- Fire Baragon
- Posts: 14
- Joined: Sat Jul 24, 2010 9:27 pm
Hello, my name is Patrick Bateman. I am five years old and live in Apartment B at 5 Greson Street in New York City. It is nine thirty and I am sitting on the colored rug in Miss Fray's classroom. I always sit on the blue side of the rug because anyone who's anyone sits on the blue side of the rug. That's the side of the rug closest to all the best toys. We're near the legos and the toy soldiers. Those losers on the red side of the rug are only near the alphabet blocks and crayons.
Timothy Rogers and I are currently building the biggest lego building that anyone's ever seen. We're using ALL the legos. Randy Newman and Peter Grants tried to demand we share but I pushed them over and they retreated back to the yellow side of the rug to read the books. Bunch of losers.
I can't help but notice that Lindsay is looking particularly marvelous in her pink flowered skirt today. Maybe later I'll go to the art supply closet with her and then kiss her and push a blue colored pencil through her eyeball. I get tingles just thinking about the red gel pouring out of her eye onto my Courderoy shirt that my mother payed ten whole dollars for. Her scream muffled by my lips against hers as I thrust the pencil upward into her brain. The feeling of her body going cold and limp as she fell to the floor of the closet.
At ten o' clock Miss Fray tells us that it is now time to do arts and crafts. Lindsay raises her hand to go to the supply closet to get the paints. Miss Fray picks her. I see my chance and raise my hand as well. Miss Fray picks Wendy Fros, the skreeonk. Wendy and Lindsay go to the closet and bring out paints and paper. Miss Fray tells us to draw whatever we want. I spend the next half an hour drawing a picture of me in an Armani suit holding a hundred dollar bill in my hands next to a black Lexus car. I make sure that the colors are perfect, each line masterfully drawn. I'm putting the finishing touches on the yellow headlights of my Lexus when Miss Fray comes around to look at what we're drawing. She has a large sheet of stickers with her. I know that I'll get at least five of them on my drawing. How can anyone deny it's amazingness. As Miss Fray comes around I see her give one sticker to Lindsay and her picture of a unicorn (she's not the brightest girl but her looks make up for it), a sticker to Wendy (the skreeonk) for a horrendous drawing of her mother. She's coming to me. Finally recognition for my skill, yes she's looking at the picture, she's smiling, she's telling me what a good job I did, she's putting the first sticker on the paper and.......she's moving on. MOVING ON?! How could she possibly reward my masterpiece with the same amount as that skreeonk Wendy's horrible mother portrait. Oh no. OH NO! She's giving Timothy TWO stickers for his drawing of his dog. HOW! HOW CAN SHE LIKE HIS DRAWING BETTER THAT MINE! THIS IS HORRIBLE, A TRAGEDY, MY WORK HAS BEEN OVERLOOKED, MY EFFORT IGNORED, I HAVE BEEN SHAMED, DISHONERED! I crumple up my drawing and place it in my desk next to my number two pencils. That's when I see my pair of scissors sitting next to the pens. Shining silver with a light blue plastic handle. I imagine the warm spurt of blood that will shoot out when I drag them across Miss Fray's throat, slowly tearing into the flesh and ripping open the veins, and little Timothy's drawing will be covered in blood. Then I'll take all the stickers and keep them. The lunch bell rings however so I have to let go of the scissors and move away from my desk. I shorten my revenge to simply taking the apple off of Miss Fray's desk as I walk by.
At lunch I sit on the blue seat at the table located in the far left corner of the cafeteria. Anyone who is anyone sits in the far left corner of the cafeteria because it's closest to the windows and to the freezer with the ice cream sandwiches in it. I open my blue plastic Batman lunchbox and pull out the lunch my mother has packed me. Only a fool would eat the slop this cafetearia puts out. I have a smooth peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich on white bread, a pear, a chocolate chip cookie and a box of cranapple juice for lunch.
Timothy and Wendy are sitting together. Timothy simply won't shut up about his rewarding of two stickers for his drawing. The pompous fool actually brought the thing to lunch with him. Wendy asks where my drawing is and I shoot her a cold gaze warning her that she's skating on thin ice. Robby is sitting with Lindsay today. How can Lindsay even associate herself with that paste eater. I mean he didn't even do a drawing today, he just sat there and splashed the paint around with his hands. Obviously I've underestimated Lindsay's good taste. Besides Carol has much better hair than her. Plus I've seen Carol looking at me from across the classroom before. Maybe I'll go talk to her later, perhaps make a play date with her at my house, in the quiet seclusion of my room I can see what she looks like under that cheap little thrift store dress and then maybe what she looks like under that pale smooth skin. I can test out my mother's new kitchen knife on her chubby little arms and muffle her screams with my favorite blue pillow.
The rest of the day is truly dull. We try to play Old Mcdonald at music time and everyone else except for me with my wood block is completely out of tune, we read a story about a lonely tiger in the jungle which I find completely degrading to the majestic and deadly animal. I have the utmost respect for tigers in their fashionable striped coats, tearing out the throats of deer and eating the warm flesh while they're still barely alive. We go over the alphabet for the hundreth time and I'm surprised by how many of my classmates don't know it yet. Are they complete morons? At recess I do pull ups on the monkey bars, I can do ten now.
When one thirty finally comes we line up and walk to the doors to meet our parents. I can't help but question my own dull existence. Is this all that is ever to come to me? A life of monotony surrounded by a world that doesn't understand me, my only pleasure in the day dreaming of the murders of my utterly idiotic peers? No. I shall not let this be. I'll find a place to be satisfied one day, even if I need to spill blood to do it. As I make my way down the stairwell I look to the door nearest me and it says in blue letters on the red door “EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY”.
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