This was a story I made for a class project. It's kinda' demented but it's how I feel sometimes. It should anyway, since this is the story of Vincent Maximillian Pelminico. One of my aliases. So that's why thought this should be one of my first posts. Enjoy.
p e s t e
in collaboration with:
Ken Lascano (Thanks dude. This guy really helped when we were making this. he's the producer. hehe. ^^)
Mico Quesada (yah right!)
Bernard Pineda (yah right!)
(patawa lang yung dalawa, hehe.)
Noelle Grace O. Pico (My sis!!! My personal editor. ^^)
I AWOKE AMONG SCATTERED TRASHCANS beside a green dumpster overfilled with garbage. The stench was vile; an aroma of shit, piss and the smell of days-old food. A mangy black rat was nibbling at the hem of my pants, angrily tearing at the fabric. Kicking it away and groggily standing up, I leaned on the brick wall for support. My body felt like it had taken a beating from a sledgehammer--but then, I’m over exaggerating.
The last thing I remember was being surrounded by the jocks from school and being taken into this dark, dank alley where they had pummeled and beaten me up, after which they took several stuff from my bag.
Speaking of my bag------I found it mixed among the refuse, partly torn with its contents spilling out. The previous purple hue was now dark------and black------wet at random areas. I scrunched up my face--I suppose they had either poured beer all over it to make it look as if I had been drinking so early in the morning or... as disgusting a thought as it was, perhaps they’d decided to relieve themselves on it.
As I scavenged it from the pile of grime and opened to check its contents, I discovered that the latter had been their selection.
Luckily (in the context that they probably survived the downfall of green liquids), they had taken my sketchpad, my pencil-case filled with myriads of drawing materials, my antique Lord of the Rings novel, and three decks of Magic Cards. Priceless to me, I wished that my stuff were being given proper accommodations and care. What a futile wish...
Something even more important was missing! My schitzo notebook------my journal------the one thing so personal and it was gone! That was something I’d not have God or even Satan see!
I thrashed around, hoping to find it on the floor somewhere, and as I did, the black mangy rat from earlier caught my eye again. It was standing over something black, a glossy leather-bound book, and it was about to sink its teeth into it. I picked up an empty can on the floor and hurled it at the rodent, hitting it squarely on the head, and killing it instantly.
I ran to recover the item, brushing away the almost hairless dead carcass limp on top of it, glad to see that the lock was still on, preventing anyone from prying into my secret world. And though I’d said I’d not have the Lord of either heaven or hell peer into it, I thanked God for sparing it from a ghastly demise planned out by Lucifer.
I brought my hand around my neck and, to my relief, found my necklace still on.
My pentagram, my Lord of the Rings’ ring, and my journal key still hung limp upon the faded silver chain.
Satanist, I was not, the pentagram (set upright) is a true Wiccan symbol of balance in the universe. I had been taught to respect that by a practitioner who’d grieved greatly for the prejudiced view appointed by the church. A mentality that seemed imbedded in a society that preferred to remain in ignorant bliss.
The pentagram, was------is rejected by society because it is cursed to be, quote on quote: “the symbol of the devil, sorcery and black magic.”
Ironically------this should have only been the case to the inverted symbol. Innocence tainted.
So much of THAT is in our JUSTIFIED world.
It amused me. As I kind of felt like that.
Spat on by society, loathed by the majority.
The reject. The outcast. The exiled.
I took into hand my key and unlocked my personal diary, happy to find that it was neither wet nor smudged. It must have flown out of my bag as I had tried to break away during the earlier squabble. I locked it again and stuffed it back in, too tired to bother fixing the contents.
After I was sure all that was left of my belongings were in place, I stood up. But as I turned to leave, I found myself face to face with another.
I peered into the glass window where he stood behind, seeing how terrible he looked. There were no scratches or bruises but the face that stared back at me was exhausted and seemed tired of life. The boy’s hand went to his face, as if to feel if it was still intact, finishing off by running his hand through his disheveled hair.
I looked at my own hand, finding that traces of blood had smudged it.
Was I bleeding?
The boy in the window seemed to share the same expression as mine and he too was looking disbelieving at his hand.
I looked harder through the window, then at the glass itself.
------I found that the boy was none other than me.
And that the blood was that from the flies and mosquitoes hovering over and above me.
I must’ve swiped them as I brushed my hair earlier.
That would explain the blood.
Flies and mosquitoes flying over my head.
How long had I been amongst the garbage..?
My gaze shot down, and felt my eyes widen as it screamed at me: 7:30!!!
Five minutes to school...
SCRAMBLING OUT OF THE ALLEY and into the busy street, Vincent smashed into a sidewalk vendor selling cigarettes, the day’s newspapers and various brands of candies. To avoid any more delay, he just ran off, knowing it was wrong and feeling terribly sorry for the accident------but he needed to get to school on time or face another hour of detention.
There wasn’t really anything bad about the extra hour after class.
He actually looked forward to it.
The solitude----the aloneness----was so very welcome to him.
If any were with him, they were usually acquaintances with whom he got along with, or, on occasion, he’d had friends (who intentionally got detention just to keep him company).
The only REAL drawback?
The teacher who usually presided over them sucked.
Vincent hated her so badly and wished he could just stab here in the back and watch her fall limp onto the floor. But so far he had been able to control himself.
Returning to the present:
Vincent was trying his best to swerve through the crowd----no such luck.
He was only successful at bumping people around and knocking their things out of their hands.
Scowls and screams of indignation followed him.
‘*&%$ you, idiot!’
‘Go to HELL, $#!%-head!’
He just let them pass. Just three more blocks to cover in less than three minutes and he had no time to waste on petty arguments of pride.
Covering the first two blocks quite easily, he’d had the satisfaction at least of measly highlights: 1) him smashing a slutty looking girl into a pile of smelly fish and 2) him kicking a beggar’s coin bowl into the street.
Both were accidental and he resented doing both, wishing he could stop and redeem himself but, glancing at his watch, he found just one minute to go.
The teen looked up and was happy to see that the crossing lights still said ‘GO’ over the end of the third block, but as he took a step into the street, the light turned red and the cars zoomed forward.
Sprinting forward in a burst of adrenaline, he was able to blitz across, but his actions had made one of the drivers panic, setting off a chain-reaction of car crashes.
The world hated him and that was that.
Running onto the school campus and zipping through the guards and across the main lawn, Vincent had under thirty seconds left...
Like a blur, he zoomed through the empty school hallways.
He’d make it in time.
Damned twist of fate.
His bag snagged onto an open locker door and it ripped open, spilling the contents all over the floor. He cluttered around picking things up and stuffed them into his massive pockets.
He’d make it in time. He’d make it in time!
Only ten yards left! The door was in his reach------!
But the chain necklace gave in and slid down to the floor along with his three personal mementos. He skidded to a halt and dove to pick it up.
The youth restarted his course for the door.
Knob was in reach!
The bell rang.
And as if by some demonic force: “Mr. Vincent Maximillian Pelminico, late again I see.”
“Let go of that doorknob, sir. You are coming to my office.” The teacher that made detention horrible, the teacher that made his life at school a living nightmare, the teacher who always seemed to make every mistake his mistake, Ms. Desdemona Faust (how fitting a name for she seemed to be Satan’s harbinger) was striding toward him, her pale face a-glee.
“Pleas let me explain, ma’am.” Vincent began to plead.
“Hush!” She said sternly, licking her lips as she gave him a once over from afar. “No excuses. You are coming… Why are you all dirty!?”
“Walk your self to the shower and get yourself cleaned up this instant!” Faust pointed to the gym.
“NOW! Then come to my office and see me.” Amidst her anger, malice was obvious. “We have to talk!”
The school disciplinary prefect strutted off and left Vince standing in the corridor, dirty, disheveled, listening to the national anthem play, and with flies hovering over his head.
There I crouched, sa
time froze up @ 12/20/2003 11:38:00 PM [//]
Okay, I just totally ripped out all my old blog posts cause I've changed everything anyway. I want to start over again. Total re-vamp of my blog and myself. =) But I kept a copy of all my old posts since I don't ever want to forget the memories. they're a part of me now. Hopefully Mel doesn't kill me for editing my blog since I really really want to blog already. Sorry Mel, hope you can still fix it now that I've tampered with it. Hehe. I've really got to learn how to handle my blog template. TEACH ME!!! (reminiscent of my first post, isn't it. ^_^)
Please also visit my blog-series blog. The address is www.theknighthood.blogspot.com. Please feel free to e-mail me comments about what you think of the story. And before I forget, please tell me asap if there are any visual problems with it like if the screen where the posts are is screwy or if the punctuation marks are all weird. Thanks peeps.!!! =)
Bloody hell. I miss doing that. ^^
time froze up @ 12/20/2003 11:25:00 PM [//]