We Struck Again

I went out into the dark, somber streets again last night, Venegance in tow... no, it's the other way around. Kind of scary when you think about it. I'm just an exoskeleton for the thing. It seems to feel sympathy to me, but how do I know? It might be excellent at faking emotions, considering It's not even human...

Anyways, It led me down to the parking lot of a closed supermarket. The curfew's fairly lenient, even after what happened, and wasn't set in motion until midnight, so getting there wasn't the problem. Outside there were three of the bullies

(gaybashing insolent wormfucks)

and We went to them slowly and grabbed one of the three from behind and tossed him across the parking lot. He hit his car and slid down as the horn started blaring. His face was bloodied from the impact and there was a dent in the fender. Now I picked up the other two and- even though I did try and fail to fight against It- We walked off with one in either hand, kicking and asking to be let go.

(pathetic shitstormers we taught them a lesson)

I was forced to keep my eyes open for the next part. I wasn't allowed to look away or close my eyes or make an apology, but I don't think they'd believe me if I apologized to them as I broke their arms and then hamstrung them with my father's kitchen knife. They writhed on the floor, and I had to look down. I couldn't get the screams out of my head. They wailed and wailed

(and it was orgasmic)

and I could do nothing but scream and scream in my own mind as I watched my arms tear open one of their stomachs. He screamed higher, peaking at a high soprano, roughly being choked off as he was strangled by his own intestines. I don't know how It let the poor man stay alive long enough to gut him like a fish, but it did, and I have to replay the feelings of suffering and agony on the man's face. He released his bowels and bladder and he spat out blood in his final death rattle.

Then We took the other one's head in both hands and pulled, hearing the scream reach even higher levels than the first as his vocal chords stretched long after his spine and neck went, finally snapping as well as the two thin, pouring strands that were his corrotid and jugular.

We left covered in blood, through the streets. I wanted to run in front of a car and kill myself then, or get myself turned in and executed, or get caught. But It wouldn't let Us. It continued as it had, expertly ducking into alleys and other nooks and crannies when people passed. We sneaked back with my parents none the wiser. We took a shower, and It replayed the scene in my mind over and over again in my dreams as It slumbered off.

I couldn't sleep.

I hadn't. For days.

Cops found the body. Those two poor kids, and the kid I threw against a car was in a coma and on life support.

I didn't mean to do this. Goddammit, what is it going to do next?

you'll see my little lamb now come to the flocks and I will reward you

Blood Everywhere

As soon as I finished typing that last sentence, blood started trickling down my nose and mouth. I quickly made the post, I guess my fingers stamped too hard on the keyboard beforehand, and I just pressed the Publish button before blood started coming out of my nose in larger amounts. I tasted the viscous, coppery taste of blood and I choked it up in a frenzy of deep scarlet and phlegm. My eyes started hazing read and my hearing clogged with a loud trickling noise and I writhed on the ground. There are still stains on the floor. My nose is still bleeding just a little. I have to clean everything up before my parents find out about all the blood. They'll have a heart attac

...what?
No- no- I got your message.
I did ask for your help, didn't I?
Just this one more time.
No. No I won't like it and I won't come hand and knee begging for more.
How is the ecstacy!?
I'm not going to be drugged and carried along-
...not drugged... endorphins.
You are in my head aren't you.

now you're listening, poor little lamb
now come
let me put an end to your bullies

My Condolences

My condolences to the family of Joey Thane.

My condolences to his sister, his father and mother, and mostly to him.

For everything I've done.

I threw him into a garden of rose bushes face-first. It's not exactly a field of nettles like in Rapunzel, but Thane accidentally scratched his corneas open on them. He came to school with a strap of bloodies gauze around his face this morning. He didn't say a word. Not to anyone. Nobody suspected. I think he was too afraid of me. And he couldn't see.

I tried talking to someone he knew about how long it would be before his eyes recovered. One of the less bigoted said about two weeks to a year, if at all. It cut pretty deep into his eyes, and they may have been scratched beyond repair. He also suffered lacerations of the face and arms and a concussion.

God, I feel horrible. I don't want to do it again
no
not you
not again
we didn't make this kind of promise
get the fuck out of my head
you aren't in my head!

...you are.
I see...
I still refuse to submit.
Leave me alone and get the fuck away from mafsdjk

It Took Control

It took control and the instinct hit me like a shot. Pleasure rolled up my entire body and I couldn't move my own muscles. It was pure ecstacy. Then I saw myself rising up from the bed, my feet moving against the will of my mind. But I didn't care. I was addicted to whatever the Bloody Venegance was selling.

I walked out into the sidewalk, never missing a beat, never faltering. My head was held high and my eyes were open and I felt like I could finally make the difference.

I found Joey Thane at his house. He was the one who threw the rock into my eye. He was the one who started jeering at me the earliest. He was the one I tried giving my heart and soul to, and he crushed it with one heel and beat me with his fists. He was all about sex. He was a prime example of the sick, disgusting members of this new generation. The swagulas, I used to call them. He gossipped and he talked big and he acted like he was the king in this small Southern town.

It was time he got venegance.

I knocked on the door... It knocked on the door, and Joey Thane answered.

He started to say something obscene, but It made me grab Joey by the collar and lift him into the air. I still wasn't feeling anything. I didn't say anything. We just stood there for a second or two, my eyes staring triumphantly up at his. Then I punched him.

Again and again I kept punching him. Now that the Venegance seems to be dormant, I feel so guilty about it. I stooped to his bullying level. No... It made me do it... but it was something I always wanted to do so I shouldn't make foolish excuses. I kept beating and he started whimpering for me to stop. I almost did... but It was too strong. I threw him into a nearby garden bush face-first. He started screaming and I didn't know why. I stood there for a minute. He was stuck there, screaming his head off, lying on the bush. Then he rolled over and clutched his face.

I don't know what happened. Maybe he cracked.

But I need some sleep.

I felt so high then.

But bringing back up what I did to Thane...

I regret it.

I Met a New Friend

I don't know Its true name. It won't give me Its true name. Understandable. I also can't pinpoint a gender to it. I don't care much about what gender It is, or whether or not It has one at all. If anything, I'm glad It prefers to be called It. It keeps the bias of sex out of it. It keeps the idea of gender roles, alignments and biases. It's more caring than my mother. It's more thoughtful than my father. It needs no gender because It is too benevolent to consider itself either.

It explained to me that It felt my pain. It heard my blood cry out to It and so It came to help me. It calls Itself the Bloody Venegance. It says I can finally get back the dignity and the pride in myself I lost almost half a year ago. I no longer have to suffer from the pain. Or the dejection. Or the discrimination of my peers.

But It tells me that my access to its strength requires self-sacrifice. It asks me if I can handle giving a piece of myself away. ...I said yes. I don't know how long it took me, but I said yes. And you know what?

I feel free. I finally feel free. I have It by my side. I feel whole again.

Improvements to the Body

I don't know what happened with that strange blood, but I told you how rejuvinated I feel. Not only that, but my parents saw the notable improvement. The bullet wound still stings like hell, but all the other minor injuries have pretty much completely healed. It's a medical miracle, I heard one of the two doctors say.

I can't help but agree. I just realised something that was bugging me when the doctors decided to send me through a full physical exam. I can see out of my right eye again. It's not just a blur anymore. I haven't seen this clearly in five months.

Other things I have noticed-

I have more acute hearing. I was told to lift as heavy a weight as I could and I could lift 30 lbs even though only a week ago I could scarcely lift 18 lbs at best. I can run fast, though I do it with a limp because of the bullet wound. However, the doctors tried performing a blood test on me. Every time, it hit muscle instead, and every time a sharp pain flew up my arm and into my brain and it was like a bulldozer crushing my brain every single ti

who's that?
Who's there?
What do you want?
What is your name?
Bloody Venegance. I like that name. Where are you? I can't see you.

I Feel Better

I was out cold for three days. I did not dream, and I could barely think. I was just a singular being floating in the edge of darkness. And then, the darkness gave way to a blinding white. The white was so pure that it seared my eyes. No- white was not the way to describe it. It wasn't just a pure shade of white. It was clear. Somehow, I could tell that beyond that square of clearness that nothing existed and nothing inhabited and never would.

I tried struggling away from it, fearing the end. I didn't want to die. I'm too human to not care about death. It terrifies me, and the blankness in that square scared me more than anything. Then deep rouge lines appeared in the darkness, surrounding the square like varicose veins. They covered the square, filled it, and then filled the rest of the inky darkness.

Then I woke up.

The doctors say I was out for three days. The blood of the donor was peculiar and my body weakened into a comatose state to accept the new blood. My blood type is O-, the universal donor. However, the donor's was a strange state. They couldn't quite tell what it was, but they said that it was close enough to O-. At least, that's what they said.

I feel good to be alive. It feels good to get out there now. I feel rejuvinated. I feel alive. I'm supposed to go to muscular therapy. Apparently muscle in my shoulder was blown clean off. But... it's like the incident never happened. It's so strange.

But no reason to be suspicious of a blessing, is there?

In any case, I have to go home. I have a month of schoolwork left, and I'll turn it all in, whether they grade it or not.

It Hurts

Stop no
it hurts please stop
please help me
help me
God help me.

They beat us all.
They pulled out bats and pipes.
They found out about our project.
They beat us.
They beat us to the ground.
And kept beating.

Then they started laughing and taunting us.
Then one of the kids pulled out a gun.
He shot me right above the collar.
They told off the gun-toting kid
Called him a "fuckin' idiot"
And then they left.
They left us.

We were shipped to the hospital.
It hurts to write.
They're going to prescribe
Medication soon.

I keep my head held high
To stand up for rights
But it hurts too much
I want my mommy
Help me it hurts.

They say they're going to do
a transfusion.
Do it.
Help.

The First GSA Meeting

I found people out there. People willing to help out for a cause. People who were going through the same thing or just sympathized with the cause. They all agreed privately to hold the first meeting at the study hall after school at around 5 PM.

Well, most of us met there at the allotted time. Those who didn't we were worried about. What if they were set up to learn about us and then attack us for being different? We didn't put anything behind those bigots anymore. Thankfully, most of them showed up, if a little bit late. They said they were busy finishing up their homework in the cafeteria.

We talked about a few things. We talked about things such as the horrible things done to each and every one of us. I feel both glad and mortified at the things they talked about. On the one hand, they're beating us all, and they're hurting us in ways that are mentally and emotionally scarring, they're hurting us and knowing they can get by with it. On the other hand, I know that I'm not alone. There are others. Just like Schwerner said. There are others who sympathize, who listen, and who can help each other out.

We talked about how we can raise awareness. Some murmurs about rallies and protests and sit-down strikes were talked about, but we all knew the consequences. Like Hell were we that stupid. Then I recommended we each tell our story on Facebook or Twitter, but leave our name or identity anonymous. Create sockpuppet accounts and advocate for gay rights and raise awareness about the town's atrocities.

We adjourned after singing some songs. Songs of pride and holding our heads up high. About strength in the odds of danger. Pride is what we need. Pride is what'll keep us keeping on.

It's been a long time. We can keep strong just a little while longer.

Dr. Schwerner

I went to Dr. Joseph Schwerner today. He's the distant relative of the Civil Rights activist, Mickey Schwerner. Schwerner was working dilligently to help put an end to the racial segregation taking place in the deep south, specifically Neshoba County, Mississippi. In Neshoba, he, another Civil Rights activist named Andrew Goodman, and an African American COFO member named James Cheney were rounded up and murdered by seven KKK members. I know this because he has a plaque dedicated to the loss of his third cousin on a plaque in the waiting room.

It kind of showed me that ... it helped me think that he was willing to sacrifice to help people like me. It really gave me a good outlook on life.

So I walked into his office. He was sitting back there. He looked the spitting image of his third cousin, Mickey. He had the brown-grey goatee surrounding his mouth. He had the curly, dark hair, and the bony, kindly face. He had the eyes that made me feel safe and comfortable.

I was not "coming onto" him, by the way. I hope it doesn't need to be said. Others might have, but it takes me to become close friends with a guy before I start liking him. It's smarter that way. It hurts less that way. Unless he turns out to be one of the bashers in the town. Then it hurts.

I told him everything. I'm not going to tell you exactly what happened. All the horrible things said, done. It hurt enough to tell them to him, but I'm not posting it on the net for everyone to see. Besides, they might figure out who's writing these. I remember what he told me. Word for word.

"Listen. I don't know if I can ever understand how much pain you could be going through, and it's not something medication can fix, give me a healthier paycheck be-damned. I'm going to suggest this for you. Tell your parents. Have you done that?"

I told him I did.

"Good, good. The next thing you should do is write down in something. A journal or just a piece of paper you write to yourself then dispose of, anything."

I told him I was writing in a blog.

"Good, that's good... well... the world can see everything you write, though. Have you given away your name and address?"

No.

"Good. Next, I would say band together. Singularly, it seems like a problem. An unsolvable problem. But I know a lot of people in the general area who have come to me with their problems, and I can say there are more people in that town who are considered 'sexually estranged' aside from yourself by the populace. I won't give out names, but you should form together. LBGT, GSA, or just knowing smiles, anything to help you out.

"Just... I've seen a lot of people come through here. Some I've seen in the newspaper- their names in the obituaries. I want you to make a promise with me. No matter how bad it seems, no matter how dangerous or hurtful it is, just band through. It can be overcome. Don't let it end you, and don't you dare end yourself, okay?"

I agreed. He ended the session with a knowing smile and a shake of the hand. I left... I felt so much better. I almost forgot about what the town would do in such a case. They'd kill us, probably. No- but they'd break our legs. Maybe tear out our vocal chords so we can't talk. ...I have no idea. They're sick people, some of them. Some of them are very conservative- some still hate the idea of desegregation, and refer to those who are of darker complexion as the N-word.

But... but it won't hurt to try.

Well...

It will... but it won't hurt my pride.

Coming Out to My Parents

I decided, after making that post, that... well, I decided to tell my parents. They were ... they were shocked. My dad stormed out. He said something about how I'm worse than a blasphemous anti-God piece of shit. My mom was more kind about it in the beginning though. She put her hand on my shoulder and she told me the dangers of homosexual intercourse. I told her I felt that I enjoy guys romantically like that, but I don't think I'm ready to enjoy guys in a sexual way. She said that no matter what, I was still her child, and that if I do keep this mindset I should at least be safe about it.

Then my dad came back. He apologized to me, but he then told me he set up an appointment with a therapist outside the county. Someone who worked with people of the LBGT type and helped them overcome the hurt. He also set up an appointment with a priest. For my Baptism. I'm still a Christian, the haters of the congregation be damned. I believe in the love and forgiveness aspect of Christianity. The actual teachings of the Abrahamic prophet. Respect, togetherness, and equality. Not hatrid, bigotry, and the lack of empathy for those who are different, even only a little.

So- tomorrow, I'm going to go to Prof. Schwerner. He's going to help me out. I might try to rat out the people who beat me. Or I might just need a shoulder to cry on. It doesn't matter.

I finally feel like ... all the hatrid. The discrimination. It can end. It can change. Or I can find a way out of it if it doesn't.

Just need to take this one step at a time.

Questions and Contemplations

I've been doing some thinking for the last week or so. My problems have escalated too much. I've been beaten and harassed in this offensive town for the last time. But I don't know how to get out. So I thought  for a while. Looked for ways out. There aren't many, and they're all nigh impossible.

I thought of coming out to my parents, asking for help on their part. No... that wouldn't work. I don't know if they're just as bigoted, as hateful. What if they kick me out? What if they make me leave home and never return? I can get somewhat far, find work, maybe even rent an apartment, but then again they may keep me in the house. Beat me. Torture me. Burn me and tie me down while they "pray the gay away". I know cases where something like that's happened. But it's not likely, is it?

Another idea I thought of is finding... I don't know, a way to spread my pain out on the internet. And it has worked to an extent. But it hasn't staunched the blood, or stitched the gashes, or helped me feel any less hopeless about it. It just clarifies why my life is horrible.

I can't go to family. I can't go to friends. Do I have friends? No. Not anymore. I could see a psychologist but that would require telling my parents. Or lying to them. I can barely walk down the street without getting mugged and they've started using lethal weapons.

...there is one way. I don't want to do it, but the problem's never going to go away. I've tried looking on the bright side, getting help, asking for opinions and comments and just support, but it never came.

I made my decision. Tomorrow I'm going to the center park with a knife. I'm going to cut my wrist open and throw myself into the pond. They might think I go missing if they don't find me before I sink.

It's just... it's the only way out. It hurts... it scares the ever-loving fuck out of me to say it, but it is the only way out.

Examples of Their Hatred

They've done horrible things to me for my gall to be different. I live somewhere in Missouri. The bad part of Missouri. The one that fought the hardest against the Union in the Civil War. The ones that beat and abused the poor black people in the towns we pushed them into. The town where men could beat their wives without repercussion, where someone who was diagnosed with a mental illness or a missing limb could get shot. I live in the most bigoted area of the United States this side of the Mississippi River.

And after most of their scapegoats were now placed under the civil protection of the law, they naturally went to another group. And I happen to be homosexual, and they ate it up.

It started at school when I came out to someone who I thought I could trust. He was a close friend, or so I thought, and listened to what I said. He punched me in the face, then got on his bike and rode off in a direction. I tried running after, but he called me an abomination and rode off.

Then he spread word throughout the school. I could tell by the whispers, the furtive looks they gave me. Then they started speaking louder, and louder.

Then the teachers started glaring at me like I was a bat out of Hell. They gave me F's on tests that I should have passed with flying colors. Once my Biology teacher made the mistake of telling the answers to us a week after a test, and I noted that most of the questions I got right were counted wrong. He ignored me.

Then the kids started attacking me physically. Honestly, it was better than the stares and the remarks. At least it would heal. Except for the stone that hit me in the right eye. That stone blinded me in that permanently. Gave me a stigmatism and made everything a lot blurrier than before.

In any case... I don't know what to do. But talking about it is step one to recovery, right? ...right.

I Guess I Should Explain Some

Okay, so the last three posts I've been writing in some kind of freeform poem format, and I guess I should at least clarify my situation. I won't give out my name or address for safety's sake, but I'll try to- explain myself.

I am a sophomore in high school, and I have a slightly below-average work ethic. It's not entirely my fault, but I have a low B average most of the year. I enjoy acting in theatrical productions- school, community, paying. I've- well, I've tried getting a job, but they won't let me. I'm talking about my town. Many people in my town are homophobic, or racist, or otherwise, and their bigotry is hidden behind closed doors and loopholes, behind the shielding of those who hide their hatrid and those who are against it, but too afraid to stand up.

I guess it goes without saying. And I aren't afraid to admit it. I'm gay. I guess I'm not afraid to say it because, well, I'm not giving away my name or address. They can't find me. They can't hurt me unless they know who I am.

What am I saying? They hurt me anyways. They beat me and they yell at me and I feel like I'm stuck in a rut because I chose to think differently.

...what do I do? I can't go to my parents, can I? No, they'll probably hate me, too. They'd yell at me and beat me and I already get enough of that everywhere. I can't see a therapist... no, he or she would hate me too.

I feel like I'm trapped in a rut. And I can't escape. There's no way out except that way out. And like hell am I trying that. Not... not yet anyways.

I'll try to find a way out. I have to.

I need to.

They Beat Us Again

It's never just me.
Sometimes I wish it was only me.
But it's never only me.
They hate everyone who's different.

I have a friend who is a Freshman
Named Ra'smed A'Hara
They beat him over and over and over again
Just because he prayed in a mosque
And had the gall to not have been born in the United States.

They aren't skinheads or Neo-Nazis.
But they are just as bad.
They're cruel and they're vicious.
They threaten and beat and sometimes they even hospitalize
And somehow the school system lets them get by with it.
The city lets them get by with it.

It hurts.
I don't feel like I have an ally anywhere.

I'm Different And They Hate That

They hate me because I'm not like them.
They despise me because I chose not to conform.

Because I chose to be what I wanted to be.
Because they're afraid to be caught in the open.
Because they're afraid of change.

My name is Michaels.
I am 17 years old, a Junior, I have a 3.5 GPA
I love bicycling, acting, and choir
and I like men.

That's what sets them off.
Because I'm not conforming to their ideas
That men should love women or vice versa.
Because they don't like me, and that's why they didn't stop the beating.

I'd give anything for help.
Anything.

I Can't Stop

There are many things I can't stop.

I can't stop the pain.
I can't stop the bleeding.
I can't stop the memories.

I can still remember their kicking
I still remember the jeering
I remember the malice on their faces.

I remember thinking to myself, "What have I ever done to deserve this?"
Then I remember I did do something to deserve the beatings.
I was born.
And that was all they needed.

It took me hours to stumble home.
They tied my arms around my back.
They're horrible people-
But I deserve it, don't I?
If I didn't deserve it, then why did they keep beating?