ada-ist-writing

[ada-ist-writing]

Mr. Jack by System Of A Down, as a short story

Mr. Jack awakes early in the morning. He had a hangover the previous night, and some of the drugs he took left him groggy and unfocused. After staying laying down on his back for perhaps an hour, he rises and staggers to the bathroom. He examines himself in the mirror.

His acne-scarred crater-face he kept in high school makes him appear rough around the edges. His eyes are bloodshot. He picks up a bottle of mouthwash he sees and uses it in an effort to hide the remnants of alcohol on his breath.

He checks his watch. Six oh nine. Early as hell, he thinks.

Mr. Jack was not in fact at his house, a fact which he remembers walking back out to the living room. He sees the mess a party created. I'm way too old for parties, he thinks. His girlfriends left him and as of recent, he hasn't been able to find one, just one-night stands. As he walks to his car, he considers his girlfriends. He only ever truly loved one, if he's being quite honest with himself. He notes they all tried to love him, but he couldn't mature for them.

He gets in his car and turns the key. He can't quite focus; but if he doesn't get caught, then it won't be considered a crime.

The drive home isn't far, but he decides to stop by a pharmacy to find something to help him feel better. Something like Narcan.

The drive goes on smoothly for thirty eight minutes- but a black and white vehicle with blue and red lights pulls up behind Mr. Jack. He doesn't register, but when he does, he pulls over immediately. He crashes his car into the railing by misfortune, and, in a scared manner, gets out immediately and starts running. He's not wearing too much, so the cold winter air bothers him.

"Echo zero-two-one-eight, we have a thirty year old black male running. Caused an accident. Possible intoxication. Showing signs of aggression."

The police grab their rifles from the back seat. They sprint after Mr. Jack; while looking behind him, he trips on a rock and hits his head hard on the ground. He scrambles back, but they catch up.

"Normally, we'd ask you to put your hands up and get out of the car." "Fuck you, pig." "You took way too goddamn long to pull over, what's the deal with that? You trying to get a record? We have your license plate. You gotta face authority." "Nobody cares if I live or die anymore."

The arrogant protectors train their guns on Mr. Jack. "Is that why your suicidal ass is intoxicated on the fucking freeway? You wanna get cemented?"

He doesn't respond. They check his breath. "What's your name?"

"My name is David Jack." "Mr. Jack, is that the mouthwash in your eyes?" "Yes." "You realize this will be the cause of your demise. Is that the trick of your disguise?" "Sir, I'm intoxicated." "We fucking knew that, n****r." Mr. Jack spits. The other officer shakes his head. "You ran like three red lights, idiot."

Mr. Jack struggles. "You're nothing like me," says the officer pinning him down and detaining him. The officers turn off their bodycams.

[ada-ist-writing]

Big-brother love

When I started self-harming last year, my brother saw the marks on my arm. Each one symbolized a mistake I felt ashamed of (there were 19). He asked me what they were; I told him they were cat scratches for lack of a better lie. He told me he would punch me if I lied to him again. I didn't know what to do, so I told him the same lie, praying it would work. He punched my chest and pulled me close to a hug.

"I know how sadness feels, Ada." "..." "What did you do it with?" "Scissors." "I used those too. I'm telling mother." "No-" "No, I'm going to tell her."

I still have those marks on my left arm. I saw them recently while washing my hands. My brother is a good man. He's going into the air force, then coming back to serve as a firefighter. He drives me to school most days and has served an important figure in my life time and time again.

Appreciate your siblings. Though they may call you "faggot", their actions speak louder than words, and the fact that they check up on you when you're not well proves that they love you.