Sit Booboo Sit...Good Blog

So i've decided through a few days of relative sobriety and relative domestic peace that I might try my hand at doing some more writing again. Of course, i'm just musing about it and I haven't actually done anything.  However,  I did think that creating a blog might be an interesting way to distribute said hypothetical writing to the three or so people I know who might by chance enjoy reading it.  So here it is, The Fabulous Confessor.  The name doesn't have any real deep meanings, it is however true that when I write fiction I am very much able to purge the things that parade around in my subconscious.  Some of them interesting, most of them not.  Some of them pretty, most of them ugly.  In any case here it is, enjoy. 

I'm adding a short story that I wrote some time ago as a jumping off point.  I hope to produce a new short each week for your reading, we'll see how it goes.

Those grey elementary days

There was always a bold smell to contend with upon traversing those first few steps, entering the threshold of elementary school was more like walking into a dark abyss of anarchy than it was preparing for some future that has yet to come.  The smell was like brushing up against a stucco wall with your bare sweaty shoulder; it wasn't the end of the world but it was unpleasant enough to make you instinctively avoid further encounters.  The smell was most likely derivative of some cleaning agent used to exterminate the spores of sick that all kids seem to carry with them like too much candy in a pocket; but it was most certainly not the kind that a mother would use, no this was the kind of stuff sprayed mindlessly by the likes of a fat middle aged man riddled with moles and pimples. 

Despite all of this we would still make our ways to class, not knowing what the days offering might be.  This particular day would end with me kicking the snot out of a student four years my senior.  He was at the peak of his elementary evolutionary climb, wandering through the school with the hubris and moxie that only a sixth grader could muster.  This sense of pride made him believe that he could, without any discretion, fuck with any other kid he wanted too.  Singling out my older brother would prove to be a bad choice.

My brother and I were new to the school if my memory serves me, and we hadn't exactly ingratiated ourselves.  Perhaps we didn't care for the smell.  I've digressed however, this yarn was supposed to be spun in an all together different direction. 

At recess my fellow classmates were engrossed in a game involving paper airplanes.  It wasn't so much a game, rather idiot kids throwing around paper airplanes in a reckless nonsensical manner.  This idiotic reckless action looked like nothing short of a god-damned ball from afar, and appearing as such I decided to try my luck.  No dice.  I couldn't make an airplane anymore than I could poop a golden turd. 

Feeling left out I decided that my teacher, a woman of formidable charm would be a good source of inspiration in the matter; after all she knew the multiplication table and how to spell.  A paper airplane would surely be within her grasp.  I brought her the biggest piece of construction paper I could find.  I interrupted a conversation she was having with another teacher and persuaded her to construct for me the single greatest paper airplane in the history of mankind. 

She folded and folded and I watched with great anticipation.  I was spellbound, assured that she was going to be my savior and transform me from outcast to playground deity.  What she produced was nothing short of a disgrace.  It was the bulkiest ugliest thing I had ever seen, completely lacking any aerodynamic purpose or aesthetic intuition.

I've never been more disappointed in my life.  Santa Clause isn't real?  My older brother can't save me from dying?  Dreams are only something to get you through the cryptic maze of high school and college?  Fine, not a problem, not after I'd experienced the let down of that shitty paper airplane.  If the Wright brothers had seen this piece of shit they would have puked all over themselves and become god-damned cabinet makers. 

I thanked her kindly, feeling sorrier for her than I did myself and threw the piece of crap in the trash.  I walked up onto a small hill that overlooked the playground and watched the other children throw their fucking planes through air.  What a lot of shit.