Phil Lanuto
New Member
This is the first chapter of my horror novel Monarch. I'm posting the rest here at Booksie if you are interested in reading more. Thank you.
Phil
Monarch
by Phil Lanuto
Anger. He walked down the high school hallway and felt the anger inside of his veins, inside of his cells, inside of his entire body. His breathe was short and crisp, controlled, like the balls of his fist, coiled and ready to strike, to lash out. It was an anger that seemed to consume him at times and make the words and fists fly. It was directed at a world that produced other kids that could smile and laugh, look so happy, and not bear the burden that he felt every day. He saw a few of them by their lockers getting their books out and they moved away as he walked by. His thick boots hit the tiled floor and thudded, announcing his coming and sending the other students scurrying away. Like roaches being shown the light, he thought. Just like roaches. He enjoyed the fear he inspired, he enjoyed it immensely.
Anger. He could almost smell its stench as it wafted from the pores of his body. He was angry at a world that seemed to care only for itself, oblivious to others and uncaring about their well being.
A student accidentally backed into him. Preston grabbed his arm and shoved him back into the locker. The boy was about to say something but held his tongue.
He turned a corner and stopped in front of his locker. He jerked it open and retrieved a book. The girl next to him moved away a step and he thought about looking at her, just boring into her face and watching her recoil, like he had shot her with Superman laser eyes. It might have been amusing but he decided not to waste the time and slammed the locker closed.
Godamn them all! He wished he could put his fists through all of their soft little faces. He envied their happiness, their indolence, their naivete. He wanted to yank teeth and make them all feel his pain. Make them look and realize what they tried so hard to ignore. And because they refused to look, because they couldn't possibly see he would drag them into his own hell.
He turned around and started walking down the corridor towards his class. He counted the lights slowly passing above him and was interrupted as someone bumped into him again.
The anger exploded. Twice in one morning was completely intolerable.
It was Martin, the little kid who limped because his father had sawed off his foot. The anger didn't care if the boy had three eyes and a head sticking out of his chest. Freaks were not spared his wrathe.
"Watch where you limp, fucking limpy." He shoved the boy back and prepared to walk on.
1.2
Martin had always wanted to be an astronaut. It was a dream lodged so deeply in his head that sometimes he had trouble concentrating in class. The teacher would be talking and her words would become a monotonous drone as he imaged the roar of the Tian IV rockets, felt the thrust push him back against his chair, and hear the excited voices from mission control guiding and congratulating him onwards.
"Martin, Martin, are you listening to me?" Most teachers would say when they saw the look spread over his face. The class would laugh and Martin would feel humiliated. Later, someone from class would look down at his foot and say like a true adolscent.
"Moonboy was grounded again." In truth he was grounded forever. He walked down the corridor and wished he could glide like the other kids. Their strides were smooth even while his were jagged and awkward. His father had accidentally run over his left leg with a lawnmower when he was a child, leaving him partially crippled and denying him any chance of ever feeling the thrust of the rockets. He remembered visting Cape Canaveral and asking the tour guide about the astronauts.
"Oh they're in the best condition son. Finest boys in the country. You have to be in top physical and mental condition to put on one of those spacesuits."
It was unfortunately a dream he didn't think he would ever realize. Ms. Leer, his English teacher saw him and walked over. He like her. She was perhaps the only teacher that understood and didn't intentionally try to embarass him for his daydreaming.
"Martin, I really enjoyed your paper, very well done." Her words made him feel giddy. He caught himself staring at her breasts and he cursed himself. Lately, he had found himself just staring at Ms. Leer and he knew it was wrong and disrepectful, especially to someone who was so nice to him.
"Thanks," he responded weekly and she smiled and walked into her classroom. He retrieved his books and as he turned to follow he bumped into someone.
"Watch where you limp, fuching limpy." Normally Martin would have taken the insult, turned his head in shame, and let Preston walk over him. He had done it many times. Today he didn't. Something snapped and suddenly he was tired of being picked on and made the brunt of the school's jokes; tired of letting Preston and the others steam-roll his self-respect flat into the ground.
"**** off Preston, just leave me alone." It happened very quickly. As Martin began to walk away, Preston grabbed his neck and shoved him against a back row of lockers. He hit them hard, sending icy fingers of pain up his back. It hurt tremendously but the humiliation was even more painful.
"Fucking Limpy...You're grounded Moonboy...One step, shorter than the other..." Tears of rage and shame began to well up in his eyes.
The storm broke an instant later as he jumped at Preston. Preston reeled back in surprise and Martin chased after him with an uncoordinated flurry of blurred fists. The few punches that actually hit Preston only seemed to exacerbate his anger. He grabbed Martin by his new shirt.
"Stupid, stupid Limpy. You're going to eat dirt now. Real, black, God stinking dirt." Preston slammed Martin onto the floor. He landed, splayed out like a starfish, and tipped over a trashcan. Martin felt like his brain was being decoupled and shoved into the front pocket of his pants. A thin trickle of blood began to ooze out of his nose. Out of the tears he could see the crowd gathering around to watch the circus spectacle. A circle of torturers, cousins of the inquisition.
"Kick the shit out of the nerd, Preston."
"Make him pick up the trash with his mouth." Preston calmly went over to the trash and picked up a piece of carbon paper. He pointed it at Martin as if to say, "You and this carbon paper are getting a shotgun-forcible-marriage. Prepare to kiss the bride." Instead he said:
"You stupid fucking nerd. Don't ever mess with me again, understand?" Martin tried to get up but the crowd threw him back into the arena. Preston grabbed him and dragged him down. He could smell the bully. The stench of hate and loathing stung his nostrils and brought more tears to his eyes. He struggled and tried to wriggle away but the grip was too strong. Preston positioned the sheet of carbon paper and grinded it into Martin's face so hard, Martin thought his nose was broken. When he was done, Martin numbly unglued the carbon paper from his face and looked up at the leering crowd.
"What going on out here?" Ms. Leer said as she burst through the circle. "Oh my God." Martin saw the pity in her eyes and new energy flooded into his body. It was fueled by a humiliation so deep that Martin was numb as he broke through the circle and ran down the hallway. He didn't hear Ms. Leer calling after him to stop before he burst through the big school doors. A slight sob burped up and a tear trickled down his blackened face.
Martin didn't think he would ever thaw out.
To read chapter 2, please click here.
Phil
Monarch
by Phil Lanuto
Anger. He walked down the high school hallway and felt the anger inside of his veins, inside of his cells, inside of his entire body. His breathe was short and crisp, controlled, like the balls of his fist, coiled and ready to strike, to lash out. It was an anger that seemed to consume him at times and make the words and fists fly. It was directed at a world that produced other kids that could smile and laugh, look so happy, and not bear the burden that he felt every day. He saw a few of them by their lockers getting their books out and they moved away as he walked by. His thick boots hit the tiled floor and thudded, announcing his coming and sending the other students scurrying away. Like roaches being shown the light, he thought. Just like roaches. He enjoyed the fear he inspired, he enjoyed it immensely.
Anger. He could almost smell its stench as it wafted from the pores of his body. He was angry at a world that seemed to care only for itself, oblivious to others and uncaring about their well being.
A student accidentally backed into him. Preston grabbed his arm and shoved him back into the locker. The boy was about to say something but held his tongue.
He turned a corner and stopped in front of his locker. He jerked it open and retrieved a book. The girl next to him moved away a step and he thought about looking at her, just boring into her face and watching her recoil, like he had shot her with Superman laser eyes. It might have been amusing but he decided not to waste the time and slammed the locker closed.
Godamn them all! He wished he could put his fists through all of their soft little faces. He envied their happiness, their indolence, their naivete. He wanted to yank teeth and make them all feel his pain. Make them look and realize what they tried so hard to ignore. And because they refused to look, because they couldn't possibly see he would drag them into his own hell.
He turned around and started walking down the corridor towards his class. He counted the lights slowly passing above him and was interrupted as someone bumped into him again.
The anger exploded. Twice in one morning was completely intolerable.
It was Martin, the little kid who limped because his father had sawed off his foot. The anger didn't care if the boy had three eyes and a head sticking out of his chest. Freaks were not spared his wrathe.
"Watch where you limp, fucking limpy." He shoved the boy back and prepared to walk on.
1.2
Martin had always wanted to be an astronaut. It was a dream lodged so deeply in his head that sometimes he had trouble concentrating in class. The teacher would be talking and her words would become a monotonous drone as he imaged the roar of the Tian IV rockets, felt the thrust push him back against his chair, and hear the excited voices from mission control guiding and congratulating him onwards.
"Martin, Martin, are you listening to me?" Most teachers would say when they saw the look spread over his face. The class would laugh and Martin would feel humiliated. Later, someone from class would look down at his foot and say like a true adolscent.
"Moonboy was grounded again." In truth he was grounded forever. He walked down the corridor and wished he could glide like the other kids. Their strides were smooth even while his were jagged and awkward. His father had accidentally run over his left leg with a lawnmower when he was a child, leaving him partially crippled and denying him any chance of ever feeling the thrust of the rockets. He remembered visting Cape Canaveral and asking the tour guide about the astronauts.
"Oh they're in the best condition son. Finest boys in the country. You have to be in top physical and mental condition to put on one of those spacesuits."
It was unfortunately a dream he didn't think he would ever realize. Ms. Leer, his English teacher saw him and walked over. He like her. She was perhaps the only teacher that understood and didn't intentionally try to embarass him for his daydreaming.
"Martin, I really enjoyed your paper, very well done." Her words made him feel giddy. He caught himself staring at her breasts and he cursed himself. Lately, he had found himself just staring at Ms. Leer and he knew it was wrong and disrepectful, especially to someone who was so nice to him.
"Thanks," he responded weekly and she smiled and walked into her classroom. He retrieved his books and as he turned to follow he bumped into someone.
"Watch where you limp, fuching limpy." Normally Martin would have taken the insult, turned his head in shame, and let Preston walk over him. He had done it many times. Today he didn't. Something snapped and suddenly he was tired of being picked on and made the brunt of the school's jokes; tired of letting Preston and the others steam-roll his self-respect flat into the ground.
"**** off Preston, just leave me alone." It happened very quickly. As Martin began to walk away, Preston grabbed his neck and shoved him against a back row of lockers. He hit them hard, sending icy fingers of pain up his back. It hurt tremendously but the humiliation was even more painful.
"Fucking Limpy...You're grounded Moonboy...One step, shorter than the other..." Tears of rage and shame began to well up in his eyes.
The storm broke an instant later as he jumped at Preston. Preston reeled back in surprise and Martin chased after him with an uncoordinated flurry of blurred fists. The few punches that actually hit Preston only seemed to exacerbate his anger. He grabbed Martin by his new shirt.
"Stupid, stupid Limpy. You're going to eat dirt now. Real, black, God stinking dirt." Preston slammed Martin onto the floor. He landed, splayed out like a starfish, and tipped over a trashcan. Martin felt like his brain was being decoupled and shoved into the front pocket of his pants. A thin trickle of blood began to ooze out of his nose. Out of the tears he could see the crowd gathering around to watch the circus spectacle. A circle of torturers, cousins of the inquisition.
"Kick the shit out of the nerd, Preston."
"Make him pick up the trash with his mouth." Preston calmly went over to the trash and picked up a piece of carbon paper. He pointed it at Martin as if to say, "You and this carbon paper are getting a shotgun-forcible-marriage. Prepare to kiss the bride." Instead he said:
"You stupid fucking nerd. Don't ever mess with me again, understand?" Martin tried to get up but the crowd threw him back into the arena. Preston grabbed him and dragged him down. He could smell the bully. The stench of hate and loathing stung his nostrils and brought more tears to his eyes. He struggled and tried to wriggle away but the grip was too strong. Preston positioned the sheet of carbon paper and grinded it into Martin's face so hard, Martin thought his nose was broken. When he was done, Martin numbly unglued the carbon paper from his face and looked up at the leering crowd.
"What going on out here?" Ms. Leer said as she burst through the circle. "Oh my God." Martin saw the pity in her eyes and new energy flooded into his body. It was fueled by a humiliation so deep that Martin was numb as he broke through the circle and ran down the hallway. He didn't hear Ms. Leer calling after him to stop before he burst through the big school doors. A slight sob burped up and a tear trickled down his blackened face.
Martin didn't think he would ever thaw out.
To read chapter 2, please click here.
