Behold, A Sacrificial Raise

A tale of how social isolation can be quite damaging.

-09/17:

As I sit here, furiously smashing my fingers into the keys of the final piano-like instrument I shall ever use, while blasting the contemporary djent classic "New Millennium Christ" by Meshuggah,  I can not help but feel like a physical "god" among men. I spell "god" with a lower case "g" for a reason by the way, which is to display a very subtle form of disrespect towards any other type of "god" that most of you mindless sheep seem to follow for some of the stupidest reasons. "I don't want to feel like my life here is meaningless...I don't want to feel like this is the end...Mr. Christ couldn't be nothing but a lie..." Shut up. Shut your mouths you worthless cowards, I'm sick of it. I really just hope that one day you'll realize that life is truly worth losing. Anyway, I guess the reason I am even addressing you ignorant folk with this letter is to give you some sort of explanation for why what happened, well, happened. I could give you the usual excuses, like my father was never there, my obesity isolated me from the rest of the pack, the stress from school plus the bullying was too much for me, but I might as well be completely honest, as I have nothing to lose at this point (ironically). To give you the Sparknotes version, the explanation and blame for the incident could both be found and directed towards one person and one person only. Me. I proudly take responsibility for the beautiful tragedy that you currently find yourselves knee deep in. Why would I not be proud? I am a "god" now because of it! I'll get to the longer explanation in a second, but I do happen to have one final demand I wish to project toward your measly, grief-filled bodies. I would really love it if you were to scatter my ashes off the same cliff that Jeff Bridges and John Goodman scattered Steve Buscemi's in The Big Lebowski. Reasons being that, not only is it one of my favorite films that I have had the pleasure of viewing, but also because I know that none of you have seen it, so the end result of doing so should be pretty hilarious, if everything goes to plan that is. 

To pinpoint the exact time fragment in my short life where I first started plotting this terrific event would be an impossible task, as I have evidence to back up that I, at a subconscious level of course, have been planning this as far back as 2nd grade, which marks the beginning of my ostracism from the group due to my smugly portrayed superiority complex. Of course, I didn't care. At the time, I took pride in not making Valentine's cards for Valentine's Day because my logic was that my presence is much better than a cavity-inducing consumable. If anything, I believed that my presence would go as far as to boost your dental hygiene, instead of degrading it like others would by gifting you such junk. Demigod would probably be the best way to describe my position at the time. Similar to the popular at the time cartoon film, Hercules, where the title character saved many towns from many monstrosities. That is what I felt I did. No, not felt, I know. 

Anyway, this inappropriate but prideful behavior followed me all the way up to 7th grade. That is when I first made contact with one of my greatest loves, Anime. Far better than the s****y primetime dramas that millions watch on a nightly basis, I instantly fell in love with this stylistic form of storytelling. I loved watching the noseless figures on the screen jump around and portray a universe that I truly believe existed, despite the obviously cartoonish environment they lived in. There was one character in particular that I instantly identified with and still do till this day. Shinji Ikari from the fairly controversial series Neon Genesis: Evangelion. Filled to the brim with scientific and religious allusions, the series primarily focused on Shinji, a young 14 year old in a post-apocalyptic world on the brink of an existential breakdown, being chosen by his own father, who is the director of an organization called NERV, to pilot a giant mech known as the Evangelion, in order to do battle with these gigantic monsters, who seemingly came from the heavens, known as Angels. It sounds cheesier than it really is, as less than half the anime is action driven. Most of it is really dialogue-driven, focusing a lot on the psychological damage done to many of the characters due to the crazy and extraordinary surreal setting they inhabit. 

To get back on topic, I really loved Shinji mostly thanks to one of the first couple words he utters in the Manga version of the series. "...I've never really cared whether I got into an accident or something and died. I've never had any cherished dreams or ambitions. I don't aspire to any career or profession in the future. So far, in the first fourteen years of my life, things always happened as they had to happen. And things will probably continue in the same way."  I loved it. It was so, to put it in an offensively modern way, faggy. It oozed fagginess and I found it more attractive then any women or man around me. I found an eternal friend in this non-existent figure that no one else, to this day, has been able to replace. 

Fast forward a couple years and you will find yourselves about a week before today. On September 11th, of all days, my sister Kalle, decided to kill herself. Only "god" will ever know why honestly, as my mother and other sister, Sarah, were too grief-strickenly useless to deduce the situation. My father was too busy being absent, and I, with all due respect to the reader, just plainly didn't give a f**k. It's not like Kallen was some sort of Simon-like figure herself. To put it simply, she was a self-centered and whorish b***h, and if I had to guess as to why she took her life, it would probably have to be that on such an already tragic day (September 11th), she had to find a way to make it all about her. If so, then I applaud her for such a moronically courageous act. It only cost her her minimalistic life. 

Anyway, her funeral, for the most part, was just as fake and surreptitiously insulting as the subject of it was. All these distant relatives and "close" friends came out the woodwork to say their goodbyes to a young lady who, considering not just mine but everyone's general opinion, they all knew was a selfish dirtbag. They all thought this yet, for appearances sake, they all stood around with their false smiles, pretending as if they gave a s**t for the girl, just so they would not appear like heartless monsters. I myself, at the time, was too busy antagonizing the young ones for fawning over Nintendo's newest diabetes-inducing portable machine, the 3DS. "Oh look! You can see inside the screen! Isn't that crazy?" No, it's not crazy, you idiotic seven year old. It is nothing but purely novelty that's awesomenimity will surely wear off within the following months. Of course, they did not listen, as they were taught by their parental figures to ignore the crazy homeless man in the street with the sign that says "The World Is Near It's End" which, in this metaphor, is me. 

The weirdest thing about the entire funeral though, was not the perfect example of a dystopian society similar to the one pictured in the film Idiocracy, but the uncomfortable amount of intimate and, in my opinion, distasteful encounters I had to deal with. All these people that, for the most part, usually ignored me thanks to my usual behavior that they, but in reality, society deemed as wrong and inexcusable, began to run into me in hallways and dark rooms to ask me if I "was doing okay." I found it very alienating at the time, but looking back at it, it's actually pretty funny. It's damn funny how it usually takes a death to bring a group of relatives together, as it's a perfect example of how savagely Eve-esque people still are. I don't give a s**t about the consequences, that apple looks f*****g sweet!

Days passed and my mother and sister were still as worthless as ever. They could not bring their weak and balls-less bodies back to the efficiency they were before, but at least my mother attempted to. She still went to work, as somebody had to bring some money in, as the instantaneous funeral drove us deep into debt. Sarah, on the other hand, spent her days jacking up on Top Ramen and locking herself in her room, watching reruns of That 70s Show and DVDs of disgusting romantic comedies like (500) Days of Summer and Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. Now, this brings us to today. 

Today was my first day back to school since the time-waster of a "tragedy" happened, but something was just straight up odd about it. Instead of the usual raving about last night's episode of American Idol or Jersey Shore, my peers had a new topic of discussion. Me. All day was just a series of crowded bombardments and vicious questioning. "How do you feel? Do you miss your sister? Do you need to see the counselor? Do you need more time off?" My "god", I was slightly above furious by the day's end. I could not understand why these people could not just simply leave me alone like they use to. Why is it any of their business how I feel and think? It's not, so they should just politely go off themselves. 

An incredible feeling of spiritual peace is what I felt on my long walk home. My house is actually not that far from the school, but I decided to take the long way around, in order to really analyze today's events. I started to think about the massive amount of attention I was getting and how deep down inside, I kind of liked it. I likened it to the way Charlie Sheen must of felt when he successfully trolled most of the country by portraying this insane and erratic character out in the public, which made many come to the conclusion that he was crazy. The effects of my apathetic rants about how "She had it coming"  could be easily paralleled to Sheen's situation, only difference being that no one actually died in his. I started to think of things I could do to cause a large uproar among my community, that would cause a massive amount of negativity to be directed towards me. Immediately I ruled out the usual burning down of a building/home or shooting up of a school or any other place of public inhabitancy. Those were just so played out by now, and after some research on the commiters of those atrocities, I came to the conclusion that every single one of them were f*****g idiots. No, I had to do something unique and exciting, something that would wet the panties of even the most conservative masochist, but sadly, I could not think of anything. Disappointed, I made my way up the middle path of my lawn towards my home, followed by the ritualistic unlocking, opening, and then entering of the home. 

As I walked in, the first thing I noticed was that I was, at least seemingly, alone. My mother's purse was not in the usual place she puts it when she's home, and the loud bedlam of a television set could not be heard booming from my sister's room, so it was safe to assume that there was no one here. Dropping my backpack near the door, I made my way towards the computer room. On my way there, I noticed the strange displacement of a hairbrush in the middle of the hallway. I picked it up and quickly noticed that it belonged to Sarah. A self-declared OCD victim, it was strange that Sarah would do something so reckless, as it might of tarnished her established image as a subtly diseased young lady. I took a couple more steps forward, in the direction of my parent's room, whose door was open. I took a quick glance into the room and noticed that their bathroom door was slightly open, another oddity that showed signs of life in the bathroom. With the assumption that Sarah was quietly excreting in the bathroom, I began my casual but blatantly arrogant strut towards my parent's bathroom, shouting the words "Haha, Sarah's taking a s**t!" over and over again, until I made it into bathroom and saw something intensely gratifying. Sarah was on the tiled bathroom floor, in an extravagant dress, with her arms out in a very Jesus-on-the-cross-like manner, a bottle of sleeping pills near her left hand, with what could only be described as a s**t-ton of foam coming out of her mouth, seemingly dead. 

Shock should be the perfect way to describe the atmospherically macabre feeling in the room at the time, but I would rather think of it as something that could not be described in words, sort of like one of those "you had to be there!" type of jokes. I could not help but smile, honestly. Usually, in a situation like that, I could at least continue on in my usual stern and angered countenance, but I just felt so incredibly euphoric for some reason. I did not question it for long though, as I realized that I should probably do something about the beautiful mess in front of me. Calling 911 was the first thing that came to mind, but it was quickly followed by a "meh" on my part. All it would do is bring more sympathy my way, and I did not want any more sympathy. I demanded hatred. 

Feeling like I should at least do something to alter the environment, as I was getting very unnaturally attracted towards it, I went over and picked  up my sister by putting my arms under her armpit area, and positioning them under her naturally engorged breasts. Considering I never really interacted with my sister much or had taken a mental photograph of her appearance, I was quite surprised by the size of her breasts, which I originally had no intent on cupping. It was just the easiest way to drag her across the floor. The squishingly satisfying feeling of them was astounding. I had never really felt a woman's breasts before, leaving out the accidental bumps and grabbing of the nearest thing when tripping, so this event was quite eye-opening for me. 

Eventually, I made it to my room, which was the closest to my parent's. I did not want to make the long and strenuous trip to Sarah's room since. Not only was my unfit body starting to tremble, but the entire situation was starting to get too incestuous for heaven's sake, despite how much I loved it. I dragged her over towards my bed and with all my might, threw her onto it. For about five minutes, I just stood there and stared at her, not anywhere in particular, even though I will admit that probably 20% of the time it was her busty chest area. All the feelings of happiness and joy slowly started to fade away in this time. Dissatisfaction and anger were becoming their polar replacements. I started to realize that this incident, Sarah's own extravagant suicide, has basically left me with no way of attaining the public eye. What was I going to do? Kill myself as well? A third suicide would not be surprising. A third suicide would not be unique. News articles of my suicide would read "Third Child in Family Commits Suicide" and it would immediately be followed by a picture of an owl with a caption in big white letters saying "ORLY?". Infuriated, I grabbed Sarah's unconscious body by her dress, and started vigorously shaking it, shouting words that I could not now or even then decipher what they were, all that could be collected from it was that I had an insane rage for the corpse I was shaking. This went on only for a quick 10 seconds, when suddenly, I ripped the dress off of her lifeless, now naked body. I quickly went back into the trance I was in just about a minute before hand, now focusing on that certain body area 80% of the time instead of twenty.

At this moment, I probably felt the most alienated I had ever felt in my entire life. With no one around, other than my sibling's disgustingly lustful body, I felt so lost and alone. It was as if I was a High School senior who had no idea what to do with their life once the freeride-ful party was over. It was at this point that I regretted not making a single pal in my entire seventeen year lifespan, but I suddenly remembered that I did have a friend. Shinji Ikari. "What would Shinji Ikari do?" I thought to myself, which resulted in me regaining the joyful status I had just a couple minutes beforehand. The parallels between the two situations were far too great for this not to be fate. I started to think that maybe there is a "god" out there after all, in space somewhere, controlling what happens to everyone, and he finally decided to reward me with this bittersweet situation. "No" I shouted. "I am a god. I control my destiny, not some false, omniscient spirit in the sky." With a swift and incredibly satisfying tug, I ripped my belt off, unzipped my pants, and proceeded to do exactly what Shinji Ikari did in the opening scene of End of Evangelion. I made sure it was an exact carbon copy, right down to his infamous line after climax.

"I'm so fucked up."

Transcendence is the only way to describe what followed. It was as if I had left my own body and observed the scene from an outsider's perspective, immediately deeming it nothing short of delightful. My sister Sarah could now rest in peace, as I had just baptized her "in vitriolic acid", as Meshuggah would put it, and released her of the consequences from every single sin she had ever commited. 

This brings us to now, the unfortunate ending of this entertaining tale. I would foremost like to point out that, no, I do not regret anything. I am a "god" after all, they can live their lives with no consequence. The only thing I really had left to do as a human was write this letter, as an inspiration to all those like me who want to leave this putrid excuse known as humanity and transcend into the big leagues with myself. I encourage all of you, embrace the indifference! Embrace the estrangement! Embrace the uncomforting, as it will be the only feeling that will ironically bring you comfort in this life. Now if you excuse me, I am going to go catch a bus now, and with no money in my pockets, you shall soon realize what that actually means.

-R. Fukuyama

Author's Note

I wrote this for the creative writing component of my end of the year English project. I somewhat consider my first legitimate attempt at short fiction, as my previous attempts were silly and not as focused, so please critique as harshly as you want. I do intend to get better at this.