October 4, 1988

26 days remaining

Ms. Farmer looked like a pruny little bird that had been force-fed lemons since birth. Everybody who had taken her gym classes hated her (with the possible exception of Samantha, but she wasn't smart enough yet to know what an asshole Ms. Farmer could be- plus, she coached Sam's dance troupe), but her Health curriculum promised to be even more torturous.

Donnie sat watching the classroom monitor with the other hapless students. He tried to escape into his daydreams, but somehow his thoughts kept pulling back towards the video, which was painfully insipid. He knew who Dr. Fisher's golf partner was now and wished he'd never found out.

His name was Jim Cunningham, and he was the host of 'Controlling Fear'. The tape was supposedly a classroom supplement to Cunningham's series of motivational books, 'Attitudinal Beliefs' and 'Cunning Visions of Love'. Unfortunately, the video followed pretty much the same line. The introduction to the video included a collection of interviews with 'fear survivors'; one of a fat woman, and the other of a mother and her constipated-looking kid. Occasionally Cunningham would push his bland, smiling mug into the frame to deliver a grave monosyllabic line, no doubt to indicate the gravity of the subject and to illuminate his own self-importance. The only effect on Donnie was that it made him want to throw up.

For some reason, this revelation made him feel better. Surely it was normal to hate this guy.

PAY CLOSE ATTENTION. YOU COULD MISS SOMETHING.

"For my entire life, I was a victim of my own fear," the fat lady said earnestly. "Finally, I looked in the mirror. Not just in the mirror. I looked through the mirror. And in that image..." She paused, hands clasped to her chest in reverence. "...I saw my ego reflection."

She said it like it was a religious experience. What's the big deal? So you saw yourself through a mirror. Doesn't help you find yourself, even when you're inside the mirror. Look at what happened to Alice.

"For two years, I thought it was normal for a 10 year old to wet the bed," said the next 'survivor'. The class immediately burst into laughter. Ms. Farmer whirled, squinty little eyes ablaze.

"Sssh! Quiet!" she hissed.

"...But the solution was there all the time."

Jim Cunningham came back into the frame. "All over America, people have come together to join hands. People who believe that human life is absolutely too important, too valuable, and too precious to be controlled by Fear."

The man stepped closer into the camera until his face filled the screen. "Hello, my name is Jim Cunningham. And welcome to 'Controlling Fear'."

Donnie stared intently into Cunningham's face. Not into his face. Through it.

A dream brought you here.

Rushing water sound. A tidal wave indoors; puddling between lockers, drowning textbooks, purging biology lab chemicals. Wetting the graffiti.

Graffiti. A can of spray paint... and an axe.

WAKE UP, DONNIE.

The school comes into view. Huge. Looming. The cross on the tower staring down into darkened courtyards. Stronger than ever.

A dream of water. A metal head. Industrial pipelines in the beam of a flashlight. Follow the grey rabbit...

Swings the axe. Hears the blade bury itself in something. Swings again. Harder.

Something bursts. Rust flakes flying around him like dead leaves. Aerosol cans rattling hollow, leaving echoes, trailing a radioactive tongue over pavement. The hissing stops. Donnie, his head on his arm, on the couch in the living room. Eyes closed.

Rushing water sound.