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Jimmy.
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| Zenchowdah |
It was morning again at Jimmy's house. Cold day. Snowing, but not sticking. Just kinda gray. Concrete outside was black with the wetness of the melted snow, and Jimmy saw this as a look into his own heart. Jimmy wasn't your normal seven year old. Born on June 6th, 1966, Jimmy's life had been an amalgam of impossibly frightening experiences, but he took them with astounding strength and resolve.
It had started mere minutes after he was born. His mother, in the throes of his birthing, died of a massive heart attack. She had it coming though. The woman weighed nearly 700 pounds and had a cholesterol level near that of Bill Gates' net worth. After this, Jimmy was bounced from relative to relative, looking for someone who would want him. It was odd, though, because none of the family really liked his mother. They had rather disowned her silently, slowly broke off contact and were somewhat relieved at the news that she had died.
They hadn't shown this, of course. They just went on with their normal lives, and accepted Jimmy into their house for a while. He seemed like a nice bright kid. Learned to walk at a fairly young age, rarely cried, and mostly was the ideal child. Although, he hadn't uttered a word until his grandfather's funeral. The aunt with whom he was staying brought him to the funeral, and insisted that he see the corpse. He resisted, and, being the good Catholic woman that she was, she promptly slapped him across the face and brought him to his fate. When Jimmy saw this (he was four at the time) he uttered his first word - 'Freedom'.
The aunt looked at him in astonishment, marvelling in joy as she was the one relative who brought him to speech! Finally she could outdo her sister, the one who got him to walk! Looking feverishly around the room, she told everyone that he had spoken, and urged him to do it again to prove it to them. Jimmy refused. He just looked at his aunt with his cold grey eyes, as if asking her why it was necesary. "Why speak, when I already know the effect words have?" It was as if in the instant Jimmy spoke, he realized everything he would ever need to know about humanity. His aunt, in her greed, had not taken the time to analyze the absurd, and even dark undertones in what he had said, but instead used his words to further his goals. With Jimmy's one declaration of freedom, he had freed himself from others by becoming aware of how they operated.
Forward, three years. Jimmy is seven, and has not said a word since. After the funeral Jimmy and his aunt went home to her small house on the hill where she had him tend her garden, and she prepared him sandwiches and milk every day at 1.30. The house smelled old, like a summer day that never ended, but without the freedom. It was stuffy, humid, and unwelcoming in an offensive way. Of course, his aunt didnt think so. Her collection of ceramic dolls and old dinnerware made her feel like her attempts at home making were worthwhile, though the fact that she was still single at 55 suggested otherwise. Jimmy walked up the stairs as he had done several hundred times before, as this had been his home since birth, and went to his room, where he sat reading electronics manuals and college textbooks on physics and mathematics. Also in his book collection were many philosophical doctrines he had garnished from his aunts attempts at swooning college students.
The philosophies are what Jimmy truly enjoyed. They helped him to cope with his isolation, both voluntary and involuntary. Given, his intellect alone brought him above those around him, and therefore he would have had trouble relating anyway, but this was not where his interests lie. He was of the mind that mankind was an evil race, but was conflicted, given that he was of the human race. It did not make sense to him to call something evil, but still continue to cooperate in its proliferation. He had picked up these ideas through his own experiences, the time at the funeral, and the books he read. His aunt was of the mind that she needed a husband that she could care for, and someone to talk to, as her hopes of Jimmy being someone to talk to had been dashed years ago.
Reading alone in his room, Jimmy had plenty of time to think. He had never liked his aunt, and figured that he could get out of his situation, and into a home he did approve of, were he just to dispose of the wretched woman. He considered it a great while, a majority of the three years between the funeral and his seventh birthday (which consisted of a cake and a candle, nothing more, as he had no friends to speak of), and came to a sound plan of action in carrying this out. The small house in which they lived was on a large hill, well out of the college town where his aunt had grown up. Jimmy bided his time, collecting bits and pieces he would use in her eventual demise from trips to the junkyard, the car rotting in pieces in the back yard, and the furnace in the basement that bellowed every hour on the hour of its developments in the heating of the household.
Finally, he had constructed the perfect murder. At a measly seven years old, he was proud of his accomplishments, and waited until the perfect winter day to hatch his plan.
It was morning again at Jimmy's house. Cold day. Snowing, but not sticking. Just kinda gray. The days seemed to meld together after his triumphant plan had been hatched, and he was confident that this was the day that it would go down. Taking his makeshift knife from his mattress, he waited for the furnace repairman to come, as he did every week, to replace the things Jimmy had taken from the furnace. His aunt, in her ever-present stupor, partially as a result of a low IQ, and partially as a result of her addiction to cleaning her dinnerware with harsh chemicals, never caught on that it was Jimmy who was taking the parts. She always concocted some conspiracy theory about the policemen trying to steal her money. Besides, she enjoyed the repairman's company, and made it very clear by hitting on him heavily.
Jimmy watched as the repairman closed the door. He came in of his own accord; he was basically family at this point. Hiding in the blindspot behind the door, Jimmy could watch his actions carefully with no fear of being seen. The repairman walked in. He looked around. He yelled his aunts name. No answer. The manner in which her head was detatched from her body almost guaranteed that she would not answer. Decidedly unabashed, he headed down toward the basement to get to work. Jimmy followed. It was this point in his plan that Jimmy looked forward to the least. He was forced to speak. He had always known how, just didnt want to. He ran up behind the repairman, playfully jumped on his back, and yelled "Hi!" just as he slid the knife he had just killed his aunt with into his tool belt. He had cleaned it of most of the blood, so as to not drip on the floor behind him, but there was enough there to get the guilt off Jimmy and onto the repairman.
The repairman looked shocked. He had never heard Jimmy speak. Every time he had stopped by, the repairman tried to initiate conversation with Jimmy, treated him in the normal adult to child relationship way, but yielded no results. Jimmy just stared with his cold eyes. The playful attack startled the repairman, and he awkwardly brought Jimmy back to the ground and told him to run along and play, like the good boy that he was. Jimmy obliged. He had to get the rest of the plan in motion.
Given that the furnace was in the general area of the old dumbwaiter's elevator, Jimmy had decided to use it as a means of conveying the body toward the repairman. Jimmy dragged the corpse into the elevator, making extra sure not to make too much noise. Having accomplished this, Jimmy went back for the head, which he had stored in a bowling ball bag about the size, shape and color of the repairman's tool bag. He had stolen the bag from one of his aunt's previous conquests, a tall man with brown hair, and disgusting breath. His aunt said he had nice hair, and nice hair meant that he was classy. She needed a classy man, she said, because that would make her sisters accept her. Jimmy saw her men as canteloupes she crushed and stored in a chest, saving them in hopes that when the person who was to admit her to the middle class asked, she could supply them and be admitted.
Putting the bowling ball bag in his left hand, and the controls for the dumbwaiter in his right, he slowly slid his way down to where the repairman was working. Silently, he exchanged the bags, and took the tool bag with him back up in the elevator. He then went to his secondary hiding place, the breakfast nook where his aunt often served him his food, and where he condemned his aunt to be served as food for earthworms.
As the repairman left, Jimmy went back upstairs to his room to read innocently as he had done for the past three years. The police would be arriving in about an hour and a half, so he had much time to delve further into Plato's Forms, and how they differed from his best student, Aristotle's ideas. This duality always interested Jimmy. He related it to his feelings of duality about humanity itself. How one can learn so much from something, and then be utterly bent on its destruction was what drove him to learn more. Though he was imperfect in his ideas, his execution was nearly flawless, and brought him much joy as he replayed the events in his head. The way her face contorted when the blade, made of an old lawn mower rotor, the very same lawn mower she often made him trim her grass with, pierced her neck made him feel especially comfortable, as it showed him that life, unlike at the funeral, does not end peacefully. There is a chaotic fit of self survival in the ending of a human being that pulls itself from the very depths of consciousness, almost instinctual. He loved the Kantian idea that animals were unlike humans, Machina, Kant called them, and that they only operated as they were hard wired to do. Humans, on the other hand, operated as they wanted, and were only guided by wiring. He applied much of what he learned to Electronics, as it had been his first love, and the first thing that he experienced outside of the womb, as the defibrillators shocked his mother in and out of existence until there was no hope.
Waiting for the police to come, he thought about his mother, and how she looked, laying there in her sweat, face melting with fat, eyes barely noticeable under the stuff. He had never considered his father, he had never known him. It struck him as odd that he had not thought of this before. He dismissed it, thinking that perhaps there was no clear father. Given, his mother was no prize, and it was understandable that few men would admit to fornication with a beast of that proportion. |
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| Zenchowdah |
somebody tell me what happens next, cuz i got no idea.
yes, i am writing this, yes it is my own work, just tell me what happens next. |
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| enferno |
jimy turns into a rock star!!
and get's laid every night until he dies of a drug OD
or he turns into a bum and lives the rest of his life on the streets |
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| Zenchowdah |
| quote: | Originally posted by enferno
jimy turns into a rock star!!
and get's laid every night until he dies of a drug OD
or he turns into a bum and lives the rest of his life on the streets |
that was deep, bro. :rolleyes: |
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| enferno |
| quote: | Originally posted by Zenchowdah
that was deep, bro. :rolleyes: |
if you publish it, i want $$ |
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| Zenchowdah |
| quote: | Originally posted by enferno
if you publish it, i want $$ |
heh, sure. |
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| igottaknow |
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| enferno |
hey lets turn this into the first ever TA Movie!!
Let's call it: Jimmy
I'll be Jimmy
Orbax can be his mom
igottaknow can be the aunt
who else? |
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| Zenchowdah |
Perhaps there was no fornication? Perhaps he was a result of this thing, one of these test tube babies that he had read about. The religious fanatics were having a field day with it, saying that it created people without souls. The religious fanatics also thought that a big cloud of air called God cared where you were on Sunday at 8 am. Last Sunday at 8 am, Jimmy was at church. Against his will, but, young as he was, his aunt could, and often did force him to do a large number of things. Sometimes he went along with it to avoid confrontation. Sometimes he went against it just to define his, and her, limits. He thought about the test tube baby possibility. He compared it to his feelings of duality toward the human race. If the religious fanatics were right, he should be without a soul. He looked for the nearest mirror, and found one in a bathroom on the second floor of the dingy house. Caked with dust, as the aunt could never be asked to perform physical labor, and since Jimmy was too short, he was unable to clean it himself. Grabbing a chair from the hall, he got up tall enough to see himself, and he look into his own eyes. Infinity was the first word that came to his mind. It was confusing to think that he was looking at himself looking at himself. This kind of thing made his head and his ego hurt, because he could not comprehend it. He found solace in the fact that he was but seven, and had a lot of learning to do, but also scorned himself for not having acquired this knowledge previously.
He focused his thoughts. Back on track, he needed to figure this out. He had always seen human existence as consisting of a mind, a body, and a 'something else' he could not name because he did not have the facts. The 'something else' was able to act independently of the mind and body, and could be experienced as the small voice at the back of the head that thinks things before they are thought. Like a cue card for an actor on television, it told the mind what to think. His eyes, he saw, were small and grey, small like his mothers when he had seen her, but grey like the concrete on a summer day. His eyes were not small as a result of fat, but rather as a result of small, almost asian shaped eye sockets, that were level with the rest of his face. He wore a black overshirt, like that of a school uniform, and a white shirt underneath it. He wore black shorts. He had never concerned himself with the aesthetic, and kept mostly to the matters of the mind and intellect. His attention was taken by a fly that buzzed by, and the sudden sound of police sirens outside. |
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| Zenchowdah |
| cmon guys, gimme some thoughts. |
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| fitom tiel |
| aldous huxley? |
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| Zenchowdah |
| what about him? |
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