Chapter 1:

Binky Barnes stared at the graded test in his hands. Another F. Red marks were everywhere around his answers. Even the partial credit was not enough to redeem the academic carnage. He put the test down and leaned back in his chair. The grade was not necessarily a surprise because school was never Binky's strongest suit. The only problem was his grades were getting even worse. For most of his student life, there were lots of D's. Now, he was consistently getting failing marks. Flunking high school seemed inevitable, which lead Binky down a continued path of mediocrity.

In more ways than one, Binky had given valiant attempts to restore some academic credibility. He tried to sit in the front row of classes, got tutored by professionals and fellow students, and even went to therapy sessions with an education psychologist. Nothing seemed to improve his performance in school. It was like trying to break through an impenetrable wall.

The worse part was all his friends were doing better than him. None of them had academic issues like he did. Arthur and Francine got A's and B's. Muffy and Buster got B's and C's. Brain, of course, got straight A's without even flinching. The only classmate who struggled like Binky was George. George had an excuse though: he had some learning disabilities. Binky was tested back in junior high for learning disabilities, but the tests confirmed he had none whatsoever. As far as he could surmise, he was just stupid, plain and simple. The thought of being mentally incompetent made Binky terribly angry with himself. How come he couldn't do well in school? Did the doctors miss a brain tumor or something that was affecting his intellectual capabilities?

RRRRIIIIIINNNNGGGGG

That was the bell, meaning school was done for the day. Binky threw his test into his backpack and headed out of the classroom. He walked fast to his locker and didn't make eye contact with anybody. This had turned into a normal occurrence: just lower your head and no one will bother you. As he dialed the combination on his lock, he felt a wave of rage swell inside of him. Binky wasn't sure if it was the test he just bombed, or the fact that he was a pathetic retard. He clinched his fist till the skin on his hand turned bright pink. BAM! Binky punched the locker with all the strength he could muster. He instantly felt an avalanche of pain shoot from his fist up through his arm. He looked down at his knuckles. They were all bruised and bloodied. Binky imagined that somehow his puny brain looked the same way.

"Binky, you okay?"

Binky half looked over his shoulder. It was Sue Ellen. She had a concerned look on her face. "I'm fine," muttered Binky, trying to avoid a conversation with the girl. He started to put some books into his bag.

"Did something happen to you? I just saw you punch your locker," said Sue Ellen. Binky closed his locker and tossed his backpack over his shoulders. "None of your business," he replied angrily, then headed out of the building. Sue Ellen stood there watching him walk away and wondering what on earth was going on.

Binky got on his bike and rode home. It was actually a nice day, with a bright sun shining down from the clear, blue sky. Binky hardly noticed though, as he was determined to get back to his house and be alone. As he pulled into the driveway, he noticed his mom's car was parked there. She must have gotten off of work early. Or, she didn't work at all today. Binky rarely asked his mom what plans she had for the day, as he tried to avoid talking to her at all costs.

As he opened the front door, he heard noises in the kitchen. He walked into the room and began shaking his head at what he saw. His mom was sitting at the table and crying into her hands. Mrs. Barnes heard her son come in and looked up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy, and tears were rolling down them. She forced a weak smile. "Hello, dear. How was school?" Binky threw his backpack on the ground.

"You gotta stop crying, mom. This is stupid," he said with his arms crossed. Mrs. Barnes kept looking at her son. "It's how I deal with it, Binky," she replied quietly. Binky clinched his non-injured fist. "Crying doesn't solve anything! It won't bring him back."

Mrs. Barnes pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I know, dear," she said. "So knock it off!" half-yelled Binky. Mrs. Barnes stood up with a red face. "Don't tell your mother what to do!" she said sternly.

"I've moved on with my life and you just can't get over it!" Grumbled Binky. The two stood there in silence for a moment. The antique clock in the living room was ticking away and was the only sound that could be heard. Binky glared at his mom. He couldn't believe how childish she was acting. Crying like a five year-old? What a pathetic way of coping. Mrs. Barnes timidly walked up to her son and tried to hug him. Binky pushed her away and started heading for his room.

"You can't keep pushing me away, Binky! You're not like your father!" screamed Mrs. Barnes. Binky whipped around. "Once I'm 18, I'm gone, okay?! It's your fault dad is gone! You messed this family up!" Yelled Binky. Mrs. Barnes slammed her fists on the table. More tears were pouring down her face. "I was wrong. Both you and your dad are the same! You're both monsters!" she bellowed. Binky spat at his mom, which made her step back. "Go to hell, you bitch!" he roared. He then stormed off to his room.

Binky slammed the door shut, and sat on his bed. He now knew where he got his dumb brain from – his own mother. He placed his hand into his hands and began messaging his temples. He could feel his blood boiling. Stupid, weak mom…crying, as if that's going to change anything.

Binky pulled a knife out of his pocket and exposed the blade. He rolled up his sleeve, and began to slice his wrist. The burning sting and sight of blood gave him a moment of peace. If he couldn't control his miserable life, at least he could control his body, and what he did to it. He then laid down and stared up at the ceiling. He could feel the blood rolling down his arm from his cut wrist. The throbbing of his fist was still there. All of this physical pain was nothing compared to the mental pain.

Binky laid there for several hours and thought about how his life had completely fallen apart over the past couple of years. It was an insidious experience, one that slowly drained the life away. He felt the hard steel knife in his hand. He could easily slice through his own throat and that would be it. No more suffering. The thought was enticing. He never told anybody about his gravitation to suicide, because no one would understand. At least death would end all misery.