First Hole's The Pits:
Disclaimer: This fic is so short because...well...to help load on your screen quicker, so shut the hell up, and think of it this way: the smaller it is the faster you can read and flame me about how short it is! Enjoy!
H- Hell
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Holes, like swiss cheese, or like when you go to the movies on a clean Sunday afternoon and buy yourself a nice, frosty shake, only to suck up most of the liquids, leaving you with a thick mess of tiny puntures in your drink.
Mainly, it was just like little graves, each marking a place of ominous death.
What was death without life though, right? Wrong. This place, this little world of nothingness, totally obliterating the meaning of 'life after death', leaving nothing but dirt and holes...
Any bystander would probably name this place 'Hell', just simply, Hell. Sadly, it wasn't called Hell though, it was called Camp Green Lake. A name worse than Hell, a name that beckoned to you, calling out your name with sweet lies... Damian... Damian... Damian...
At least Hell was Hell, simple as that. Camp Green Lake on the other hand, was a mix of things, but mainly it was a lie. One big lie carved upon a trillion other smaller ones, until no one quite knew what to call it. For it was not a lake, nor was it green, except for perhaps the food, and it could absolutely, never be titled as a camp. Well, perhaps a forced labor camp, but at least those gave you something not entirely pointless to break your back over... Damian... Damian... Damian...
He was slinking off now, into a tunnel of darkness, a pit of blackened memories, a hole that suffocated his very soul... Damian... Damian... Damian...
"Damian Cisneros, you are accused of the arson of a public school, damaging private property, and murder. How do you plead?" The court room seemed to stretch on for miles as Damian took a nervous glance at his surrounding. A grim looking judge wavered his mallet over the stand as a jury gave him solemn looks and a few rude gestures.
Only God could have known why the Judge even hesitated to find him guilty... Damian knew it was the solid United State's law to ask, but even the law seemed as meaningless as his plea's.
Countless witnesses swarmed throughout the court room, like maggots infested with lies. Although, he was the only one who believed himself, and even outside this court he wasn't a very believable looking person.
"N-...N-...Not guilty, your honor," He had managed to stammer out, even his grimy glasses seemed to slide forward expectingly.
It seemed everyone in the room, inanimate objects included, knew how this case would turn out.
So here he was, Damian Cisneros, world-wide nerd, geek of the Earth, voted most likely to grow up and get a sex change in High School, on a bus leading to a camp surrounded by pits...
Graves... That word kept oozing back into his thoughts, dripping foul despair throughout his mind.
He didn't have much time for thinking, sadly enough, because his head kept banging against the windowpane, or what he guessed was a windowpane. It was so clouded up with brownish filth, like everything else a hundred miles from here, that he could only guess, and telling by the 'pang' that sounded every few minutes as his skull collided with the damned glass, his guess was probably correct.
Oh well, at least the dirt smeared across it made a semi-nice cushioning.
"Erumph," The guard that was sitting horizontal from him grunted as he began to wipe some dust from his loaded gun, or at least Damian guessed it was loaded, he wasn't about to take a chances with a man who was large enough to squash him with the flick out a finger.
The bus halted to a stop just in time to crack Damian's skull across the window one last time, probably as a parting gift.
Aww... The bus is saying buh-bye by giving me a nice fractured skull, well, it's still better than the other farewells I've gotten over the last few days, Damian thought numbly as his mind drifted back, showing him flashes of memories of the glares and punches to the stomach he had gotten from people at his school, or... the people that used to go to his school, for now his school was just a ditch in the ground, a ditch he had gotten beaten up in on his last day back home. Those hadn't even been the worst of the good-byes he had gotten...
More muffled grunts came from across the bus as the guard weakly stood up. It seemed the steroids the man had taken hadn't fully buffed-up his legs yet. Damian gulped and prayed to God the guard wouldn't topple over onto him. He didn't want to spend his first day at Camp Green Lake as a squashed lump.
The bus driver waved to the guard with a smile, and Damian noted the the driver was armed as well. He wondered which one would win in a shoot down, buffed-up steroid man, or the dude that drove while holding a loaded pistol.
"So, when you 'spect you'll be back Frank, we've still got a kid back in Jersey we've gotta truck down here," The bus driver questioned, and Damian slightly questioned in his head why they didn't just pick up the kid while they were driving Damian through New Jersey. Maybe he was already too much for two grown men to handle. After all, Damian had been kicked out of the Chess Club for being 'too nerdy'. Wow, was he ever a lethal hazard!
The guard replied in a ruff voice, a complete shock to Damian who didn't think the guard's verbal language consisted of anything more than grunts and gun pointing, "Dunno Bill, last kid we dragged up here stripped down and ran five miles 'for I hauled 'em back ta camp. But, all's I've gotta do ta'day is bring this..." At that moment the guards jaw dropped as he looked Damian up and down, "You're... You're a boy, well, god dammit..."
Well duh I'm a boy... Or, until I graduate, at least, that's what my classmates all seem to think, he thought bitterly, trying to rub the bruise that had formed across his hair line from the bus ride. Bad move, he had forgotten that he was handcuffed and only managed to smack himself across the head with the metal which held his wrists together. Damian winced as he stammered out meekly, "Y-...Yes. I think... I mean... Yes, I am..."
At this point the driver also began to study Damian curiously, they both seemed to ether have suddenly turned gay, or just forgotten how to speak again...
The two men just shrugged and gave each other a look that said, 'It's not our problem, if it was, then this kid would be dead, because apparently we use guns to solve our problems.' Or something like that...
After much pushing by the guard's gun, Damian somehow managed to end up in a dimly lit office that looked more like a shack some loser would live in. Little did Damian know, he was right about the loser part, and most likely correct on the shack part too as a small man, shorter than Damian even, and that was saying something, stepped from the back room furrowing his eyebrow and glaring out... or up... at Damian.
"You're pretty ugly for a girl, ya know that kid? Whatever, you shall address me as Mrs. Sir. Understood?" The short man, or woman as the title appeared to be, yelled out at in a strange southern accent.
"But I'm... I'm not a girl... I'm... I'm..." He pushed his black-rimmed glasses back upon his noseand struggled to speak up... or down... at the thick browed woman who was still barking orders at him as he spoke.
Mrs. Sir smiled at him, apparently pleased that he had interrupted her inspiring commands, so she could take a break from her speech and yell at him a bit, "DO NOT EVER INTERUPT ME! Do I make myself clear?"
"I-..."
"What the hell, you make an ugly boy too, so why the hell should I care?" Mrs. Sir seemed to believe that yelling out a bunch of rude obscenities was more important than Damian making himself clear, so he just went with it as Mrs. In-Need-Of-An-Eyebrow-Plucking continued, "This isn't a little three-year-old camp out in the back yard, understand! This is a full out, detention center to help build juvenile delinquent girl's... or... whatever the hell you are... Character! Now sit down, and shut up, as I tell you the rules 'round these parts, ya hear?"
Nope, sorry, didn't hear, I was detracted by the large, ugly scar on your... Oh, that's your face! Damian thought as he nodded slowly, too tired to reply, or interrupt, as Mrs. Sir seemed to like to call it.
Mrs. Sir straightened her musty brown jacket as she pushed a chair at Damian, which he noticed was also brown. They probably didn't even need to dye anything brown at Camp Green Lake, eventually it looked like everything and everyone seemed here seemed to turn a nice shade of dirt-brown.
"What's wrong, got a stick up your ass! SIT DOWN!" The midget of a woman took a nice long glare at him that seemed to say to him 'I just just ate a bus load of children, so sit down before I get out my eyebrow plucker and attack you with it, for it's not like I have anything better to use it for, like making myself look less like a yeti'. Or something like that...
Damian didn't know how sharp eyebrow plucker's were, especially ones that had to pluck out those hairy beasts on Mrs. Sir's face, so he shakily began to sit.
His shaky sitting was cut short as Mrs. Sir pushed him out of the tent, throwing a few items at him that hit him squarely where everything else blunt and painful seemed to be targeted at today, his skull.
A cloud of orange dust formed as Damian scrambled away from the objects, though it did absolutely no good at all. He was born with a gift. His only talent... Some people could sing, others could grow eyebrows longer than they were tall(Mrs. Sir), and Damian... Well, his head magnetically attracted large objects, and usually painful ones.
"Did I SAY you could sit! Now, actually do what you're told and stop joggin' 'round like a freakin' Olympics runner and jog on down to your tent!" Mrs. Sir also seemed to have a strong belief that contradicting herself constantly would earn her the fear from campers that she seemed to love, and it happened to work on Damian.
He felt his palms sweating as he nervously walked forward about two steps, bad move. Mrs. Sir wasn't through with him yet, she probably wanted to imprint an image of her face into his skull, so he would never forget the wonderful time he had spent at Camp Hell Hole...Er...Camp Green Lake...
"What the hell did I say 'bout that joggin' of yours! I wouldn't care if you got lost 'round here, but the damned government's been on our case since the last girlie that came here stripped down to her underwear and ran across the desert for five miles," Damian shuddered as he heard the delightfully man sounding voice of the Councilor once more, and he couldn't blame the girl for running five miles naked just to avoid Mrs. Sir's agonizing face... "Now move it, 'for I make you wish you was that girl after she got back from runnin' 'round here without any sun screen!"
A little too late for that... Oh crap, was I supposed to bring sun screen! Damian's thoughts seemed to be wandering off into the most random of things lately. Probably just another sign that he was going insane. A sign! He didn't need a sign! He had a whole freaking road map of insanity!
Suddenly his world looked as though it were tumbling... Crashing down into a pit of bleak hope and creepy ladies with face-hair problems.
CRASH! Damian had succeeded in noticing that his life officially sucked, which was a pleasant thing to realize, but failed to notice a randomly placed shovel that had been thrown across the ground by some careless... shovel-carrying person...
Coughing orange dust and other things that had managed to fall into his open mouth as he took a plunge to the ground, Damian also failed to notice a rather large, tanned man that stood over him.
"Why hello there," A friendly voice called as Damian spit out a chunks of rock, the only friendly voice he could recall hearing in the last few weeks, "So they decided to play the old shovel gag on you? Well, girls will be girls... Even if you're a guy!"
Damian struggled to get up from his large fall, and noticed a hand that belonged to the friendly voice reaching out to pull him up gently to his feet.
Great... Damian thought whilst gaging some more, this time not from the immense amounts of dirt he had swallowed, The first nice voice in this place turns out to be a creepy man with a pedophile record that's probably as thick as Mrs. Sir's eyebrows!
He smiled nonetheless at the man, trying not to think mean thoughts about someone who was obviously just trying to help, no matter how much the person who was trying to help him looked like Michael Jackson...
"Well, you seem to be a shy fellow. My name is Mr. Inkrapskate. Yes, I know it's a strange name, but you can just think of it like this..." and with that Mr. Inkrapskate guided Damian over to a tent large enough to fit seven fifteen year old girls, and one lost, loser of a boy, "Mr... well that's an easy part to remember. Ink, as in what you find in a pen. Rap, as in the kind of music you hip kids bogey down to. And, skate, as in well, ice skating! See, easy as digging your first hole!"
It didn't seem easy at all to Damian, actually, it seemed needlessly complicated, but he went with it, not wanting to end up on Mr. Inkrapskate's pedophile record...
"Anyways, it is fairly late in the afternoon, and I know how you hip teens love to sleep, so I'll let you go off and meet your new tent-buddies!" Mr. Inkrapskate drifted off with Mrs. Sir whispering on about some kind of poker game as Mrs. Sir smirked and shuffled a deck of fairly old cards, leaving the scared loser of a boy who would now live in this tent for 24 months...
As Damian gathered his manly courage enough to shuffle forward a few feet closer to the tent as he stifled the girlish scream he wanted to give off, he noticed something odd about the particular tent. A large 'D' was slapped onto it with red paint that looked cracked and worn in some places. It would be nice if that was the only odd thing about the tent, but Damian had no such luck. Beneath the 'D' were the very words that made Damian look down at his pants and wish he was neutered, which is an odd thing for a straight, young man to wish, but was an appropriate wish in this case.
For, beneath the faded 'D' were the words: "D-Tent, Home of the Dick Splitters, Rippers, and Anything Generally Painful We Can Do To A Guy's Penis To Make Him Wish He Was Already Neutered."
Yes, my tent-buddies are quite lovely, aren't they. This'll be a great story to tell my children. Oh wait, I won't be able to have any once I get the hell out of this camp! Damian gulped and parted the orange flaps of the tent, feeling a slight sadness that people would never be able to say, 'Dude you need to get layed,' to him after this...
Girlish giggles hung in the tensing air as Damian wondered if it was still too late to rip off his clothes and run across the desert like any sensible camper would do...