33-==Chapter one: Prologue.
Before saying anything, I'd like to get this out of the way: People tell me I'm crazy.
I'm not.
In every way possible, I am perfectly sane. A little too intelligent, perhaps, but definitely not crazy.
Alright then. Now, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Brian Pazzesco. I'm 10 years old, in the fifth grade.
I'm not exactly what one would call a happy child. Quite the contrary, actually. School's a joke for me—there are no special classes for the smart kids, so I'm paired with the… less than intelligent ones. They tend to think I'm weird and, as mentioned before, crazy. Naturally, I get beat up quite a bit.
If that wasn't enough, my mother is never around. She's always at work. I don't really know what she does because she's never around long enough for me to ask her. And my father… well…. I can't say I know. I've never met him, nor heard my mother speak his name even once. He could be dead, he could have run off, I don't know. But I'd be lying if I said I cared to meet or hear of him. He's just another person to me, another faceless human taking up space.
Without parents taking care of me, I've had to raise myself. I think I did a hell of a job, too. But I really can't cook, so I suppose the main downfall of this situation is that I'm a bit undernourished. My diet consists mostly of soup cubes and school food.
I don't have friends. Not that I want any. But, wait, no. I have one friend. Though I wish I didn't. His name is Anthony.
He's an idiot.
Introductions aside.
It was report card day. A day of panic and worry for many of my peers, it was just a normal day for me. Or, I should say, it should have been.
The teacher went through the grade reports, calling our names as she got to each of ours. Eventually she called out mine, and I stood up to retrieve it. As I walked from my seat in the row second to the back of the room, many a spitball and crumpled paper ball crashed into my head. Simpletons, jealous of my ability to memorize simple information and recite it like some parrot. I took my report card, which was folded in half to ensure privacy, and walked back to my seat as more paper projectiles hit me.
Sitting down, I ripped the piece of tape keeping the paper closed, and opened it.
'Mathematics: A+'
Of course. If calculus is no bother to me, why should grade-school arithmetic be?
'History: A+'
What a simple, boring subject…
'Physical Education: A+'
Heh. Not exactly my forte, but one can just sit on the swigset to get an A.
'Reading: A+'
I'd think they would stop teaching this after kindergarten.
'Art: A+'
They call this an academic subject?!
'Music: A+'
Same comment goes for this as well.
'Science: A+'
My specialty. I prefer quantum physics, myself…
'Writing: A-'
Yes, well- wait, WHAT?! Did I not read that correctly?!
'Writing: A-'
No, I read it right… this cannot be. This just cannot be. An A-?! A-, me?! This, this is unacceptable! I only get perfect scores! PERFECT!
I suddenly got the feeling that I was being watched, and looked up to see my "best friend," Anthony, staring at me with that stupid grin on his face.
"What'd you get? Huh? Huh? Perfect grades again?" He asked, speaking much too fast.
I silently crumpled the paper into a ball. Anthony suddenly looked curious, and tried to snatch the report card from my hand. Instead of playing cat and mouse with him like I knew he wanted, I simply shoved the paper into my mouth, chewed on it a bit, and swallowed it.
Anthony's eyes widened, and he asked, "Did… did you just EAT that?"
I rested my head on my hand. "Yes. I did."
He stuck his tongue out for a moment, then retracted it. "I won't ask. Well, I got all B's! My dad's gonna be so happy!" Anthony then proceeded to do a little dance.
I frowned. Idiot. "That is very nice, Anthony. Would you stop that jig?"
He stopped. "Well, he will. And I'll probably get a present for it too! Does your mom give you presents when you get good grades? I bet you get a lot!"
I scowled. This was getting really irritating. Luckily for me, the bell rang just then, and I rushed out of the classroom without looking back even once.
That evening held nothing particularly eventful. No mom, soup cubes for dinner.
The next morning, though, was something else entirely.
I walked into the classroom. I noticed that all the kids were huddled around the desk of a kid whose name was Crank. What kind of mother names their child Crank? Anyhow, I sat at my desk, ignoring all this commotion, and began pulling my homework out of my backpack. Soon enough, though, Anthony noticed that I had come in, and he left the group to join me.
Exclaimed he, "Brian, did'ja hear?!"
I sighed annoyedly. I was too tired to listen to his mindless droning, but I knew he had no intention of going away anytime soon, so I played along. "Hear what?"
"Crank scored highest in class!" He yelled, overjoyed. "Isn't it amazing? He was so close to failing, but he really did it! I heard that he quit the touch football team just to study so he could—" Anthony talked on and on like this for a few minutes more, but I wasn't listening.
This seemed so unreal. I scored my lowest grade ever, and at the same time, Crank scores higher than me? It was just so… unnatural. Crank is the class moron (oh, but aren't they all?), how did he- Unless….
I slammed my fist on my desk. "That bastard."
Anthony looked shocked. "B-BRIAN! Man, I hope the teacher didn't hear that… where did you pick up that kind of language?!"
I growled. "You idiot! Focus! That… That CRANK, he obviously did this on purpose, to spite me!"
"What?"
"Look," Said I, "Everyone knows that Crank and I do not get along. Obviously, he knew my grades were slipping, so he worked harder just to make me look bad."
Anthony paused, making one of his idiotic faces that meant that he did not understand. "But… he said he did it to make his mommy smile."
"He is a liar!" I stood up, "Of all the insults and injuries that boy has brought upon me, this is by far the worst. I swear, this time…," I lowered my voice, "… HE WILL PAY."
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Ooh, spooky eh? I run off now to write next chapter.