Love & War

Prologue: This is supposed to be the part of a story that gets added in when the story makes no sense. However, the story probably won't make any sense anyway - but that's okay! I just want this paragraph to explain one thing: in the world that I had to adapt to, we were conditioned as we rose through the college. Once I had progressed to my final year, I had learnt a lot of harsh truths. In this year, our cohort had to take on the roles of our previous mentors. And we had a... unique way teaching others around us.

I was awoken from my slumber aroundabouts 2 in the morning. I heard running, hushed voices and laughter. Something ran past my room, followed by three others.

Quickly, I made my way to The Islander's room. It was obvious what was going on.

"Quick, get up!" I whispered loudly to The Islander as I tried to rouse him from his deep sleep. "The goddamn natives have gone wild! Some imbecile has introduced them to gold tops and it's anarchy out there!". (Note: "the natives" refers to any other groups of people who engaged in the same activities as myself, but were not within my immediate friend circle, oftentimes younger than me.)

My paranoia and eccentricity was not dulled by the fact that I was coming off the cusp of a large weekend (it being a Sunday night). No, if anything it was heightened. I was in almost a fitful state.


"My god man, can't you understand the solution to this madness? If we are to ever sort this mess we need to be on the same level as these apes! Get the god-damned mushrooms out of the freezer and roll up a reefer, it's time to teach these buffoons a lesson!" I yelled, rousing The Islander and steeling him for the night ahead.

And so an hour later, there we were. In the thick of it. Sneaking like wanted men through the halls, searching for these natives. We soon came to find them outside - on the school ovals, giggling at nothing. Goddamn animals.


"Ho yuss" was the call I made as I approached. Their wide eyes flickered towards me, pupils the size of dinnerplates, taking in the figures of me and The Islander as we strode into view. Soon, we began dishing out some of our own substances that we had stockpiled for such occasions. See, our point of view is that if someone's going to dabble in these sorts of things then they need to know the extremes of what they're involved in.

They had to go to hell and back just to see the view.


So we gave them reefer, to relax them - also adding a sense of paranoia for inexperienced users. More mushrooms, for we were already tripping pretty hard and hey - we wanted these boys to have a "good" time.

As a coup de grâce, we gave them amphetamines. Not much, about half of a really effective dose, but with these inexperienced drug users who were already bent out of their minds on mushrooms and reefer, it was like giving cocaine to a goldfish - it was too stupid to consider. However the deed was done, and it was time to see it all play out.


Well, if there's one thing I've learnt, it's that I don't like mixing stimulants with psychedelics. It makes you edgy, why do you need speed to stay awake if you're heads bursting with psychedelics? Also, at the end of the trip it's almost impossible to sleep - much harder than if you just smoked a few spliffs and went to bed. But perhaps the most dastardly effect of all is that it makes you brutally aware of your trip - it slaps you in the face and makes you think "what the goddamned hell is going on here? This can't be real!", and the mirage of (un)reality is shattered.

We could see it already. The natives were jittery, keen to leave the open expanses of outdoors for somewhere a bit more sheltered. Of course, light would come in time, heralding a new school week.

Sure as hell was turning out to be a Silly Sunday. Lord knows what these loathsome beasts would do to one another within a confined area.

After the natives left, me and The Islander had a cigarette at the bench. Pleasantly tripping, The Islander wondered aloud "what do you think will become of them, the natives?"

"Well you see my island friend, that's up to them now."

Consistent..?

Fuck, really need to stay consistent with my writing. Heaps of shits just been going on work-wise, and haven't had the time! But I'm working on a few stories for all of your amusement, watch this space!

-borles

Snitches Get Stitches

Ahh yes, "Snitches Get Stitches", 'twas a motto that many of the members of my immediate social circle could quite happily live by. 

See, there's two types of risk management. Either a) Preventative or b) Curative.

But, who necessarily says that they can't be the same?

With the things that I got up to in my time at boarding school, neither me nor any of my friends could afford to be caught out due to loose lips or big mouths. By enforcing this rule, we could both prevent and cure the problems at hand. We could cure it through vengeance, and prevent it by setting an example. It may seem harsh, but we'd learnt through trial and error that when someone crosses you in this world, you've got to take them so far down that they'll never even consider wronging you again.

The first was Pinga.

Pinga was fat. And a mess. And he smelt. He had the personal hygiene of a barnyard animal and the social skills of a brussel sprout. Because of this, he was prone to "toot his own horn" in front of his peers.

Pinga had somehow made it into my group of acquaintances because he was a smoker. Yes, we were on first-name terms. No, I did not like him.

See, we were in the "clean up" process of one of our nights of ruckus (as described in The Nights, an earlier post of mine), and Pinga had managed to deduce what we were up to, and wanted in. Naturally, it was easier to give him a few alcoholic beverages than to refuse and run the risk of his resent turning against our group.

That was our first mistake.

Within 24 hours, word was spreading about our activities. This was the first time that we'd had this problem, so we evaluated the entire situation as a whole, and deduced that the most likely leak of information was to come form Pinga, he was the unknown variable in the equation.

After deliberation with the group, it was decided that Yeah Man and The Bird would converse with Pinga, and aim to stop this leak. Within an hour they had come back, after a verbal warning and slight interrogation of Pinga, and told us that we had nothing more to worry about.

That was our second mistake.

He was a fucking good liar, old Pinga. I'll give him that. While we were thinking of how we could be more discreet than we already were, he was desperately trying to raise his social profile with tales of our exploits. Imagine a fat, greasy, mess of a man reading you all the stories that are on this blog, changing details as he sees fit. Oh and before you ask, I'm not fat, and I'm not fucking greasy.

Anyways, to cut a long story short, myself and The Chaser ended up stumbling upon a lead with regards to Pinga. Turns out he had been pilfering our supplies of alcohol and sharing it with other undesirable fellows. We confronted one of the people he had drank it with, and they confirmed this. With concrete evidence, and a solid reason to punch someone, The Chaser was in his happy place.

See, The Chaser never liked Pinga. But what The Chaser did like, was punching people. Coupled with the anger over the stolen alcohol and the huge huge danger that Pinga had put our group in, The Chaser was in an almost blind fury.

Pinga was in trouble.

So soon after school had finished, The Chaser and I started the hunt. We started at The Dairy, the smokers frequenting ground, but to no avail. The same with the ovals, and the more common bong-spots. However, Pinga was nowhere to be found. Deflated by this, me and The Chaser started walking to The Fortress in order to consume some leafy greens to lift our moods a bit. But as we were walking down the path, the unmistakable form (and smell) of Pinga became apparent. How he managed to get down there never ceases to amaze me.

Looking up, you could almost see a glint in The Chaser's eye as he started running to The Fortress, with me close behind. As he ran up, you could watch Pinga's facial expression go from surprise, to concern, to shock, the absolute ball-numbing fear as The Chaser drew his fist back (whilst still running) and threw it full-force into Pinga's cheek. Never have I seen a more distinct look of satisfaction on The Chaser's face, than after that moment.

You also have to remember that The Chaser was by no means a small boy. standing at 6'0 at age 16, and weighing in at 85kg, as well as being notorious for fighting around the school and town, a punch from him would quickly put all but the largest of men on their backs. Immediately after, Pinga was stunned, on his back, bleeding from his mouth and a near-instant black eye forming. But after that, nothing was said. Pinga left The Fortress, and obviously thought about his misdeeds, as he came to me later and apologised for his mistakes. He begged me for forgiveness, to be given another chance to be in our circle.

Did I forgive him?

I sure as hell wasn't going to make a third mistake.

Oh shi-

I just realised I left word verification for comments on too. Probs to those who've made comments, I know how much Captcha sucks. All fixed now though.

Yeah man!

So, dear readers, let me tell you a story. This is a story of a friend, we called him "Yeah Man". We called him this because the most memorable thing about him was how he would stand with his arms crossed, bob his head, and say "Yeah man!" when agreeing to something. It was hilarious.

Yeah Man was one of those guys who are so engorged by self-belief, that they feel invincible. An opportunist, he would always be looking for the next form of excitement, ranging from mushroom trips to his personal favourite, Butane. However, he was malleable. A follower. It mattered no though, as this was always the cause of hilarity too. When trying to convince him of something, you could hear his mind changing. His dialogue would go from "Nah man!" to "Maybe man!" and then to "It's possible man!" to "Yeah man!". all the while bobbing his head.


Now, me and my circle of friends knew that Yeah Man lived by the saying "If you're gonna do it, do it big", but one Sunday afternoon was saw "doing it big" get taken to a whole new level.

As the college was Catholic, on a Sunday we would have to travel in buses, en masse, to the local church in order to celebrate Zombie Jesus or something. Normally we would go to the congregation pleasantly buzzed from some fine leafy greens, and Yeah Man had talked of eating magic mushrooms beforehand. We warned him against the idea, citing the risk involved for himself and those around him. However he was adamant that he do it.

So on that particular Sunday, that crazy motherfucker ate 50 Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms, and went to church.


When I saw him, the first thing I noticed was his face. Drained of all colour, he resembled a store mannequin.
Then his eyes. His pupils, the size of dinner plates. No colour left in his eyes.
Oh, and the bobbing of the head.

My good friend The Bird came to me for advice. As Yeah Man's best friend, he felt obliged to stay by his side, sober, to guide him through the afternoon. But he was worried. He explained to me that Yeah Man was plunged so far deep into a psychoactive pit that he had suffered complete ego loss. He know longer knew of himself, his friend nor family. All he knew was to follow The Bird.

See, nobody knows what happened to Yeah Man at that church service. I didn't wish to associate him in the state that he was in, and neither did anybody else. So he hung around the back, flitting among the edges of the pews, absorbed in his own world. He refuses to say what he learnt from that day, and up until today still doesn't talk about it. But he was changed. He had not only toed the point of no return, he had leaped over it.

Probably while bobbing his head.

So...

Well yeah, I kinda gave up on this blog for a bit. had a lot of things on my mind and so on. But the writing helps, I know that for a fact. People say I ramble when I talk to them in person, I guess I just want to tell my story. Here I can ramble all I want.

The End Days Part 1

So it's been a while since I’ve written on here. Guess it doesn’t matter, I doubt anyone reads this. This is just my escape. I can tell the stories without fear of retribution. I can let out all that I wish to tell without worrying that my name will be attached to it.

 I’m just another storyteller, and this is just another story.

So I’m going to talking about the last few months of my enrollment at that school. Those months were nothing but pure turmoil. With the pressures of senior year, it was easy to become lost.

I had another dream about lions at the door; they weren't half as frightening as they were before. But I’m thinking about eternity, some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me.

Term 4, Senior Year

A new principal, hellbent on the eradication of students such as myself. An influx of newfolk, oblivious to tradition. Tempers soaring, making mistakes more likely. Rash decisions. Allegations, stories, truth? A camping trip, a fistfight. A change of scenery... day student? “A risk”.

Term summary: Disaster.

It all began with The Skull. He came upon a wave of mystery. Set to reign over us with an iron fist. Nothing stood in his way. No tradition left unmolested, no student left unharassed, why? The school had gotten a reputation, and not a good one at that. Needless to say, the previous regime had become lax, and the long fingers of anarchy came curling around the college. But that was all about to change.

Let me put forward two scenarios.

This is scenario A: I was downtown one afternoon with my good friend The Islander. Whilst stopping for our preferred beverage of Cookies & Cream MegaShake from Wendy’s, I received a phone call. On the other end, a voice. “Uh, hey man. Um... I was just wondering uh... if you could uh help me get some... stuff? You know...”. Needless to say he was talking about a certain psychoactive plant. Being the good friend that I am, I agreed to help him, and after a long day of no success, I finally found a source for him. I gave it to him, and we went on our merry ways.

This is scenario B: I was downtown one afternoon with my good friend The Islander. Whilst stopping for our preferred beverage of Cookies & Cream MegaShake from Wendy’s, I received a phone call. On the other end, a voice. “Uh, hey man. Um... I was just wondering uh... if you could uh help me get some... stuff? You know...”. Needless to say he was talking about a certain psychoactive plant. However, I had learnt through harsh experience never to do this. No matter who, as soon a network is formed and you’re caught in the middle of it. Every instinct I had warned me from this, and trusting my gut I replied in the negative. “Nah mate, I can’t do it. You’ll have to find someone else.”. And so I enjoyed my MegaShake, and the day was merry.

Flash forward 24 hours, the same person who had called me have been caught consuming cannabis during the night. At some point the day before, they must have gotten it from an individual. At some point, my name had been mentioned. I was public enemy number one, allegedly supplying minors with illegal substances. Suddenly, all contact with either of those individuals was cut. I didn’t know the story, I didn’t know how to deal with the situation.

Snitches get stitches.

Soon , an investigation begun, and I was the prime suspect. The new principal, striving to make a name for himself, needed a scapegoat. I was easy. “Past incidents with this sort of thing” was a line I heard a lot. But I couldn’t change the past, I had been lazy and gotten caught.

I was faced with a dilemma. A lose-lose situation. A game of Russian roulette with a fully loaded revolver. Option 1: I accepted that I couldn’t win against the system and resigned to my fate as a scapegoat for The Skull, leave boarding and complete senior year. Or Option 2: I could fight for my name to be cleared, but in the process be suspended from the college and not graduate that year. I had to make a choice, and I chose Option 1. I had waited for too long to finish, and I was going to graduate no matter what.

And so I left the dormitory. I said my goodbyes, and did what I needed to do.

I don’t know what I was feeling. It was a soul-crushing hollowness, and I almost had the sensation of falling that whole time. Where was I falling? A black dog had begun to follow me, and I would find in time that it would on grow bigger, and come closer. Bad times were coming.