The Life Before/The Accident
I wasn’t looking for attention. Okay, maybe I was, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself. Geez. You wouldn’t know that with the oh-so-subtle way my bubble-gum shrink of a dad laid it out for me, or the way my mom won’t even let me shit without two eyes examining the where, when, and why’s. It’s funny, being the center of unwanted attention is what got me started down the road to freakdom, and now somewhere in neon only invisible to me, there’s a sign on my fat ass that says “Lookie here! When even suicide isn’t enough…the freak girl cometh!”
I didn’t try to kill myself; I was just going to teach some jerks a lesson. A live feed, a noose around my neck, a musty shotgun, some fake blood, and an exploding watermelon. No, I didn’t think things through, alright? But you just don’t get it. Real life sucks hard enough, and when you can’t even go on Facebook, Twitter, or HighSchoolClub without the shit hitting the fan…damn.
If the Mean Grrls and the Jock Cocks wanted to make me their 24/7 bitch, I’d give them the “bitch-done-had-enough” extreme. And after they’d wet their panties to their mommies and daddies and the poor ol’ policemen, I’d have the last laugh.
I mean, it was obviously a joke, officer. What kind of suicidal retard would hang and shoot herself?
Unfortunately, the chair wasn’t sturdy, and I didn’t know crap enough about shotguns to know it was loaded. But fortunately, the rope wasn’t that strong (or I’m too fat…whatever…). So now I’m in the hospital bed with a broken leg and pellet wounds in my shoulder.
Fuck it. I got time. I always said I’d start a webcomic, and I have a feeling I’m going to need a hobby to help live this down.
Shakespeare once said the best fiction comes from life. Didn’t he say that? No. Somebody…aw, who cares? The point is the comedy of errors that’s my life is too good to not use.
I’ll name the hero’s alter ego something fun and memorable. January. Nice. And instead of just maiming herself in a litany of errors, she actually, almost, gets it right. A bullet to the head and she’s brain-dead, free of the online torment and parents who can’t find a clue in a James Paterson novel. Let’s also make it a bit titillating, since I want male readers. An attempted rape at a party by one of the popular guys, all because of online rumors that she was a closet freak. Perfect.
And of course the prognosis doesn’t look good. It never looks good in cases like this, the doctors tell her parents. All hope is lost, until a mysterious man in black proposes an experimental treatment…
As I’m drawing the finishing touches on January’s figure (I can never find out the right balance between realistic and heroic proportions…I mean, big tits can be a hindrance in a hero’s line of work but small ones have to ruin your confidence as a woman) I get a visitor. Jared. Jock Cock #3 in the pecking order. I’m guessing he’s been voted designated hitter for Team Asshole Redemption .
“Uh, hey.” He stands a few feet from the bed, hands behind his back, making sure to not look down, instead focused on my forehead or the ugly beige wallpaper behind, not that there’s really a difference.
I kinda grunt back, but I don’t fully acknowledge him. She’ll have grey eyes, maybe a few freckles. I also decide she’ll have 24B’s. Her pretty face and asstacular poses’ll be enough to keep the guys reading every week.
Jared’s still talking, and I’m still grunting.
I need a cool hero name for her. Payback. Vengeance. Retaliation. No, those are too cliché. Too extreme.
“All of that crap online, we never meant any of it. Just some stupid games…”
Animus. Hmm, that’s different, but still extreme. The age of angry heroes is over. Nobody’ll buy it except the hardcore geeks baptized in the 90s. No, I don’t need them on my ass.
“…promise, all of the undercover freak crap, that’s done…”
Freak. Freakgirl. PERFECT! Fiction from life, right? Now that I’m satisfied, I decide my Rain Man act should end and I finally respond to the encompassing odor of B.S. and guilt. I give a passing glance at his Mom standing just outside the door and click my teeth.
“Hey, Jer…” I don’t know why I’m calling him Jer. “I didn’t scrape it too hard, did I?”
“You know, your dick? The one you said I sucked so much I was pissing cum? Since you’re here anyway, you should get it checked out.”
He can’t get out any quicker, and his mother’s face is flavor enough to make the hospital food taste like fine cuisine. I lean back and inhale satisfaction.
I finally know Freakgirl’s power.
A Hero is Born
I spend the next few days in the hospital and the next couple of weeks at home. I’m guessing there’s a waiting period for suicidal freaks to return to school, but I’m not complaining.
Freakgirl’s coming along nicely. I hate forced relevance for superheros, but I’m sure Freakgirl’s got it right. When she finally wakes up, she’s different. Less emotional and fragile. Able to see the world, especially the digital one, for what it really is. She becomes a hacker and defends those who can’t defend themselves online. In her first story, she travels from Wisconsin to Ohio just to beat up a message board tough guy. Online justice when its needed, it’s a perfect idea, and I’ll be writing stories for years.
Of course, to make it realistic, I’ve had to do the research. On my very first try, I’m able to hack Mean Grrl #6’s java-based chat. I pop my knuckles and go to work. I use the Sex Offender’s Database to give her the address of a midnight date.
Image by BabyAde