Jonny Rocks
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Jonny Rocks
Sometimes you just have to face the facts that you aren't as smart as you think you are. I realized I wasn't the smartest guy around on my 17th birthday.
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So, everyone's sitting around the table, singing happy birthday, generally being the jolly people that my friends and family tend to be. Then, without warning, I couldn't see anything. I started screaming. I flung my arms out in front of me in an attempt to grab onto something, anything. I grasped some sort of metallic box, and clutched tightly. After balancing myself (and flinging the metallic box onto the floor), I stopped screaming for a moment and immediately heard the screams and shrieks of the guests at my party. Had I caused such a ruckus? Or was there something more sinister at work here? I guessed the latter and began shouting instructions.
First, I had to determine if the sudden blindness was widespread or localized to me. “Can anyone else not... see?” I yelled. The pandemonium continued. I tried a different approach, “Can anyone tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?” I shouted. Screams, followed by cries of “My mouth is on FIRE!”, followed by more screaming, answered my question (unfortunately no one said two).
I thought quickly to just before the incident had occurred. I remembered looking around at all the people singing. They all looked so happy and carefree. How I longed to go back to those days, when I could see and everyone around me was safe from the unknown. But mostly to when I could see.
As I played back the pleasant memory in my mind I caught a break. The second before I went blind, I saw someone who wasn't happy. In fact, he was downright scowling. I tried to remember his name, or even how he was related to me. I seemed to think he was my sister's husband. I quickly dismissed this thought, as I had no sister, and jumped up from my chair. It wasn't definite, but it was a lead. I felt my way over to where he had been standing, ignoring the constant screams of pain and agony. I could feel things around me, but without touching them. I somehow knew not to go to the left of the table. I guess my body was compensating for the lack of one sense by adding another. I just wished it had been some kind of ability to see what was going on around me, like some kind of awesome... mind-sight.
I felt the end of the table, the exact spot where I saw the scowling man. Something in my mind told me to punch. It could have been my new sixth-sense, it could have been intuition, either way, my punch connected. I heard a loud “OOF!” as something soft and fleshy wrapped around my hand. I screamed and yanked my hand back, stumbling backward in the process.
“You bastard!” I screamed. My hand burned, badly. It literally felt like it was on fire. I felt my feet leave the ground and heard glass shatter around me right before I lost consciousness.
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“Jonny,” I heard faintly, yet clear. My mind groggily shifted into first gear. The dreaded What happened? Where am I? Questions flew out of my mouth like blood spewing out of some kind of sick blood... fondue fountain. My mind races to the last moment I can remember. The scowling man, my burning hand, the shattering glass. Everything came flooding back.
“Jonny,” the faint voice started again, “open your eyes.”
“I can't doctor, I'm blind.” I said with as much sass as possible. I waited a few seconds to let the news sink in, more for myself than the good doctor. I was finally coming to terms with my inability to see. I could never see an orange and brown sunrise. I would never look into the water and see someone standing behind me, like in all those horror movies. I would never be able to play Monopoly again. Sure, people could relay the information to me, but it's just not the same! I need to be able to see all ten of my houses on Boardwalk!
“Jonny,” the doctor said again, “Just... just open your eyes.”
“Doctor,” I said, half chuckling to myself, “I think if I could see I would've tried opening my fucking-” As I looked angrily at the doctor's pure white coat and surprisingly brown stethoscope, I realized my mistake. I had, apparently, just forgotten I had eyelids. “My bad.” I said as I put on the cutest face I knew. I called it “Dead Kittens,” not because dead kittens are cute, but because the dead ones make the live ones look even cuter.
At that exact moment a woman threw open the door to my hospital room and rushed to the side of my scantily clad bed. “Jonny!” She exclaimed. She knew my name, and I knew hers, because she was my sister. Shit. Fuck. Bags.
The door flung open once again, this time followed by two men walking in, one in a long coat and one very short man in suspenders. The one in the coat pointed his finger at me and exclaimed “YOU!” He paused to catch his breath and continued. “TWO people are dead. About a dozen are severely burned and will probably never look the same again. The rest of the party, about thirty people, are severely emotionally damaged from seeing their loved ones burned alive, and will most likely not recover either. And those were just the human damages! An entire house, YOUR house, is in ashes, and it is completely, and undeniably, YOUR fault. That 'mouth-wash' you handed out, as party favors, was just gasoline, that extra coat of primer you used to paint your house was, again, gasoline, and that can filled with 'water' to douse the birthday candles with, was filled WITH GASOLINE. WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING OBSESSION WITH GASOLINE!?”
“About that... you see, when my uncle died, he left a two-billion dollar inheritance to us in the only non-taxable form of currency he could think of. Gasoline. Uh... h-he wasn't very smart. We did't know what to do with all of it so we just-”
“Shut up! SHUT up! You disgust me! I was hoping you would just admit your insanity, or at least say you were sorry-”
“I'm sorry. But it's not my fault.”
“It IS your fault. There's no denying it! You obviously set up your house as a death trap for your guests. And since you put that primer on 3 years ago I can only assume you've been plotting this for years! It makes me sick to think you almost got away with it too. If you hadn't left easily matchable ring-prints burned into your sister's husband's stomach we'd have thought you were trying to escape like everyone else. He was trying to help people out of your death trap house, and you punched him.”
“What do you want me to say? Sorry?”
The man in the long coat just put his face in his hands, sighed, and told me I shouldn't even bother getting a lawyer.
So, as I sit in prison awaiting my scheduled death and contemplate what I've done, I've come to the conclusion that... I'm not very smart. I know, shocker. I've done many stupid things in my life, but, I think, the stupidest of all was getting those series of rings that say J-O-N-Y R-O-X-!
Sometimes you just have to face the facts that you aren't as smart as you think you are. I realized I wasn't the smartest guy around on my 17th birthday.
----------------------------------------------
So, everyone's sitting around the table, singing happy birthday, generally being the jolly people that my friends and family tend to be. Then, without warning, I couldn't see anything. I started screaming. I flung my arms out in front of me in an attempt to grab onto something, anything. I grasped some sort of metallic box, and clutched tightly. After balancing myself (and flinging the metallic box onto the floor), I stopped screaming for a moment and immediately heard the screams and shrieks of the guests at my party. Had I caused such a ruckus? Or was there something more sinister at work here? I guessed the latter and began shouting instructions.
First, I had to determine if the sudden blindness was widespread or localized to me. “Can anyone else not... see?” I yelled. The pandemonium continued. I tried a different approach, “Can anyone tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?” I shouted. Screams, followed by cries of “My mouth is on FIRE!”, followed by more screaming, answered my question (unfortunately no one said two).
I thought quickly to just before the incident had occurred. I remembered looking around at all the people singing. They all looked so happy and carefree. How I longed to go back to those days, when I could see and everyone around me was safe from the unknown. But mostly to when I could see.
As I played back the pleasant memory in my mind I caught a break. The second before I went blind, I saw someone who wasn't happy. In fact, he was downright scowling. I tried to remember his name, or even how he was related to me. I seemed to think he was my sister's husband. I quickly dismissed this thought, as I had no sister, and jumped up from my chair. It wasn't definite, but it was a lead. I felt my way over to where he had been standing, ignoring the constant screams of pain and agony. I could feel things around me, but without touching them. I somehow knew not to go to the left of the table. I guess my body was compensating for the lack of one sense by adding another. I just wished it had been some kind of ability to see what was going on around me, like some kind of awesome... mind-sight.
I felt the end of the table, the exact spot where I saw the scowling man. Something in my mind told me to punch. It could have been my new sixth-sense, it could have been intuition, either way, my punch connected. I heard a loud “OOF!” as something soft and fleshy wrapped around my hand. I screamed and yanked my hand back, stumbling backward in the process.
“You bastard!” I screamed. My hand burned, badly. It literally felt like it was on fire. I felt my feet leave the ground and heard glass shatter around me right before I lost consciousness.
---------------------------------------------------
“Jonny,” I heard faintly, yet clear. My mind groggily shifted into first gear. The dreaded What happened? Where am I? Questions flew out of my mouth like blood spewing out of some kind of sick blood... fondue fountain. My mind races to the last moment I can remember. The scowling man, my burning hand, the shattering glass. Everything came flooding back.
“Jonny,” the faint voice started again, “open your eyes.”
“I can't doctor, I'm blind.” I said with as much sass as possible. I waited a few seconds to let the news sink in, more for myself than the good doctor. I was finally coming to terms with my inability to see. I could never see an orange and brown sunrise. I would never look into the water and see someone standing behind me, like in all those horror movies. I would never be able to play Monopoly again. Sure, people could relay the information to me, but it's just not the same! I need to be able to see all ten of my houses on Boardwalk!
“Jonny,” the doctor said again, “Just... just open your eyes.”
“Doctor,” I said, half chuckling to myself, “I think if I could see I would've tried opening my fucking-” As I looked angrily at the doctor's pure white coat and surprisingly brown stethoscope, I realized my mistake. I had, apparently, just forgotten I had eyelids. “My bad.” I said as I put on the cutest face I knew. I called it “Dead Kittens,” not because dead kittens are cute, but because the dead ones make the live ones look even cuter.
At that exact moment a woman threw open the door to my hospital room and rushed to the side of my scantily clad bed. “Jonny!” She exclaimed. She knew my name, and I knew hers, because she was my sister. Shit. Fuck. Bags.
The door flung open once again, this time followed by two men walking in, one in a long coat and one very short man in suspenders. The one in the coat pointed his finger at me and exclaimed “YOU!” He paused to catch his breath and continued. “TWO people are dead. About a dozen are severely burned and will probably never look the same again. The rest of the party, about thirty people, are severely emotionally damaged from seeing their loved ones burned alive, and will most likely not recover either. And those were just the human damages! An entire house, YOUR house, is in ashes, and it is completely, and undeniably, YOUR fault. That 'mouth-wash' you handed out, as party favors, was just gasoline, that extra coat of primer you used to paint your house was, again, gasoline, and that can filled with 'water' to douse the birthday candles with, was filled WITH GASOLINE. WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING OBSESSION WITH GASOLINE!?”
“About that... you see, when my uncle died, he left a two-billion dollar inheritance to us in the only non-taxable form of currency he could think of. Gasoline. Uh... h-he wasn't very smart. We did't know what to do with all of it so we just-”
“Shut up! SHUT up! You disgust me! I was hoping you would just admit your insanity, or at least say you were sorry-”
“I'm sorry. But it's not my fault.”
“It IS your fault. There's no denying it! You obviously set up your house as a death trap for your guests. And since you put that primer on 3 years ago I can only assume you've been plotting this for years! It makes me sick to think you almost got away with it too. If you hadn't left easily matchable ring-prints burned into your sister's husband's stomach we'd have thought you were trying to escape like everyone else. He was trying to help people out of your death trap house, and you punched him.”
“What do you want me to say? Sorry?”
The man in the long coat just put his face in his hands, sighed, and told me I shouldn't even bother getting a lawyer.
So, as I sit in prison awaiting my scheduled death and contemplate what I've done, I've come to the conclusion that... I'm not very smart. I know, shocker. I've done many stupid things in my life, but, I think, the stupidest of all was getting those series of rings that say J-O-N-Y R-O-X-!
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You have an undeniable talent for satire. I look forward to seeing more work by you. And as a bonus, I didn't notice any glaring grammatical, spelling, or punctuational errors like I'm used to seeing. A-freakin'-plus!