Nick - A Cold Gust Of Futility

I was sitting underneath the bridge on the North side when I found it. I was drinking a half-empty flask of gin I had found in a dumpster when it came flying off the overpass, hurtling through the cold winter air.

It fell to the ground in front of me with a beautiful 'thunk'. Its metal casing gleamed in the sun. It was calling to me. The greatest opportunity a desperate, angry, and drunk homeless man could ever hope for. This was my moment.

It was a gun.

I walked over to it and picked it up. The cold steel felt somehow reassuring in my hand. I tried to check the ammunition, but I couldn't figure out how. I don't know much about guns. Probably somebody used it in a murder and tossed it off the overpass to hide the evidence. And now it was all mine.

A cheerful spring in my step, I stuffed it into my pants pocket and walked out onto the downtown streets, passing the other homeless on my way out. I briefly surveyed the crowd. I didn't exactly like any of them, but I had no hatred for them either. I expected that I can take out one person before the cops come or I run out of ammo, assuming I have any. No, my one chance would be wasted here. I have to take as much evil out of the world as I can. I look for other targets.

In front of me on the sidewalk is a businessman on his cell phone. He was wearing a nice suit; it probably cost more than I've ever owned at one time. He's talking away on his cell phone, something about cost efficiency of hiring a second editor.

Is he the one? I run my hand absent-mindedly over the weapon in my pocket. He finishes his call, and slows his walking pace. He heaves a heavy sigh, and for a brief moment the pain in his heart shines through his eyes.

No; he is not one.

My stomach is queasy from the gin; I stumble into a diner to sit down. The waitress is cheerful and polite. She asks if there is anything she can get me, but I can see that she detests the way I look and the way I smell. She thinks that I'm useless, that just because I don't have a home I also don't have a soul.

My hand instinctively reaches into my pocket again; could she be the one? Surely she's done something to deserve it. Her mere contempt for me and my situation should earn her this, at least.

I say nothing to her, but her cheerful demeanor doesn't break. She waits through my silence and then tells me to let her know if she can get me anything.

She isn't the one, either.

Somewhere out there, somebody deserves this. I have to make it count. I have to take as much evil out of the world as I can.

I walk out of the diner, and down a couple of blocks to the capitol building, where a politician (I do not know his title) is giving a speech outside, in front of a crowd of maybe a hundred people. He talks about the destruction of our neighborhoods; he says that the expansion of the homeless are ruining property value on the North side. He talks about the need for more homeless shelters.

The way he speaks makes me enraged. He wants to tuck me away in a shelter; to pretend that I don't exist. He is the one.

My dizziness escalating, I begin to push my way through the crowd to him. I push over a young journalist, I shove past a middle-aged woman, and I push over a little boy in my haste to break through the crowd.

For some reason, I turn back and happen to make eye contact with the boy. His eyes are full of tears because I have pushed him, and full of fear because of my appearance. We stare at each other for a second, and I realize: to him, I am the one. I am the worst possible person. I stop and think to myself.

I have to take as much evil out of the world as I can.

I stumble back out of the crowd, and mumble an apology to the boy. (The first thing I've said aloud all day.) I walk back to the overpass where I found the gun. I point it at myself, and pull the trigger.


It turns out there were never any bullets in it.

-Nick.

Nick - Five Things I Did While Quarantined In My Room

So this weekend, because I have mono, I did not go anywhere. I didn't go to parties, I didn't go to PK Barnjam practice, and I certainly didn't go to CU Improv Fest.

But I did do some interesting thing. Here are five of them.

Start a Blur cover band

I figured, hey, I can't go anywhere, so I'll just bring the party to me. So I started a cover band. It was me on drums, I played lead guitar, and I filled in for the vocals most of the time. Unfortunately, our lead guitarist was terrible. We could never find a bassist. The singer never learned the words to any Blur songs. And when our drummer developed an opium addiction, everything just went downhill.

Fantasy Football

I found this by Googling "how do I football"

Yeah, I know, I'm no good with football most of the time, but I figured I might as well learn. So I started a fantasy football team. I'd call this a success. My team scored a lot of touchdowns. Our defense was really good. Our offense kicked the ball a lot of times. My linebackers drew way more lines than any of the other teams in the league.

Learn the language of clocks

I found this by Googling "clocks talk"

You probably hear it all the time. That constant, ever-present ticking. Whether it be the wristwatch of the guy next to you or the clock in the back of the room ticking so faintly that you've tuned it out. Well, I'm here to tell you that it's way more than just a noise they make. Clocks are expressive creatures. And if you're willing to put in the time to listen and understand them, clocks will open up to you. In fact, if there's one thing I realized this weekend, it's that I no longer have any use for human friends.

Reach enlightenment

Little known fact: when you reach enlightenment, your chakras glow.

One day, I was just sitting here thinking, and then I realized the nature of all things. It's pretty zen. I would explain it to you, but you probably wouldn't understand.

Begun my new life as ruler of this room

I found this by Googling "I am their ruler"

After reaching enlightenment, I suddenly felt empathy toward all living creatures. I realized, these poor creatures have no structure to their lives. They live in anarchy. Who better than me to give them government? I dumped out my large canister of oatmeal, and proceeded to name each and every grain. Then I assembled my new subjects, and gathered all the objects on my desk for a conference. After an extensive election process, Nick's Room now has a fully functional democracy. Nick's Running Shoes were elected president, with That Funny Metal Coily Piece On The Back Of The Refrigerator as his vice president. Parliament consists of two parties; the National Democratic Labor Party, run by The Halloween Card My Aunt Theresa Sent Me, and the Progressive Party, headed by a very special piece of oatmeal named Klobb. I'm happy to report that this new system is so far stable and functional.

What did you do over your weekend?

-Nick.

Robert - Wasp

It's time for class! I love my Creative Writing: Fiction class. My professor is really hot. He looks like a writer. All we do is write and talk about writing. Man, I can't wait. Oh, don't be sad. I wish I could stay, wasp flying next to me. But I need to get up. I have people's writing to read and talk about. No, seriously, stop flying up my shirt, I have to go. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

Okay.

Don't move, me. Not in inch. Not a one. I'm sure he'll leave. You're leaving, right, wasp? You're not. That's fine. I can grow roots and absorb moisture and nutrients from the ground below me. It's possible—This cottonwood behind me did it somehow, yeah?

I feel you on my back, wasp. Every five seconds or so, scuttling along the bare skin underneath the tail of my t-shirt and stopping again, teasing me into insanity and desperate, desperate fear. I feel as if you're no longer my friend. That is, I know you want me to stay longer, but forced coercion is no grounds for a friendship, you know. Every second of this sharply decreases the likelihood of us hanging out again. Do you hear me? You don't care. You're a wasp.

Wiggle my fingers. Bend my elbow, slightly—slightly, dammit!—okay good. Put shoulder joints in motion. Yes. This is good. Lift both my arms. I can move my arms! Lafferre Hall is within sight from where I am bound. Perhaps I can claw at the earth and bring the class to me with infinite strength. I can't. Damn you, wasp. You are so small—how did you obtain such divine power over me?

Wait, I'm in public. Everyone can see me sitting here, face constrained, obviously intently focused on what appears to be absolutely nothing. You see, wasp? You're making a scene. People are starting to get uncomfortable. I would call them over to help, if I didn't think you'd be smugly satisfied with that.

Hm...no. No way. Impossible. Maybe? In my head I measure the speed of my right hand flinging open my shirt and my left hand sweeping away at my lower back and my legs bolting upright and my eyes exploding from my head. I bet I can do it. I bet I can, wasp. Here goes.

Here goes.

I'm going to do it.

I am. I'm not kidding.

Here goes.

Okay I'm not. No way. You're terrifying. I admit you my respect, wasp, but not victory. I can still sit still here. And I am a well-trained American. I can go an entire day without significant physical movement. Man, but I really like that creative writing class. Do I like it as much as my back? Probably. Really, what do people even use backs for? Certainly the least useful part of the body. Fuck backs. Showers will be much easier without it, yeah? Yeah. You have nothing on me wasp NO NO pleasedonotgodownthereshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii—okay near crisis averted with a risky tightening of the waistband.

I am still unstung. Time is running out, though. I will pay you $5, wasp. You'll be the richest wasp in the world. I will clean your gray hive thing. I will advocate wasp rights. Leave. Please god, leave. This is your last chance.

I'm going to have to do it. I measure the speed of my hands again in my head. Here goes, wasp. I didn't want it to end like this. Mostly because you'll probably sting me like the flying bag of wasp dicks that you are.

Here goes.

I'm not kidding.

Here goes.

Summertime

--By Robert Langellier

Aw man. Now I have friend groups in multiple states! What a good problem to have, right? Well, after probably the longest winter I've ever been a part of, summer's finally here, and I'm saying goodbye to both states' worth of friends so that I can throw my summer away working, schooling, weeping, wearing jeans, and not hanging out with you. So, effective Friday, have a good summer, everyone. For me. Please.

And just because you're worth it, here's a real post from my friend Brandon that he wrote for our school newspaper in October. It's my favorite album review in my memory banks, and for some reason, I decided once upon a time that everyone should read it. He gave me permission to publish it here when he was drunk.