All About G

Jared was just like any other twenty-something college student. He liked to play football and lacrosse – he was on both varsity teams, not that he was bragging – went to class for the most part, and partied on the weekends.

Currently, he was enjoying the three-pound “Beefed up Burrito” at the local Mexican restaurant. This was his usual choice, but something tasted off about the delicious rolled up and stuffed tortilla. Maybe the meat was an extra day old or something. Who cared? It wasn’t really taking away from the awesome flavor, so he finished it anyway. He left a $5 tip on the table before he headed out the door.

Things didn’t feel much better by the time he got back to his house. Maybe there was something in the burrito after all? In any event, there was only one thing to do when he wasn’t feeling right: play Call of Duty.

*****

Three hours later, and he was feeling terrible. Or rather, his stomach felt like it was going through a meat tenderizer. The Xbox had long been abandoned, and he couldn’t do much more than lay sprawled out on the couch, groaning as his stomach clenched and curdled.

“What’s your problem?” His roommate, Chris, had paused on his way to the kitchen.

“Fuck…” Jarred managed to force through clenched teeth, “I think I ate a bad burrito.”

“Tough luck, bro.”

That was about the point where his intestines started to make some really weird noises. And then, Jared was scrambling to his feet, tearing down the hall and into the bathroom.

He made himself comfortable on the toilet, patiently waiting for whatever it was to come out. And it felt like a Big One: his butt felt on the verge of exploding. But, for some reason, nothing was coming out. What, was he having constipated diarrhea or something?

Taking a deep breath, he clenched, hard. He clenched every muscle he could think of that would aid in this seemingly unnatural process. It sure as hell felt unnatural.

And then, something strange happened. It came out; a long, loud fart. He was expecting that. There was a loud crash, a shout of surprise and suddenly there was a draft in the bathroom, and water was spraying everywhere.

“What the fuck man?!”

That was his other roommate, Mike. The fact that he could hear said roommate’s voice meant that something very bad had happened. Slowly, he turned around, and he couldn’t believe the sight that met his eyes. Suddenly the fact that his pants were at his knees didn’t matter in the least.

There was a huge, gaping hole in the wall. The toilet? Long gone; it was sitting in the middle of Mike’s bedroom.

“What just happened?” He asked, completely unsure of what to take from the situation.

“That’s what I want to know! What the hell did you do?!”

“Dude, I don’t know! All I did was let one rip!”

“Whoa…” Chris appeared from the kitchen, only able to stare in awe, “Dude, Jared, you farted our toilet through the wall?”

Jared could only glance helplessly between his roommates. “Man, I don’t know! How is that even possible? I mean, yeah the burrito was bad, but this is insane.”

“That’s for sure,” Mike muttered sourly, glaring daggers at Jared, “You’re taking the couch. I’m taking your bed.”

“Are you serious? I didn’t do that on purpose!”

*****

“This is bullshit,” Jared grumbled before taking a swig of beer. The bar was noisy, but that was the least of his problems. Ignoring the fact that he lost his own bed, how was he supposed to replace the toilet, the indoor plumbing, and a good portion of the wall? Sure, he had a part-time job, but really, that barely paid for his rent; forget any extra stuff, like food (or burritos).

Basically, life sucked.

“Hey, Jared…”

He glanced over, finding Michelle, a close friend of his who had many of the same classes as he did. Her company would probably cheer him up a little.

“What’s up, Shells?” he grinned, though his smile faded when he noticed a worried glint in his friend’s eyes.

“Can you give me a hand?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the pool tables, where a group of burly guys were hanging out, “That blonde guy won’t leave me alone.”

It was easy to pick out who she was talking about. Raising an eyebrow, he stood up, and strolled over casually. Michelle stayed by the bar, watching him like a hawk.

“Yo,” he greeted nonchalantly, catching the man’s attention.

“What’s up?” Blonde Guy asked, looking slightly more than tipsy.

Jared indicated Michelle over his shoulder, “She was saying that you were creeping her out. I was just gonna ask if you could leave her alone?”

Blonde Guy sneered, facing him fully and standing tall. “Oh really?” he shoved Jared, “You gonna make me, pussy?”

“I didn’t come over here to start shit, dude,” he reasoned, remembering that, if he got into trouble with the law, he’d he barred from playing on his sports teams. “She’s a friend of mine, and I’m just looking out for her.”

Blonde guy shoved him harder. “Butt the fuck out dude. I don’t see you two hanging all over each other, which means she’s single. She doesn’t want to be harassed? Tell her to get a boyfriend, or stop dressing like a skank!”

“Hey, don’t call her a skank.”

“Make me!” With that, Blonde guy punched him across the face, the force of it knocking him into the pool table. He straightened himself back up slowly, wiping the fresh blood from his lips. This really sucked. He knew self-defense wasn’t gonna stop a 3-game suspension for fighting. Really, what the hell was he supposed to do?

It was sudden, and random, but his stomach began curdling. He probably shouldn’t have had so much beer…

As the Blonde Guy approached him, Jared let out a burp. And it was huge: it shattered the windows, the glass bottles, and the lights. Everyone in the bar was screaming and ducking for cover. And Blonde Guy, well, he had his hands clamped over his ears, writhing on the floor and screaming in agony. He had been close enough to the noise for his eardrums to explode.

Jared could only stare on in horror. “Holy shit…”

*****

“Dude, you didn’t even hit him and you owned him! What the hell are you on?” Chris was excited about the ordeal.

“You explode a wall with your ass, and you destroy a bar by burping,” Michael wasn’t as amused, considering he was still roomless.

Jared shook his head, still in complete disbelief. “That burrito was really bad…”

“If this keeps up, I’m not gonna let you live here.”

“Hey, you kicked that guy’s ass by burping, right?” Chris spoke up, “You could be like a superhero guy, and take out robbers by burping in their face. Flatulence Man! What’d you think?”

“If they paid me,” Jared retorted, rolling his eyes at the insanity of it all, “Maybe I’d be able to pay for all the damages.”

Still…

To be continued?

———————-

Yea, this was a contest entry on a writing website I’m a member of. I figured I’d post some of my stuff here. I’m assuming it didn’t get voted through (I don’t actually know yet) because it’s so outrageously ridiculous, but all in all, I like how it came out.

The prompt was to write about an ordinary person suddenly having extraordinary powers, in 1200 words. I wrote 1,191 words :3

Enjoy!

Comments (2) Mar 04 2011

It’s afternoon in November, but you’re sure that the chill is usually more forgiving this time of the year. Not that it matters; it reflects your current mood perfectly. At this point, you don’t even bother trying to keep your hood up anymore, knowing the wind will blow it back down in some sick form of mockery as it laughs at your misfortunes.

You jam your key into the lock to the door of your apartment, and struggle with jiggling the key just right while cursing the whole time. Finally, you open the door—the wind aids in this action and proceeds to slam it into the wall, though you don’t care. Storming into the house, you turn and slam the door behind you, reflecting just what you thought about absolutely everything, and screw them for not understanding anyway! You kick off your shoes, barely registering the thump as they smash into the wall. The only regret you had was not being able to kick them at his head.

At this point you realize that none of your roommates are home. It was probably better that way. Nobody would be around to ask you questions. You stomp into the living room and fling yourself onto the couch, grabbing the remote so you could drown your thoughts in the TV. Humming, jumbled words block out everything else and turn your thoughts into one loud buzz. Except for the ones you don’t want to hear, of course.

He used you… he never cared about you…

You snarl, switch off the TV and jump to your feet before stalking into the kitchen. You throw open the cabinets, rummaging through boxes and cans before you grab a hold of a can of diced pineapples. You slam them on the counter top, and after having problems with the can opener, manage to open it. Unceremoniously, you grab a dish from the sink, dirty most likely, and dump the contents of the can into the bowl. The fruit makes a slushy noise before settling into place. You grab a fork from the same place and plop down at the table, shoveling a forkful of the fruit into your mouth. Immediately, you grimace. The pineapples taste sour and foreign in your mouth. You force yourself to swallow it and throw away the rest. It figures that even the fruit is against you. Sour and deceiving your expectations in the end, just like he was.

You throw open the freezer, the frigid air blasting you in the face. You scoff, and almost laugh outright. That’s what it felt like when you saw him just an hour earlier. It felt as it Reality shoved its fist down your throat. You come across a box of ice cream. Cookie Dough. It’s his favorite flavor, a trait that the two of you share.

Without hesitation you quickly throw it across the room. Oh well; you’ve always liked chocolate better anyway. There’s a crashing sound as it lands in the sink. Most likely, you broke several dishes.

“Like I could give a shit less!” you shriek to no one in particular.

You finally storm into your room and nearly rip the curtains off closing them. The room darkens nicely, giving you a sense of security, as if you’re shielded from the outside world. You throw yourself on your bed and shove your face into your pillow, wanting to suffocate. Instead, you inhale his scent, which lingers from when he spent the night the other day. It makes you want to throw up.

“Fuck you!” you scream as you throw the offending pillow at the wall. It slides to the floor looking pathetic as it sits in its poofy lump, seemingly staring at you pitifully. You don’t need its sympathy. You don’t need anyone’s sympathy.

“Shut the fuck up!” you continue before throwing yourself back down.

You burrow underneath your covers, feeling cold even after that heated outburst. Why did he go and do that to you? What did you ever do to him, anyway? He knew you loved him, but he took that and shoved it right back in your face. You hate him. Or, that’s what you wish you could say, but at this point in time, it would only be a big lie.

Almost instinctively, you glance toward the window. It’s open, so you can smell the air as it wafts into your room. It’s crisp and clean; most likely, it’s going to rain. You pull yourself out of bed and trudge over to your window, where you slowly, almost cautiously, pull open the curtain.

Unfortunately, you have a perfect view of the street, where the two of your drew a big heart with your initials in chalk for all to see. It makes you sick to your stomach, and you’re all ready to draw the curtains shut again, but then you hesitate.

And then it starts to rain.

Not immediately, but subtly. Drops of water, one by one, fall and hit the ground, growing in numbers. Soon, it’s a downpour. And the only thing you can do is stare at the chalk drawing as it begins to fade. White-colored water flows down the street to the nearby drain where it falls into the sewer, never to be seen or heard from again. Washing away painful memories, almost.

A small smile graces your features, and you turn and leave your room. Without even stopping to put your shoes on, you throw the door open. All is silent, except for the rainfall. You step out, walking on to the sidewalk, and then into the street. The water is freezing, but you don’t really care and you spread your arms and tilt your head towards the sky, closing your eyes. The feeling is exhilaration.

All is silent on your street, except for the rainfall and your laughter as you spin and dance in the rain.

————————

I was bored. It sucks, I know, but the idea didn’t leave me alone, so I figured I’d share it with the rest of you. I’m going to say that it was ridiculously awkward writing in present tense, 2nd person POV… but oh well.

Comments (2) Sep 13 2008