Okay everyone. While I have been working on “I, Infantilist”, I wrote another story that was published in all 8 issues of my college magazine. It was a huge hit there, and I’m trying to publish it. I just want to post it up here so you can tell me what you think 
So please give me feedback.
It’s rather funny and down to Earth, so hopefully you’ll like it!
Here’s Chapter One:
Chapter One: Meet Michael Wolfe
“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me! After all we’ve been through! You stupid son of a bitch!” she screams. “You’ve been cheating on me, haven’t you? God, Michael! You’re making the biggest mistake of your life!”
“No, Lisa, the biggest mistake I made was not breaking up with you sooner.”
Smack! I feel the left side of my face burning with pain.
Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m just another average asshole who’s breaking up with my girlfriend because I’ve done something terrible and that I deserved a slap across my face. Personally, I think it was a lose-lose situation with Lisa anyway, because she’s the type of girl who hates it when you lie but also hates to hear the truth. No, I didn’t cheat on her or abuse her in any way. In fact, I didn’t hurt her once in our relationship. See, things were good between us at first, but then I came to realize that she was just another obstacle that was getting in my way.
In the way of what, you ask? Why, in the way of life. In the way of my individuality, of my dreams. It wasn’t an easy decision to make; it took about a month of thinking about the right words to say and the right time to do it. Sorry, I’m getting way ahead of myself, so allow me to explain what’s been going on.
First of all, my name is Michael Wolfe, but most just call me Mike. I’m right at the beginning of my sophomore year of college, I have a slight case of S.A.D. (that’s Social Anxiety Disorder in case you’re wondering) and I’m one of those individuals who just follows all of the rules and lets people walk all over me…well I was, anyway. I tend to be down on my luck almost all of the time as if it were some kind of chronic illness, which I’ll get into shortly.
My parents raised me quite well; I went to church every Sunday, did my homework every night, and stayed clear of drugs and alcohol throughout high school. I tended to mind my own business and go about my life without making too many friends since I have a real problem trusting people (which is a whole other story in itself…basically, I had a best friend of six years who decided to humiliate and betray me in middle school, which greatly warped my personality…sorry, I have a tendency of trailing off sometimes). I had a job at a local restaurant called Edwyn’s (which I recently quit, but I’ll get into that later). I had a decent car, an okay job, and a small handful of friends who I pretty much hung out with every weekend. Sounds pretty good, eh? Well don’t let it fool you.
See, while all of these things sound pretty good, there was just one major problem that I had: I was always under constant attack, whether it be people giving me hell when I was minding my own business, Murphy’s Law, or acts of God. Sure, it happens to everybody, but this became a monthly, weekly, sometimes daily routine. And yet, I never really did anything about it. Instead, I’d just think about what I wanted to happen.
For instance, there was this one time when I was working at Edwyn’s and I was on the front register. I’d been taking orders all day long without a problem until this woman—no, not woman—bitch is more like it—this bitch came into the restaurant. Now I don’t usually just look at someone and think to myself, Hmm, that person looks like a bitch, but you could just see it in her eyes. She was holding a very expensive looking purse in her hands, and she had “I’m a rich snob who thinks I’m better than everyone else” written all over her face. I being the bigger person decided to be as nice to her as possible in hopes of avoiding any kind of conflict (I always avoided conflict. Yes, I admit it. I was a passive person).
“Hello, Miss. Is this going to be for here or to go?” I politely asked.
Ignoring my initial question, she says in a snobbish voice, “I want a baked potato with the works, and make sure it’s hot because every time I go here my potato is always cold. Oh, and give me a hamburger and a cola.”
“Miss, I can put that in a combo for you to save you some money if you’d like.”
“Did I say I wanted it in a combo?”
“No, but-”
“Well then don’t put it in one.”
Every word that came out of her mouth was making my blood boil, but I continued to ring in her order. She gave me her money and I began placing her food on a tray.
“Uh, I wanted that to go.” she said rudely.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but I asked you if you wanted it to go but you didn’t answer.”
“Well, I want it to go.”
Stupid lady! Stupid, stupid!
I began placing her order in a paper bag when she grabs the baked potato out of my hand and pulls the cover off to examine it. Immediately she threw her hands up in the air and scoffed.
“I didn’t want cheese on this potato! What the hell is wrong with you?! This isn’t rocket science, it’s fast food! How hard can it be!?”
That’s when the lights dimmed, a spotlight shone on me and the bitch, and a microphone landed into my hands. The scene turned from fast food restaurant to game show in a split second. The bitch looked above her head to see a sign slowly making its way down as the studio audience “oohed” and “ahhed.” As soon as the sign came down, it began to light up, word by word, the audience now reading each one that lit up: “You! Are! A! Whore!” The bitch scoffs once again, but I cut her off by bringing the microphone up to my mouth and saying, “Congratulations! You’re the winner of tonight’s episode of You Are a Whore! Your ultimate skills of stupidity and arrogance have just won you a first class ticket out of Edwyn’s and back to your home where you can loathe about the fact that you’re a whore! The exit’s that way, but don’t hit your ass on the way out!” What? You don’t believe me? It happened! I mean it…it did…………just not in real life.
See, my imagination is a little more active than your average adult’s, so I always think about how I want something to happen, but I never do anything to make it happen…or, I never did. That was before I liberated myself from my intense fear of fighting back. How did I “liberate” myself you ask? It’s simple really, because you can only push someone’s buttons for so long until you hit the wrong one, which is exactly what happened to me. The wrong button was pressed on the wrong day of the wrong week, and boy did it shed a new light on every aspect of living
TO BE CONTINUED
So? Have I captivated you? Or are you bored already?
