Chapter 1
Note-I don't own the main character Holden Caulfield, sadly. Also, I'm not an anti-Semetic. I am just trying to tell the story the way Holden would tell it.
I know it's been a while since I told you anything, but not much was happening since I was put in a mental institution over 50 years ago. But since I was released, a lot happened to me that I'd love to tell you about. I better pick up from where I left off. I did eventually go back to school that September, to this goddam military school Dad had threatened to send me to. Of course, like with my other schools, I didn't stay too long because of the usual phonies and crooks. This school, however, was the worst school I ever went to, worse than Elkton Hills even. The guys there were way too macho and had this goddam desire to be a war hero. It was so damn irritating. All they thought about was shooting and killing their enemies. And the teachers were no better, feeding us garbage glorifying the goddam Army. I sometimes wonder what happened to these macho bastards. I do know for sure they didn't come back war heroes from Vietnam. They probably died or came back without their goddam limbs. Those who survived should have been killed because they probably went insane. I know a few people in the institution who served in 'Nam and they are the craziest of all. Thank god I had enough sanity to get out, even though it hurt me physically. Two months after I started school, I was going nuts and was desperate for a way out. Rather than fail all of my classes and wait to get expelled, I decided I wanted out. One day, I snuck into the headmaster's office, and took his gun. Yeah, that's how desperate I was. I didn't care if I took my life, I just wanted out. Then I got into my friend's car and turned in on. I had read somewhere that if you stay in a car with an engine on, you'll die. That was just backup, in case I didn't die from the gunshot wounds. For a while I was contemplating whether to shoot myself in the head or in the stomach. I was scared shooting myself in the head would hurt a lot so, after like 20 minutes sitting in the goddam car, I fired one right into my stomach. I slumped over in the seat and a second shot accidently came out. I don't remember what happened before I passed out, except my friend screaming, sirens and a lot of blood. Unfortunately, I lived. I should have died because I got paralysed from the waist down, that means I can't use my legs. For 4 months I stayed in the hospital, dealing with these annoying nurses and my parents. My mother was so damn soppy, she could have filled my room with her tears. My father was always feeling sorry for himself, asking "Dear lord, what did I do to deserve this?". D.B. asked a lot of stupid questions, and always wrote the answer down on his notebook. The only one who didn't see me at all was Phoebe, and that's whom I wanted to see. D.B. said it was too much for her to bear seeing me in agony. I don't blame her because I did look like a mess. There was this big debate about whether I should be locked up in a mental hospital. This one Jewish doctor finally ended the argument "This boy is a menace to society. No matter how hard you try to shape him into a decent man, it never works. Face it Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield, this boy isn't going to be an Ivy League scholar." Even though my parents never trusted Jews, they took his word and put me in an institution which was my home for most of my life until now. Now I'm free, and I need to do some catching up.
Note-I don't own the main character Holden Caulfield, sadly. Also, I'm not an anti-Semetic. I am just trying to tell the story the way Holden would tell it.
I know it's been a while since I told you anything, but not much was happening since I was put in a mental institution over 50 years ago. But since I was released, a lot happened to me that I'd love to tell you about. I better pick up from where I left off. I did eventually go back to school that September, to this goddam military school Dad had threatened to send me to. Of course, like with my other schools, I didn't stay too long because of the usual phonies and crooks. This school, however, was the worst school I ever went to, worse than Elkton Hills even. The guys there were way too macho and had this goddam desire to be a war hero. It was so damn irritating. All they thought about was shooting and killing their enemies. And the teachers were no better, feeding us garbage glorifying the goddam Army. I sometimes wonder what happened to these macho bastards. I do know for sure they didn't come back war heroes from Vietnam. They probably died or came back without their goddam limbs. Those who survived should have been killed because they probably went insane. I know a few people in the institution who served in 'Nam and they are the craziest of all. Thank god I had enough sanity to get out, even though it hurt me physically. Two months after I started school, I was going nuts and was desperate for a way out. Rather than fail all of my classes and wait to get expelled, I decided I wanted out. One day, I snuck into the headmaster's office, and took his gun. Yeah, that's how desperate I was. I didn't care if I took my life, I just wanted out. Then I got into my friend's car and turned in on. I had read somewhere that if you stay in a car with an engine on, you'll die. That was just backup, in case I didn't die from the gunshot wounds. For a while I was contemplating whether to shoot myself in the head or in the stomach. I was scared shooting myself in the head would hurt a lot so, after like 20 minutes sitting in the goddam car, I fired one right into my stomach. I slumped over in the seat and a second shot accidently came out. I don't remember what happened before I passed out, except my friend screaming, sirens and a lot of blood. Unfortunately, I lived. I should have died because I got paralysed from the waist down, that means I can't use my legs. For 4 months I stayed in the hospital, dealing with these annoying nurses and my parents. My mother was so damn soppy, she could have filled my room with her tears. My father was always feeling sorry for himself, asking "Dear lord, what did I do to deserve this?". D.B. asked a lot of stupid questions, and always wrote the answer down on his notebook. The only one who didn't see me at all was Phoebe, and that's whom I wanted to see. D.B. said it was too much for her to bear seeing me in agony. I don't blame her because I did look like a mess. There was this big debate about whether I should be locked up in a mental hospital. This one Jewish doctor finally ended the argument "This boy is a menace to society. No matter how hard you try to shape him into a decent man, it never works. Face it Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield, this boy isn't going to be an Ivy League scholar." Even though my parents never trusted Jews, they took his word and put me in an institution which was my home for most of my life until now. Now I'm free, and I need to do some catching up.