes. He suppressed a timid little sob, a moan of defeat as he felt the pills begin to work their way into his system. And then with a jagged and broken step, he slipped from the mattress of the bed, flopping onto the carpet with a lifeless little grunt. The beeping red dot in the top corner of his room caught 2D's glassy eye. He wondered if Murdoc could see him through the lens of the cameras he'd installed; he wondered if Murdoc could hear that fucking ringing.
Nonetheless, he clamored to his feet, heavily under the influence. Though, he was unsuccessful in his step, stumbling across the floor and colliding into the wall by the porthole. He slipped his hands up to his head, tugging at his roots. The metal sound in his head clang bitterly and forced him to become almost physically sick.
"Stop ringing," he pleaded, pressing his eyes shut with full force. "S-Stop ringing!"
Yet the loud noise did not comply to his orders; in response, 2D turned, slamming his forehead into the wall and letting his hands drop to his sides. Finally he dropped to his knees, still facing the walls of his glass bottomed prison. To escape the noise- that horrible fucking ringing- he bundled himself up close, chewing miserably on his lower lip. With a solemn sob, he flopped back, loosing his grip, and landing on his back.
And fucking Hell, the bloody ringing.
"Oi, Tusspot! Get up!"
2D's blacked-out eyes snapped open. He was not in his bedroom anymore, not even under the water. Instead he was lying face up, back onto the grass. He could feel the trickle of blood as it flooded from the end of his swollen nose. The spread of an oncoming migraine made tiny little lights pop relentlessly in front of his eyes. He'd remembered this day, and cursed his body for deciding to recall it in the form of a dream. But it was the school years that he had always hoped to have forgotten. Nonetheless he had encountered no such luck; luck had never been 2D's strong point.
"Didn't 'cha 'ear me, Tusspot? Get up." Stu Pot blinked back, refocusing his vision to find that he was looking up into the face of Manny Nightly, the school bully who had never really been Stu's biggest fan. His fat, meaty foot had been hoisted up onto Stu's concave stomach, pressed into the bulk of his ribcage. The sweat dripping off from Manny made his upper lip glisten in the harsh sun that shone down on the scene. Manny's double chin looked pathetically round from Stu's view, bobbing up and down as the smile spread wider upon his intensely ugly face. "'Ey, guys, I think we knocked da wind outta 'im."
The three other's at Manny's side gave a hearty chuckle. They exchanged sloppy smiles and pounded their fists readily in their hands. "Ah think so, Manny," responded one of the others, who was considerably less fat, yet equally as ugly. "Ain't that right, Tusspot?"
Stu Pot winced. Tusspot- despite insisting that the name was not his surname, the boys hadn't seemed to pay him much attention. They'd managed to get the entire class to use it, too; Stu recalled with a saddened sob back to the day that his very own teacher had slipped up as well. She'd looked instantly apologetic, but Stu thought he could have died from embarrassment back then. "I got t' go 'ome," Stu croaked from the spot on his back. He ignored the three other boys, complying to Manny's initial demands and attempting to lift himself back up to his feet. The slip of the forthcoming migraine made his body ache far worse than it already had been. His vision blurred; horrified he glanced towards his wristwatch and felt ill when the numbers blended together outlandishly. "I've go' keyboard lessons."
It wasn't actually a lie, not entirely, anyway. His keyboard practice had been scheduled for the day, though not until hours later. Nonetheless, it was recess, and Stu had seemed to forget this fact when he'd spoken out in his defense. He mentally kicked himself for jumping the schoolyard fence and wandering out in the woods behind the playground to be by himself. He'd made it all too easy for the four to find him and trap him there, anyway. But Manny and his mates did not seem to catch on to his obvious fib.
"Isn't 'at nice? Yah 'ear that? Keyboard lessons!" Manny exclaimed, taking a hearty step back. Stu Pot watched as the fat boy did so. He looked so malicious, so devilishly curious despite his innocent school uniform and his fifth-year demeanor. For a boy of eleven, he could have easily passed as thirteen. What pained Stu the most was that he had Manny, a long time back, had once been friends. Back when Stu's hair was not a bright shade of blue, however. Before, when Stu's appearance had been considerably normal, he and Manny had managed to get on fine, great even. Like the other kids, however, Manny hadn't taken too keenly to Stu's odd new look. "Whatchu play da keyboard for, anyways, Tusspot? Gonna be famous?"
Stu Pot's eyes stung. He liked the keyboard; it was one of the few things he was good at and it made his mum happy. He did not, however, jump at the chance to defend himself. Rather, he allowed Manny's large claw to clamp down on the collar of his shirt, pulling him back up to the ground with a thundering yank. Stu felt the emptiness overwhelm his stomach, felt the shift of the air as he was brought up, face to face, with Manny's hideous mug. "You are gonna end up jus' li' your fatha', Tusspot," Manny said, ignoring Stu as he lifted his hands to his head. He'd begun to black out, fade away from the four boys. Yet he could not deny their voices in his ear. Despite the migraine's harsh effects, he could still hear them.
When he felt Manny push him away, however, his eyes wrenched open and his backside found the ground. He took his chance; once Manny's fingers had released their grasp, Stu Pot took off in a desperate sprint. He was certain that he had never ran so fast in his entire life. And as he marathon-ran down the side walk, he could still hear the awful voice of his pudgy classmate. The sound of his screaming echoed over the bell that had called off class and ended recess for the day. He wondered if his teacher would notice that he was not coming back for the second part of class, wondered if she'd call home to talk to his mum and report his absence. "You'll die workin' in dat fairground, Tusspot! You'll bloody rot there!"
Psychic City: Let me know what you think!