I will deck the halls with my vengeance.

Remember that humiliating experience? You bet you do. Like you could forget shit like that. Most people have had that one experience, that one defining moment in their childhood or High School years where your soul desperately tried to rip itself from your body to avoid feeling the anxious awkward trauma it was being subjected to. All but 30 seconds and there's something that will stick with you for your entire life, that people will laugh at you for. Something that forces you to shirk whenever you hear it, where aggravated murder will take place if it's so much as brought up. If I described your particular experience and your reaction then congratulations; you're a pussy. You've never truly lived until you've wanted to die on the spot.

I had these moments a lot. In fact I still do. By my own personal measuring stick, I've lived more than most people probably reading this. In fact I live my life through humiliating and embarrassing moments; the anomaly is when something isn't going completely to Hell. There was a young ignorant boy who should've been in bed reading Archie comics while listening to NSync because he was a boy and said that he was quiet and a bit awkward. He is not a young man, he is a boy, and a boy only by technicality because he hasn't earned his twin badges of seminal honor from the scouting crew yet. Real men learn to revel in that awkward situation and take that emotional trauma and deadweight, then throw it back in everybody's faces and laughs at them instead.

I was at a terrible school in the 5th grade while I lived with my family and relatives because we were broke and had to move in together. But life was eventually on the upturn; I got out of that house and left that terrible school. We finally got a nice two-story apartment in a closer town with one of the nicest schools in the county. After so much moving around, we were staying put.

"Son, we'll be in this place for a while. It's going to be great."
"I know, pa."

And I thought it would be. And I was in the middle of a semester so I transfered to that school. On my first day of class at this new school, I had to pee so I went into the bathroom. The door was chained to the wall and it was empty; it was greeting me just perfectly. When I was in there, I noticed that there weren't any urinals. This perplexed me a lot. I looked around for a bit and then I began to hear kids outside talking, laughing. This perplexed me even more. As I looked onward I saw shadows of people walking in. I guess I didn't have the place to myself anymore, I thought.

But then I had that moment. That moment where you realize something was wrong. A group of girls walking in, giggling, pointing, laughing at the new kid who just managed to miss the door sign and wander into the girl's bathroom on his first day of class. When I walked out, a ring of kids to greet me, also pointing, also laughing at the new kid who just managed to miss the door sign and wander into the girl's bathroom on his first day of class. I certainly was hoping that something a bit more distracting like a screaming teacher on fire or a school shooting would occur to pull the the attention off me. That didn't happen, at least not until a young anemic pyromaniac named Charles Finnegan would set a teacher ablaze before he went to High School and ironically died in a gasoline fire later that semester. That was what defined me. I wanted to run away from it. But I couldn't.

"Son, we'll be in this place for a while. It's going to be great."

Yeah I bet it fucking will.

Of course this joke was thrown in my face a lot and it stuck with me through High School. Of course this wasn't something that I enjoyed being brought up. I think most people have a running joke about them that they just get exasperated by when it's constantly brought up, and I was no different. When you bring up an embarrassing incident to a shy boy, he'll cringe. When you bring it up to a shy boy loosened up by alcohol and vicodin, he'll laugh. He'll laugh after he's used your head to sign his name onto the curb in your own blood and grey matter. I was shy and quiet and reserved growing up, but boy howdy did I go to some lengths to enact certain vengeance on certain others. A lot of times it got violent. That was no way to go about it. Curb-checking Dilly Koffman and setting Charles Finnegan on fire wasn't necessarily the right thing to do. Sure it was the most convenient, but this was a turning point when I learned that mindless violence couldn't completely solve problems. Especially when it involves personal humiliation. Tampering with the mind was a far greater idea, and that eventually dawned on me. I don't believe one could truly enact revenge through violence; submitting the individual to the same emotional trauma you were induced to is what's the most important here. It just so happens that atrocious physical violence could often do both.

Sharon Maloney. That's a name to remember. Pretty, well-developed and a straight A student. Also one of the people who walked in on me and essentially led the charge against the humiliation that ensued after that incident. Most of you noticed these girls at your High School. The seemingly perfect girl and perfect student... as long as you're in her clique. Otherwise she's the snob and the bitch that at some point in her life let's all those student ambitions eventually collapse and crush her so she either goes for the drugs or decides to start smoking something more rigid and riddled with testosterone. I was the final piece of weight that caused that support beam of hers to crumble.

This was after I became single again. That needs to be brought up for relevance and for what's about to take place here. For one particular day, a friend of mine managed to sneak a few tools to school. We excused ourselves from our respective classes, and met up in front of the bathrooms. Meanwhile for a temporary alliance, my ex-girlfriend was in one of Sharon's classes. She slipped a laxative into her bottled water. Granted we were no longer on good terms, Ami couldn't help but get in on sabotaging a bitch we both hated through the freshman year up. Sharon immediately went to the bathroom. After some mingling around, we quickly hid and left as we noticed her approaching. She immediately ran into the bathroom. As she shuffled in standing up straighter than a man with a broomstick up his ass did, she noticed something suspicious. There were urinals in the bathroom. The signs were switched. Before she could turn around, the sound of a door slamming and the lock clicking echoed in there. I walked around the corner just to see the conflicted look of anger and horror on her face.

"Well hello there, Sharon."

She was fidgeting a lot walking around. I knocked on the door to my friend.

"You're going to wait out there for an hour to stand guard, and I don't want you to interfere. No matter what you hear, you will not do a thing. No matter how much begging you hear, you will not unlock the door and you will not stop me. For an hour you hear nothing. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes." He hesitantly replied. I nodded and approached her. My friend couldn't help but listen in on what was occurring.

"This is going to be great for me, you know that, right?" I told her.
"W-w-what's going on!?"
"Calm down, you don't want to make a scene, do you?"
"I don't have time for this!"

The sound of the doors pounding and slamming could be heard through the reinforced door.

"N-n-no no no no... this can't be happening." her voice was becoming panicked.
"Just calm down and take them off slowly, you wouldn't want anything bad to happen, right?"
"N-no, I-I refuse to l-listen to you... what are you planning to do?"
"You know you have no choice. What is it? Are you seizing up around me? That's no good, it's going to make it difficult for me to have my fun with you."

My friend's eyebrow began to twitch. He was hearing something that began to sound unsettling.

"...You, YOU'RE A DISPICABLE HUMAN BEING YOU KNOW THAT!?"
"Scream louder. See what happens, Sharon. I don't think you want to yell at me."
"THIS IS INHUMA-- what? What are you doing? What are you going to do?"
"Shut up. You're only going to make it worse."
"......W-w-W-what do you want from me?"
"I think it's more of a manner of what I want to do to you."
"PLEASE STOP THIS, IT HURTS SO MUCH ALREADY!"
"I won't. I'm going to watch you twist and fight it with a smile on my face."
"I CAN'T TAKE IT, PLEASE STOP IT ALREADY!"
"If something tears, you're going to have to pardon me."
"PLEASE NO!"
"Heh, you're going to take it and you're going to enjoy it. Let's run some water to drown out the noise."

My friend was almost ready to open the door, but he fought the urge. After a while he heard something over the water.

"PLEASE GIVE ME MORE, I BEG OF YOU!"
"Call me your master."
"MASTER, PLEASE GIVE ME SOME MORE!"
"You're lucky I'm being generous, I'll give you what you want."
"OH GOD YES, IT'S INCREDIBLE!"

My friend was now wondering what the hell was going on as he heard her moaning loud enough to be heard over the running sinks. Eventually he heard a knock on the door.

"I'm done with her, open up now."
"W-w-W-what? You're leaving?!"
"Yep."
"No NO NO, YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO THIS, MASTER!"
"Sorry, I've had my fun. You're on your own."
"I NEED IT, THOUGH! I NEED YOU TO GIVE ME MORE!"
"You're annoying." I turned my attention towards the door. "Alright, let's go." He unlocked the door while he had of look of morbid curiosity aimed at me. Sobbing could be heard from the bathroom.
"MASTER, DON'T LEAVE ME PLEASE!" her voice cracking from all the screaming. I walked out with a smug look of satisfaction.

"Good god, did you do what I think you did?" my friend asked, completely horrified.
"She's a really depressing individual. I think I broke her." A tone of pity was on my voice.
"Dude, if she called the cops on you, you could get expelled and arrested."
"For what?" I asked.
"WHAT YOU DID TO HER! SHE'S A COMPLETE WHORE, NOW!"
"Wait what?"
"DUDE, COME THE FUCK ON!"
"I ripped out and flushed all the toilet paper in the stalls and was handing her what was left as her laxatives kicked in."
"...Wait what." he was completely clueless.
"What the hell did you think I did to her?" I asked.

I never got an answer. But I think somewhere in there my whole moral of the story works its way in somehow.

The Phazer Project.

So I'm considering actually starting a separate blog for a story I plan on writing and infrequently updating. What is the name of the story? I have no fucking clue, but for now I'm simply calling it the Phazer Project. This will be a post-apocalyptic horror story that's taking place on a ravaged Earth. An undisclosed cataclysm has destroyed a good portion of civilization and an almost-constant electromagnetic storm across the planet has rendered most technology unusable. The perpetual storms and climate change has rendered most of Earth uninhabitable while killing off most of the vegetation.

While most of humanity dies off and starves to death, several unlucky members suffer a fate worse than death. People exposed to the electromagnetic storms for prolonged periods don't die; the electronic signals manage to separate themselves from their bodies and they end up becoming Phazers. They're nothing more than neurological impulses and impressions of people, almost like wraiths or ghosts. They possess abilities to manipulate the environment magnetically and to infiltrate and manipulate any forms of technology, which is a reason most electronics and metals are dangerous or avoided entirely. Those in that form slowly destabilize over time and eventually go insane and becoming mindless sentient masses of energy.

A large crumbling city in southern Brazil known as Genoma is the last refuge for humanity and the only place on Earth entirely unaffected by the electromagnetic storms. It's in a completely isolated system, making it impossible for the Phazers to infiltrate. Yet it's about to disappear as well; the generators are running out of power and they're both ejecting people out and barring most people from entering due to overcrowding.

Large amounts of technology are poured into creating Reapers. Reapers are both the saviors and mortal enemies of humanity; they're self-sufficient creatures who are shrouded in mystery. Some suspect they're Phazers installed into isolated systems or they're exceptionally powerful human specimens put into suits. Bulletproof, armored, self-regenerating and virtually immortal, they're meant to use their scythes and battery packs to kill Phazers and convert them into electricity to send back to Genoma.

The story itself involves one particular Reaper in general, codenamed NA 47-121. He stumbles across a Phazer who's a young girl named Anabel. She's actually been dead for over 7 years, an extremely long time for a Phazers to remain stable and rational. NA 47-121 decides to take the Phazer back to Genoma alive to study the key to her remarkable stability. Of course this draws the attention of other Reapers who want to make claims and return her themselves for the credit, and the few Phazers that hear of the girl traveling with a Reaper unharmed earns retaliation from them as well. All while psychotic human Outsiders hunt and seek to dismantle Reapers to learn the secrets of their inner-workings, the two are hunted from all sides as they traverse across the landscape back to Genoma.

I think it's an interesting premise, so hopefully I can run with it somewhere.