The Extreme: Kansas
By: Mary Catherine Paul
He opened the door to the gymnasium. He was immediately hit with a blast
of music that made the floors and the walls vibrate. He skimmed the room with
his eyes, taking one last look at all the dancing kids. The popular kids were
all dancing and laughing, while everyone else watched and tried to be just as
cool out on the dance floor. Then there were the true outcasts sitting on the
bleachers in complete silence just staring at the other people having fun. Then
there was him. He was truly unthrilled. Nobody cared about poor little J.D. in
his long black coat with his Harley Davidson motorcycle.
When they were in a big city, like when they were in Vegas, he found
people he could relate to, and hang out with, but this--this was Kansas! There
wasn't anyone even remotely like him, and there wasn't anyone he even remotely
liked. He hated it here with everything in him. Most of the people were stuck-
up, and the ones that weren't had attitude problems of their own. And then of
course, there are the outcasts. Of course. He was beyond outcast here. All the
wheat, the bitches, the jocks, the hicks, the rejected and dejected--there
wasn't even a Snappy Snack Shack around for miles! There wasn't a single dick in
the school that hadn't called him a fag or a freak. He had nothing here. He
didn't even have a girl here.
A few of the sexist jocks and their bitch-queens spotted him, and turned
to each other to whisper. They were probably saying the same bull they had said
to his face. Or maybe not, but who cared. It wouldn't matter soon, anyway.
Nothing would matter soon. None of them would even be here in the minutes to
come. There was something insanely comforting about that thought. A smile broke
on his lips just thinking about it. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out
a cigarette. He put it in between his lips and reached back into his pocket for
his zippo. He pulled it out and whipped it open, then lighted the wick. One of
the chaperones, a teacher, saw the flame from across the room and approached
J.D. "Young man, there's no smoking in the school and you know that. I'm afraid
you're gonna have to take that outside." His voice was harsh and thick, but J.D.
just widened his smile.
"Dreadful etiquette, I apologize." He remained nonchalant and responded
with that raspy voice of his, raising a single arched eyebrow indignantly.
Suddenly, the music stopped and one of the lesser members of the coolest
clique in the school took the microphone. "I just want to say how much we are
going to miss Tony. He was the best guy in the whole school, and a hell of a
football player. We'll all miss his face, his warmth, and his ability to make us
all laugh. We'll miss you, Tony." At those words she stepped down from the stage
and the D.J. pumped the music back up as if she hadn't said anything. He started
thinking how incredibly delusional that girl was. Tony was an ugly dick--his
dick being where he kept his brains--he constantly picked on everyone with his
jock buddies who'd do anything to be like him, and the only laughs he ever
created were at everyone else's expense, and to top it all off, everyone who was
now trying to emulate him had been horribly beaten up by Tony at least once. The
guy deserved to die, but J.D. never thought all Tony's victims would come out of
the woodwork to pick up where he left off! It was like being in the Twilight
Zone. At least he could take comfort in knowing that Tony was truly his first
masterpiece. Poor suicidal Tony!
That teacher was still staring at him, and it was distracting him from
reveling in his moment of triumph. He came upstairs to enjoy this moment--these
last moments. But this guy was bothering him now. "Take it outside!" His voice
was harsher still, and he spoke the words through his clenched teeth in
annoyance at this young man's lack of respect for authority.
J.D. peered down at his watch, which the teacher could see was in counter
mode, and had already counted close to six minutes. "Gladly." His tone was
eerily enthusiastic. With the darkness of the room falling on his face and the
already dark appearance and countenance he possessed, the form of a devilish
trouble-maker took shape, and as he backed out of the doorway, the teacher
watched as his silhouette faded into the pitch black hallway. The sound of the
front door slamming behind J.D. filled the hallway, and by time it reached the
gym doors, it had been drowned out by the thunderous beat of the music. But
outside it was perfectly quiet, peaceful. The stars were shining in clusters by
the hundreds, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Well, that would change in a
little under four minutes. It was a beautiful night for his first explosion.
Ahh, his first self-made bomb, and bombing plan--his father would be proud of
him.
Of course, his father would never know it was his artwork. No one would
even remember him tomorrow. They were leaving. Moving to some dump in the middle
of nowhere named Sherwood, Ohio. Maybe he would see it on the news in the
morning, maybe they'd even have it on the news in Ohio. Poor Middletown High
School. That poor jerk--jock Tony. So full of hatred and anger, always beating
up on people, and in the end he was repressed and dissatisfied. So much so that
he planted a bomb at the school to go off at midnight just before the school
dance was over, exacting some kind of revenge on those who "never understood
him" or at least that's what he called them in his suicide note. Then tomorrow
they'll find out how angry he really was at all of them. They'll find his second
note about how he wanted revenge on them all for everything they had done to
him--not that they had done anything to Tony, but J.D. thought it was
appropriate and felt it rang true anyway. Who was going to care if it was his
feelings or Tony's. The chicken-scratch that was Tony's handwriting was the
same, so who cares if the feelings were J.D.'s. No one cares! That's the whole
point here! That's what started this thing in the first place! Oh, well. Que
sera sera. Tomorrow, everyone will hear about the poor dick who killed himself,
and rigged a bomb to kill everyone in the school just before he jumped off the
roof of the school that same morning. Poor Tony. What a psychopath!
Well, J.D. could watch from here. He still had three minutes to kill
anyway. He wanted to take one last look at the school the same way he had taken
one last look at the oblivious teenagers inside. Kind of a before-and-after for
his own personal memory. The school looked so quiet and all of the windows were
dark. There wasn't even a breeze. The weather was nice and cool, and only
minutes away from midnight. He was a bit chilly, but there would be a fire soon.
Then, he'd be too hot. He didn't have to wear anything so heavy, but he loved
this coat. He loved this idea, and this plan. Granted it wasn't a perfect plan,
but this was going to be very good for him. Very. He never realized how easy it
would be to kill--to sacrifice so many after the first one. He was saving these
people from their destructiveness, protecting them from failing as a society. It
was never supposed to be like this, but then again, they have nothing left to
offer society anyway. So screw 'em. To hell with 'em all.
He took another long puff off his cigarette, and suddenly, something moved
out of the corner of his eye. He quickly glanced around, then realized there was
movement inside one of the school windows. He looked up at each and every
window, seeing nothing. He couldn't figure it out, but he was sure something had
moved. He calmed himself down--he was a bit nervous, this being his first time
and all, but it was getting easier the closer he got to the moment it will have
been over and done. The point of no return. Whatever or whoever it was wouldn't
be for much longer. It was nothing to concern himself with really.
His pulse started racing as the two minute mark passed. It wouldn't be
very long now. This was intense. This was extreme, and why shouldn't it have
been--if he was going to go through with it at all, he was going to the extreme.
That would get their attention. That would get everyone's attention! It would
say something to all the people that ever dicked someone around, and he would be
sending a message. Tony's death wasn't enough. Not even close! That wasn't
intense enough. The extreme always seemed to make an impression. This was going
to be one hell of an impression.
J.D. peered up at a first floor window, and suddenly there it was,
whoever it was. Someone was watching him, staring at him. He walked closer to
the school, because he was a pretty safe distance away, and he wanted to see who
the hell this person was. The figure didn't budge, it simply kept staring at
him, and obviously knew what he was doing. If it was someone who was going to
escape, try to stop him, or worse, warn the others inside, then he had to stop
whoever it was from interfering. He stopped dead in his tracks a couple hundred
feet away from the window itself. The cigarette dropped right out of his hand at
the sight he beheld. His eyes widened in horror and fear as the figure became
all too clear, a tall blond woman in the window, late-thirties, but it was
impossible. It couldn't have been her--but it was. His heart stopped, like he
was reliving it, and he had taken his father's place blowing up the building his
mother had purposely walked into. He remembered every second of that past
moment, every detail. She had smiled at him from that Library window, just as
this woman was smiling now, and that was when the bomb went off that his father
had set in the building to demolish it. It was a fresh wound. Texas had been
right before Kansas, and the last thing he could handle right now was a repeat
or a re-enactment of that bad memory. He tried to console himself for a minute.
After all, it couldn't have been her. It couldn't have been! So it's not like
this was of any significance. Just as he began to breathe easier, the woman
waved at him. His mind went blank with terror and worry. That was the last thing
she did before--That was her! He had to stop it before it got to the boom he
remembered so vividly. That was what was next, and it was a little over a minute
to that boom.
He flew up the stairs, and into the building. He had to stop it. Jesus,
these mothers deserved it--but his didn't. He had to stop the bomb, and that was
the only thing that he could think of--not the mindless sheep in the gym, but
the one moment that affected him like no other. It was taking forever for him to
reach the door he had to go through to get to the maintenance stairwell. He
bolted downstairs to the boiler room, and reached his hand out in front of him
so he could get to the bomb that much sooner. The timer was in sight, and he
aimed to hit the middle button. He hit the button with full force, practically
thrusting all his weight on it. The timer stopped with four seconds remaining,
and he let out a deep sigh of relief, and breathing heavily from running so
fast.
He slowly proceeded back up the stairs, and into the hall, feeling both
relief and disappointment. These jerks and sluts deserved it! Now he'd have to
hear about how they found a note telling how Tony had intended to blow up the
school, but miraculously some unknown stranger saved them all from certain
destruction. His first story was better--more entertaining, and definitely well-
deserved. He was walking to the classroom, the one where he had seen her in the
window. He opened the door, peeked inside, and as he had suspected--nothing. No
one was there. He had a crazy idea that he could save her. That this was his
chance to stop her from committing suicide, and she wasn't even there! He
stopped it, he put everything on hold, and she was still dead, and had still
abandoned him, and still haunted him. "Figures. I knew it was too good to be
true."
He walked outside, completely unthrilled, and very disappointed and upset.
Very. He started walking away from the school, and towards his Harley. Right
now, he just wanted to get the hell out of here. He hesitated a minute, and
glared back at that same window, but she was still gone. It was still empty as
it had been when he had walked into that same room less than a minute ago. He
felt cheated--out of his revenge and having his mother back. He was really
slipping. He was convinced it was real--that she was real! And now these
teenagers would live and infect society with their nonsense and social status
bull. Screw 'em. He was out of here anyway. On to Sherwood, Ohio. Maybe things
would be different there. Maybe he could be happy there. Nah, he knew none of
that was true. It would be the same thing over and over again. He never felt
this different--like an outcast--until she died. That changed everything, and
now it was changing even more than he had expected. He had to find more
strength--build up his power, then he could finish what he started here tonight.
Next time.
He got on his bike, but before he started it up, he took one last look at
that window. A good, hard stare. The memory flashed in his head for less than a
second, but it hardened him that much more than it had the first time.
Unfinished. Incomplete. An unquenched appetite for destruction. Next time.
"Definitely." Only next time, he wanted to be with his mother. It was the only
way he would ever really clean the slate. Next time, he wanted to be inside the
building.
(c) Mary Catherine Paul, 1999
All Rights Reserved
By: Mary Catherine Paul
He opened the door to the gymnasium. He was immediately hit with a blast
of music that made the floors and the walls vibrate. He skimmed the room with
his eyes, taking one last look at all the dancing kids. The popular kids were
all dancing and laughing, while everyone else watched and tried to be just as
cool out on the dance floor. Then there were the true outcasts sitting on the
bleachers in complete silence just staring at the other people having fun. Then
there was him. He was truly unthrilled. Nobody cared about poor little J.D. in
his long black coat with his Harley Davidson motorcycle.
When they were in a big city, like when they were in Vegas, he found
people he could relate to, and hang out with, but this--this was Kansas! There
wasn't anyone even remotely like him, and there wasn't anyone he even remotely
liked. He hated it here with everything in him. Most of the people were stuck-
up, and the ones that weren't had attitude problems of their own. And then of
course, there are the outcasts. Of course. He was beyond outcast here. All the
wheat, the bitches, the jocks, the hicks, the rejected and dejected--there
wasn't even a Snappy Snack Shack around for miles! There wasn't a single dick in
the school that hadn't called him a fag or a freak. He had nothing here. He
didn't even have a girl here.
A few of the sexist jocks and their bitch-queens spotted him, and turned
to each other to whisper. They were probably saying the same bull they had said
to his face. Or maybe not, but who cared. It wouldn't matter soon, anyway.
Nothing would matter soon. None of them would even be here in the minutes to
come. There was something insanely comforting about that thought. A smile broke
on his lips just thinking about it. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out
a cigarette. He put it in between his lips and reached back into his pocket for
his zippo. He pulled it out and whipped it open, then lighted the wick. One of
the chaperones, a teacher, saw the flame from across the room and approached
J.D. "Young man, there's no smoking in the school and you know that. I'm afraid
you're gonna have to take that outside." His voice was harsh and thick, but J.D.
just widened his smile.
"Dreadful etiquette, I apologize." He remained nonchalant and responded
with that raspy voice of his, raising a single arched eyebrow indignantly.
Suddenly, the music stopped and one of the lesser members of the coolest
clique in the school took the microphone. "I just want to say how much we are
going to miss Tony. He was the best guy in the whole school, and a hell of a
football player. We'll all miss his face, his warmth, and his ability to make us
all laugh. We'll miss you, Tony." At those words she stepped down from the stage
and the D.J. pumped the music back up as if she hadn't said anything. He started
thinking how incredibly delusional that girl was. Tony was an ugly dick--his
dick being where he kept his brains--he constantly picked on everyone with his
jock buddies who'd do anything to be like him, and the only laughs he ever
created were at everyone else's expense, and to top it all off, everyone who was
now trying to emulate him had been horribly beaten up by Tony at least once. The
guy deserved to die, but J.D. never thought all Tony's victims would come out of
the woodwork to pick up where he left off! It was like being in the Twilight
Zone. At least he could take comfort in knowing that Tony was truly his first
masterpiece. Poor suicidal Tony!
That teacher was still staring at him, and it was distracting him from
reveling in his moment of triumph. He came upstairs to enjoy this moment--these
last moments. But this guy was bothering him now. "Take it outside!" His voice
was harsher still, and he spoke the words through his clenched teeth in
annoyance at this young man's lack of respect for authority.
J.D. peered down at his watch, which the teacher could see was in counter
mode, and had already counted close to six minutes. "Gladly." His tone was
eerily enthusiastic. With the darkness of the room falling on his face and the
already dark appearance and countenance he possessed, the form of a devilish
trouble-maker took shape, and as he backed out of the doorway, the teacher
watched as his silhouette faded into the pitch black hallway. The sound of the
front door slamming behind J.D. filled the hallway, and by time it reached the
gym doors, it had been drowned out by the thunderous beat of the music. But
outside it was perfectly quiet, peaceful. The stars were shining in clusters by
the hundreds, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Well, that would change in a
little under four minutes. It was a beautiful night for his first explosion.
Ahh, his first self-made bomb, and bombing plan--his father would be proud of
him.
Of course, his father would never know it was his artwork. No one would
even remember him tomorrow. They were leaving. Moving to some dump in the middle
of nowhere named Sherwood, Ohio. Maybe he would see it on the news in the
morning, maybe they'd even have it on the news in Ohio. Poor Middletown High
School. That poor jerk--jock Tony. So full of hatred and anger, always beating
up on people, and in the end he was repressed and dissatisfied. So much so that
he planted a bomb at the school to go off at midnight just before the school
dance was over, exacting some kind of revenge on those who "never understood
him" or at least that's what he called them in his suicide note. Then tomorrow
they'll find out how angry he really was at all of them. They'll find his second
note about how he wanted revenge on them all for everything they had done to
him--not that they had done anything to Tony, but J.D. thought it was
appropriate and felt it rang true anyway. Who was going to care if it was his
feelings or Tony's. The chicken-scratch that was Tony's handwriting was the
same, so who cares if the feelings were J.D.'s. No one cares! That's the whole
point here! That's what started this thing in the first place! Oh, well. Que
sera sera. Tomorrow, everyone will hear about the poor dick who killed himself,
and rigged a bomb to kill everyone in the school just before he jumped off the
roof of the school that same morning. Poor Tony. What a psychopath!
Well, J.D. could watch from here. He still had three minutes to kill
anyway. He wanted to take one last look at the school the same way he had taken
one last look at the oblivious teenagers inside. Kind of a before-and-after for
his own personal memory. The school looked so quiet and all of the windows were
dark. There wasn't even a breeze. The weather was nice and cool, and only
minutes away from midnight. He was a bit chilly, but there would be a fire soon.
Then, he'd be too hot. He didn't have to wear anything so heavy, but he loved
this coat. He loved this idea, and this plan. Granted it wasn't a perfect plan,
but this was going to be very good for him. Very. He never realized how easy it
would be to kill--to sacrifice so many after the first one. He was saving these
people from their destructiveness, protecting them from failing as a society. It
was never supposed to be like this, but then again, they have nothing left to
offer society anyway. So screw 'em. To hell with 'em all.
He took another long puff off his cigarette, and suddenly, something moved
out of the corner of his eye. He quickly glanced around, then realized there was
movement inside one of the school windows. He looked up at each and every
window, seeing nothing. He couldn't figure it out, but he was sure something had
moved. He calmed himself down--he was a bit nervous, this being his first time
and all, but it was getting easier the closer he got to the moment it will have
been over and done. The point of no return. Whatever or whoever it was wouldn't
be for much longer. It was nothing to concern himself with really.
His pulse started racing as the two minute mark passed. It wouldn't be
very long now. This was intense. This was extreme, and why shouldn't it have
been--if he was going to go through with it at all, he was going to the extreme.
That would get their attention. That would get everyone's attention! It would
say something to all the people that ever dicked someone around, and he would be
sending a message. Tony's death wasn't enough. Not even close! That wasn't
intense enough. The extreme always seemed to make an impression. This was going
to be one hell of an impression.
J.D. peered up at a first floor window, and suddenly there it was,
whoever it was. Someone was watching him, staring at him. He walked closer to
the school, because he was a pretty safe distance away, and he wanted to see who
the hell this person was. The figure didn't budge, it simply kept staring at
him, and obviously knew what he was doing. If it was someone who was going to
escape, try to stop him, or worse, warn the others inside, then he had to stop
whoever it was from interfering. He stopped dead in his tracks a couple hundred
feet away from the window itself. The cigarette dropped right out of his hand at
the sight he beheld. His eyes widened in horror and fear as the figure became
all too clear, a tall blond woman in the window, late-thirties, but it was
impossible. It couldn't have been her--but it was. His heart stopped, like he
was reliving it, and he had taken his father's place blowing up the building his
mother had purposely walked into. He remembered every second of that past
moment, every detail. She had smiled at him from that Library window, just as
this woman was smiling now, and that was when the bomb went off that his father
had set in the building to demolish it. It was a fresh wound. Texas had been
right before Kansas, and the last thing he could handle right now was a repeat
or a re-enactment of that bad memory. He tried to console himself for a minute.
After all, it couldn't have been her. It couldn't have been! So it's not like
this was of any significance. Just as he began to breathe easier, the woman
waved at him. His mind went blank with terror and worry. That was the last thing
she did before--That was her! He had to stop it before it got to the boom he
remembered so vividly. That was what was next, and it was a little over a minute
to that boom.
He flew up the stairs, and into the building. He had to stop it. Jesus,
these mothers deserved it--but his didn't. He had to stop the bomb, and that was
the only thing that he could think of--not the mindless sheep in the gym, but
the one moment that affected him like no other. It was taking forever for him to
reach the door he had to go through to get to the maintenance stairwell. He
bolted downstairs to the boiler room, and reached his hand out in front of him
so he could get to the bomb that much sooner. The timer was in sight, and he
aimed to hit the middle button. He hit the button with full force, practically
thrusting all his weight on it. The timer stopped with four seconds remaining,
and he let out a deep sigh of relief, and breathing heavily from running so
fast.
He slowly proceeded back up the stairs, and into the hall, feeling both
relief and disappointment. These jerks and sluts deserved it! Now he'd have to
hear about how they found a note telling how Tony had intended to blow up the
school, but miraculously some unknown stranger saved them all from certain
destruction. His first story was better--more entertaining, and definitely well-
deserved. He was walking to the classroom, the one where he had seen her in the
window. He opened the door, peeked inside, and as he had suspected--nothing. No
one was there. He had a crazy idea that he could save her. That this was his
chance to stop her from committing suicide, and she wasn't even there! He
stopped it, he put everything on hold, and she was still dead, and had still
abandoned him, and still haunted him. "Figures. I knew it was too good to be
true."
He walked outside, completely unthrilled, and very disappointed and upset.
Very. He started walking away from the school, and towards his Harley. Right
now, he just wanted to get the hell out of here. He hesitated a minute, and
glared back at that same window, but she was still gone. It was still empty as
it had been when he had walked into that same room less than a minute ago. He
felt cheated--out of his revenge and having his mother back. He was really
slipping. He was convinced it was real--that she was real! And now these
teenagers would live and infect society with their nonsense and social status
bull. Screw 'em. He was out of here anyway. On to Sherwood, Ohio. Maybe things
would be different there. Maybe he could be happy there. Nah, he knew none of
that was true. It would be the same thing over and over again. He never felt
this different--like an outcast--until she died. That changed everything, and
now it was changing even more than he had expected. He had to find more
strength--build up his power, then he could finish what he started here tonight.
Next time.
He got on his bike, but before he started it up, he took one last look at
that window. A good, hard stare. The memory flashed in his head for less than a
second, but it hardened him that much more than it had the first time.
Unfinished. Incomplete. An unquenched appetite for destruction. Next time.
"Definitely." Only next time, he wanted to be with his mother. It was the only
way he would ever really clean the slate. Next time, he wanted to be inside the
building.
(c) Mary Catherine Paul, 1999
All Rights Reserved