Weird Man and Sarcasm Boy

This is an idea I had over the weekend and I'd like to try working on it. This is a story I'm going to slowly write in my blog posts. I want to continue putting the majority of my efforts towards my novel. This is mainly to give myself some extra practice, but I hope to one day turn this into a novella, if possible. These are going to be rough first drafts of these, so I apologize if their quality isn't great. I will go back and revise them one day.

Hope you at least get some enjoyment out of it. I'm titling it "Weird Man and Sarcasm Boy". It's about a man and a boy who become an unlikely super hero duo, only they don't fight crime or solve problems, they just interact with people in weird and messed up ways in order to escape their crippling depression. I'll be writing two pages at a time on my normal update schedule. We'll see how this goes.

                 “Listen you little freak,” Trace Chedmount said as he slammed Frederick Jezamen into the locker. “If I ever see you in this hallway again, I’m going to kick your ass so hard your butt’s going to be an indent.”

                “I’m not going to listen to an oafish loblolly like you,” Frederick said, his face pressed up against the locker. Trace gripped his long shaggy hair to keep him pinned down. Frederick’s scrawny arms and legs weren’t enough to escape Trace’s hold on him. His favorite shirt, one with a band’s name labeled across the front that only he knew about, now had a tear in it from when Trace grabbed him.

                “See, that’s your problem Freddy. You’re too smart for your own good. Nobody even knows what the hell a loblolly is, so you just end up looking like a dumbass.”

                The two large boys behind Trace and Frederick laughed like a pair of big dumb ogres when they heard the word “dumbass”.

                The hall they were in was devoid of activity. Hand drawn pictures of lions decorated the spaces above the lockers. The low hum of the water fountain was the only noise that drifted through the hallway.

                “Now I’m going to tell you one last time, worm breath. If I ever see you in this hallway again, you’re going to go home missing some teeth.”

                “I had to go to the bathroom! How was I supposed to know the ichthyostega came out of the ocean during classes?”

                “Again with the stupid insults. Next time, use the other bathroom.”

                “The one on the other side of the school? But that would take me five minutes to walk to! What if I can’t hold it for that long?”

                “Then you fill your pants with piss and shit. Or you go outside. Or in your locker. I don’t care. It’s not my problem.”

                The two large boys behind Trace hyaw hyawed once more, showing the broken disfigured mess they called their teeth.

                “I think I’ll just give it to you guys with your lunches, that way it can improve the smell of your breath.”

                “Says the little twerp being held hostage against a locker,” Trace rolled his eyes and said. He then pulled his fist back and pounded it into Frederick’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Frederick fell to the floor and curled up into the fetal position as he gasped for air. Trace and his goons high fived one another and walked back to their class.

                Frederick pulled himself off the floor and slumped against the lockers, his breath still labored. He struck the locker behind him in frustration. He then made his way to the bathroom and relieved himself.

                “Stupid Trace and his idiot friends,” he said to himself as he washed his hands. “Someone needs to teach them a lesson. Maybe I’ll visit Trace in his sleep and super glue fish to his face.”

                One of the stall doors swung open, startling Frederick. A man in his mid thirties whistled as he strolled out of the stall, twirling an old gold pocket watch. He was wearing button up sweater with pockets on the front, the kind normally worn by old men who watch the fall days pass by on their front porch. Several days worth of stubble had accumulated on his face. His eyes had left their bags under them, tired from the journey of this man’s life. An old tattered notebook was docked under his arm.

                “Eh young man, bullies got you down?”

                “Oh, uh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here, I’ll just be going now,” Frederick said as he darted towards the exit.

                “No need to beat such a hasty retreat young lad, I’m simply here to provide you with some sound assistance.”

                “Huh? Wait, you’re a teacher, right?”

                “I was a teacher,” the man said and gazed off into the distance. “Once.”

                “Oh. So, now are you just like some guy who hangs out in the boy’s bathroom?”

                “No, I retired from full time status and now I just substitute. My next class isn’t for another hour.”

                “But you’re still just hanging out in the boy’s bathroom.”

                “I am not!”

                “Do you always take invisible poops that don’t have any smell associated with them,” Frederick said after he pushed open the stall door and looked inside.

                “Jesus Christ, never mind that,” the man said. “I was writing in my journal and I needed to be alone. Do you want help with bullies or not?”
                “You not going to ask to touch my genitals in exchange for your help, are you?”

                “Oh my God, no! Of course not! What is wrong with you?! You know what? Never mind! I don’t want to help you anymore.”

                The man stormed out of the bathroom. The door slammed and echoed off the tile floor and walls, almost crushing Frederick like a sonic cave in. Frederick could hear the man’s footsteps as he clomped down the hallway.