A Serenade For The Innocent 2 Allowing Degeneracy

The next day, I woke up like s.h.i.+t and I'm in the mood to do something stupid.

As the president and a member of the student council, I have obligations to give out pamphlets. By this I mean we spread the useless junk the faculty wanted to dispense. The students would only put those in the trash making this entire thing a huge waste of time. Don't ask me why they're still doing this! f.u.c.k if I know.

I refuse to take part in anything related to handing out garbage to other people. It's too tedious and so pointless. Having me here is a gift none of these f.u.c.k-ups deserve! Public speaking I can handle, but this, no f.u.c.king way! I always come up with dumb excuses to avoid doing this, but I made an exception today.

"Please be aware of your trash," I say in a strong feminine tone that would make Joan Crawford gasp. "Please be aware of yourselves," I whispered under my breath.

"Global warming is real and it deeply worries your student leaders," I exclaimed with Marilyn Monroe's poise.

"And so should you," I speak as if I'm Florence Nightingale even though I don't know this s.h.i.+t. I'm not even sure what's written inside these pamphlets. Is it even about global warming? Eh, I don't care, n.o.body reads these anyway.

Obviously, all of them went straight to the trash or comes cras.h.i.+ng down the floor. I would chuckle in silence as I observe my schoolmates throw the pamphlets all over the place. Mind you that there's a trash can literally five feet away from me. These don't bother me though. This is the expected outcome. It's actually pretty funny, too. None among the student council members I'm with seems to be appalled by this. In fact, knowing the pamphlets we're handing out are not being read seems to be the norm around here. I even saw one member gasp when someone actually reads them.

However, what's not funny to see is the way the boys laugh and tease at each other after taking the pamphlets from me. A catcall is expected, but when they speak in secret after looking at me is something I do not wish to see.

One boy took one of the leaflets from my hands as he discreetly tries to graze his fingertips to mine. He squirmed the lower half of his body a little bit as he pulls his hands away. I caught a glimpse of him trying to whiff behind me as subtle as he possibly could but the loud noises of air entering his nostrils blew his cover.

"Dude, holy s.h.i.+t, you can literally smell a bit of the president's perfume in this thing she's pa.s.sing around!"

"For real? I wanna smell it too!"

"No way, man!" He whispered but it comes off similar to a raspy shout instead. "This one is mine! If you want it so bad you should pick one on the floor."

I can hear their laughter echo all around me as if the devil himself has come from down under to embrace me with a bit of what his home feels like. I could see the way the boys' eyes widened as they look at me with their bloodshot eyes. And how the grease on their faces gets thicker and thicker as their sweat drips from their forehead. The way they snicker is so nauseating it feels as if their cackles are gaining life and taking a physical form into floating biles on the air. And the way they grin is just, gah, it's making me want to off myself right here, right now! Their yellowed teeth are making their grins impossible to ignore especially when their gums show as their mouth grows wider on their faces. I can't believe I am managing to survive while surrounded by countless of them. I secretly wish their spit won't drop on my skin for even their saliva tries to escape their mouth, raining down out of them while they speak.

Vile and disgusting.

"Are you sure you'd tolerate that sort of behavior, president?"

I looked at the person talking to me. Another student council member, this one's not as annoying as the secretary at least.

"Its fine, they'll get over it."

"That's what you said but you have this really nasty expression in your face ever since you came here in the hallway with us."

I chuckled. It's probably because I'm trying to look for John among the near identical boys walking past us.

"It's really nothing. I can manage, I think? Besides, I've been neglecting this job for far too long. It's time for your president to finally step up her league."

"Come on, Steph. All of us on the committee knows about the letters. They've been hara.s.sing you haven't they? Claire is the only one who thinks the letters are sweet because she's stupid! But we all know what's inside those. We can't understand why you're allowing them to degrade you like that but we know how to sympathize. There's no need to force yourself." What a heartfelt thing to say, how pa.s.sionate.

"How much do you know about the letters?"

"I'm so sorry this is none of my business but..." The concerned member tried looking away, shoulders droop, and a soft breath escapes with the reply. "Last month I took a peek on one of the letters you've received because well, to tell you the truth I'm curious about your private life. I idolize you so much and all. I didn't expect that..."

"It's okay. I'm okay. The letters are not bothering me. They're just a bunch of thirsty boys writing about nasty things." I smiled as I place my hand on top of the shoulder of this junior in front of me. "Thank you. Were you guys worried about me?"

Finally, the young student council member took the courage to look straight back at my eyes, "Yes. We've been very concerned, president. We don't want you having these... people following you around with such disgusting letters sent to your desk!"

"I'm sorry, don't take offense on this question but what's your name again?"

"You can call me Lex, that's the nickname my mom calls me."

"Right," I said, nodding my head, a smile painted all over my face. "Lex, Lex, ahhh… Lex, I'll remember that name. What year are you?"

"This is my first year here, president, I hope you don't mind."

"First year? And you're already partic.i.p.ating in student council related matters?"

"Yes, I just feel like I can make our campus better in my own way by lending a hand."

My eyes dimmed and my smile fades as I hear those words.

That made me remember the days when I was a young student council member as well. I was a freshman once too. And I was as jolly and enthusiastic as any first year. This reminded me of the day I became a part of the council. The first thing I did for the community is to pa.s.s leaflets like these. Nothing much, just to help out, I had a genuine care for our campus back then, believe it or not.

The night of that same day someone messaged me on Twitter and tell me in full detail as to how he used the pamphlet to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e. He said he was thinking about me. This guy told me he wrapped it around his d.i.c.k and jerked off. He even described how warm it felt in his shaft, and how amazing it felt when the edge of the pamphlet hits the head of his p.e.n.i.s. He said it feels like I'm doing it to him because I touched the paper with my own hands.

The next morning I can feel the men around me shoot their gazes right through my chest as I walk about the large hallway; oddly enough that same hallway felt like it's as cramped as a dark alley. All of these disgusting, sweaty, unhygienic, smelly motherf.u.c.kers l.u.s.t over my then pet.i.te and small body as if I'm a rabbit running about the jungle, trying to escape a group of anaconda.

They are all in cahoots together. All of them uses their rough hands to stroke their small cuck d.i.c.ks and scream my name while watching p.o.r.n about twice to thrice a day. They project all sorts of messed up s.e.xual fantasies unto me even though they don't know me. In their heads, I am their slave, and my mind has always been entrapped in the cage they put me in.

You know how I found out about this? The f.u.c.king letters. When I blocked all male students of our school from my social media the letters started to pour out. I told a few of my teachers about this. I even rang the police for as many as I can remember. I think about twelve times? And well, they didn't take me seriously. "Jesus Christ," I'd imagine them say in the back of their head, "it's just a few boys being boys."

I just told myself "enough with the pamphlets. They'll never see me hand these out again!"

It feels like I'm getting ahead of myself while thinking about this. I'm sorry about that, I'm not supposed to get too emotional about this; I warned myself every day how doing that makes me look like a bootleg Pica.s.so painting. Being stressed is not good for the complexion after all. When I snapped back to reality everyone is already busy tending on their responsibilities of handing out pamphlets around that no one seems to have noticed me s.p.a.cing out. Why was I here again?

Ah, yes, the plan for John Smith. Another plan. And I can't promise you anything breathtaking but nonetheless, it's a plan that could work; it's a start! Its simple: I'll give a copy of these pamphlets to John in person. I underlined eight words in it to serve as a makes.h.i.+ft hidden message.

Meet. Me. Bathroom. After. Cla.s.s. Tell. Me. Everything.

It was a punch in the moon. There is no way he'll notice it, I bet he'd crumple it and shoot it in the trash like a basketball. But a part of me hopes he's smart enough to get it. Bored enough to read it. Dumb enough to actually do it.

I am not the monster you think I am. John and I are not on good terms with each other but he's facing an adversary. And I don't believe for a second that that something is not sinister. He needs somebody now more than ever. I do not wish to be that somebody, but I'm willing to listen. Besides, by then he would cla.s.sify me as a friend and that is what all of this is about. Cla.s.sic me, killing two birds with one stone.

A light gust of wind pa.s.ses through me as I see a man with a large black headset and a familiar worn-out black bag pa.s.s through my peripheral vision. I took the special piece of paper I've explained earlier from the bottom of the pile of papers I'm carrying.

"Take this, John Smith," I said, extending my arms forward in front of him. The other is extending towards him, paper in hand. It might seem nothing in a normal school setting but if the president of the student council herself is the one who blocked the path then there is no way anyone would be able to pa.s.s. A social blockade is far stronger than any heavy boulders.

John Smith stared for a moment at the piece of glossy paper stuck between my fingertips. He slowly pulled it away from me, I can feel the smooth surface of the paper slide through my skin. And as the paper reaches the edge I squeezed my fingers hard enough to prevent John's gentle pulls. It seems John understood my implications well when he diverts his gaze towards me.

"What?" He said, confused.

"You better read whatever is inside this darn thing, John Smith." I took a step forward. "Every single letter or figures, and absolutely no letters should be left unread. Do not skim it and don't you dare scan it. Read it. Read the entire thing." And as if I'm not obvious enough I took two steps further towards him ensuring that there are a mere two inches of s.p.a.ce dividing us. He instinctively pulled the upper part of his body away from me but his hands remained clinging on the pamphlet.

"Okay." He said calmly but with a hint of nervousness that I can detect for some reason.

"I'd be very disappointed with you if you throw this, John. Very, very disappointed." I squinted my eyes and leaned my shoulders a bit forward as I whisper, "I hope you know what will happen if you disappoint me, John."

He gulped his saliva as he looked around us. People are already starting to take notice of our compromising position and John seems to be the first person to feel uneasy with this situation I forced himself into.

"I understand." He whispered in a raspy tone.

"Good." I let the paper go from the shackles of my fingers and as an extension I let John go as well. He hurriedly cowered out to his cla.s.s while I continued to give papers away as if nothing happened.

Afterschool. John left in a hurry when the bell rang. After some few necessary socializing, I ran straight to the comfort room. No one will be able to see us there. But I remember the capabilities of this stalker. And to be honest, I don't buy what I said earlier either. A part of me is saying that this motherf.u.c.ker can still see us. Perhaps he's looking at me now.

I am already waiting for an hour yet there's still no sign of John. Not even a hint of his shadow, or his shadow's shadow. I think he didn't get the message. Well, it was worth the shot. I'll go home now.

"Hey." A familiar whisper made me shriek. He covered my lips in time before I could say a word.

I looked at him. It's John. He seemed level-headed now, and the fire in his eyes says we can talk. He put his forefinger to his lips, an obvious sign: I should shut the f.u.c.k up and stay still. I nodded. He lets go of his hands. I gasp as I let the air flow back into me.

"He's not here?" I asked, panting.

"I'm not sure."

"Am I safe?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

No. It doesn't matter, I want to know. He doesn't seem to care about whatever my answer is though. He starts searching for an item in his bag even before I said 'yes'. He took a smaller bag from within. He gestured for me to take it. I grabbed it. Then I opened it. And I took what's inside.

John Smith frightened the living s.h.i.+t out of me again.

The first thing I saw inside are pictures of John. He is the only one in it. It's a picture of him sleeping. I looked at the number of photos I took inside the bag. There's so many, it's like I'm looking at the pages of my English textbooks.

Is this just a bunch of pictures of John sleeping in his room? That's what I thought until I saw the twelfth photo.

It's a s.h.i.+rtless photo of John in his room.

The photos after it are just him s.h.i.+rtless again. The one after it is John coming out of the bathroom, s.h.i.+rtless with a towel on his head.

"Where did you find this?" I asked, shocked. I should run away now. Whatever this is, it's not good. This is not a part of my plan. I'm getting too involved.

"I always find those on my table every day. He leaves them there."

"Wait. He has a way to enter your room?"

"Looks like it." He said, diverting his gaze.

"What do you mean 'looks like it'? Isn't that dangerous? That's trespa.s.sing!"

"It bothered me. But this is happening for a long time now and I'm tired of it. I also did a lot of things to shoo him away. I am also tired of doing that."

What did he mean 'for a long time'? Shoo him away? I don't understand what he's trying to say. What does he mean by 'tired of it'?

"How long is this happening?" You don't mean to tell me he's able to endure this s.h.i.+t 'for a long time'?

He remained quiet. So he's giving me the silent treatment again, huh? And here I thought we finally have something going on. I looked for more photos when I heard John sigh.

He hesitated. "Do you have questions?"

"You can try answering the one I asked," I said with no hesitation.

"Anything but that please."

"Then I still have a lot," I grunted. Today is a tiring day. I can't even pull out an Academy Award-winning performance to hide the real me. But at his point concealing my real personality is not of my concern. "How is he able to take these photos? Don't tell me he has superpowers. Believe me, if you say that I will kick your nuts."

John Smith took his backpack off of his shoulder to cover the lower half of his body.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm as clueless as you but how else can I explain this aside from superpowers? The only thing I knew of is that he took the photos from outside the window of my room. I don't understand it too. That's why I asked my dad to make my windows tinted."

That means no more photos of him from outside the window, but I'm not even halfway through the pile of photographs he gave me. There's more, there's so much more!

I turn from one photo to another with great haste. So far all the shots are taken from the window, taken from the window, taken from the window, then black, black, black, black, black. Five black photos!

The sixth photo, however, is not black anymore. And my G.o.d, I wished it was instead. I dropped all the photos I'm holding after seeing that certain image.

It's a close-up photo of John in the bathroom showering.

When all the photos dropped on the floor, I saw that there's more of it. A photo of John naked in the bathroom, a photo of John naked on his bed, a photo of John naked on the bathtub, a photo of John naked inside of his closet crying, and a photo of John's face with his tears all over his face.

All of them are close-up shots taken in his room.

He knelt and took all the scattered photos on the floor. He looked up at me with much sadness in his eyes.

Still, after showing that saddened state of his he still smiled. But with the water in his eyes, I can see that his smile is false. "At first I thought someone was trying to sing me a song from the window. At first, I thought the snaps were kinda nice. I thought it sounded great."

"Trying to sing you a song? I didn't realize your stalker's camera is a singer!" I made a sarcastic snort expressing my disbelief. "It's just... I don't understand! Someone is taking a picture of you and you think there's something good about that? Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?"

He pauses for a moment. Since he's kneeling as he tries to collect the scattered photos on the ground it's impossible for me to see his face. I can't decipher the look on his face but I can guess it's not a pleasant one.

"Tell me, John. Why are they doing this to you? I know someone who can help you!"

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "I deserve this."

"Why?" I shouted. The stillness of our surroundings echoed my voice and it sends s.h.i.+vers through my body. "Did you do something, John?" I said, retaining my calmness.

"No," The mild shaking of his voice gives me a hint that the crybaby is at it again.

"Are you a part of any criminal a.s.soci"

"What, jeez, no! I'm innocent."

"Then why? I don't understand!"

He chuckles. "No one understands." He laughed with tears bursting like a faucet from his eyes. "I should burn these photos."

I stomped on the last picture on the floor John is about to take. The noise of my stilettos startled him. "Then explain it! Make me understand you!" I crunch my heel on the photo of John looking directly at the camera.

He directs his mellow gaze up at me. I stare down at him with reddened eyes. We both stopped moving for a moment. The water in his eyes is no more. Sadness is absent from him. Conviction is what I see in the man kneeling in front of me.

"Help!" He said, almost like a whisper.

"I will," I said with confidence. "I promise."

Laugh at me for even I can't understand myself anymore. It's not my style to risk myself for such a small reward. I should just abandon him. I'd do that if the circ.u.mstances were not as weird as this. Why am I keeping this thing up? I'm so confused. Of all the people in the world, it has to be John Smith who would make me rally up my mind like this.

John texted me after we spoke, it was a quiet night, way too quiet for our neighborhood. Don't ask me how he knew my number; I'm as surprised as you! What bugged me more is what he specified in his message. He told me he caught the perpetrator. And he's standing in front of him. Attached to the message is a photograph of a bizarre-looking man. It's so f.u.c.king ugly that it's disgusting, inhuman even, face almost made me puke!

In the photo, the man John believed to be his stalker is naked. He's crouching but the way his feet blurs means it's in motion. Compared to John's lean body, the person in question covers himself with repulsive imperfections. Hair envelops his body, yet his small genital dangling between his feet is hairless. He's crouching with a camera in his arms, so it's easy to see the thick veins in his wispy limbs. He is thin but his stomach is so bloated, I thought it's about to burst! His eyes are so deep beneath the dark circles around it I mistook it for a horrible make-up.

Then there's his smile, holy s.h.i.+t his smile.

His saliva is dripping from his mouth, and his teeth are like the fangs of sharks! The length of his smile is from ear to ear. That's right; his mouth starts from one ear to another turning his bald head into something like a scary Easter egg attached to a deformed human body. I can't explain it but among everything hideous in his body, the one I noticed the most is his smile. Something about it bothered me.

Ah, I get it now; I know why his face looks so wrong.

He's not smiling. The corners of his mouth are being stretched up forcing a smile to form. As if there is an invisible hook somewhere pulling his cheeks, forcing a smile. I can't see his cheeks properly anymore because of how stretched his mouth is. His lips are chapped, his upper-lip is bleeding. And as I look into his eyes I can see, I am certain: Those eyes aren't smiling.

Those eyes possess no life, no light, no soul. Those eyes felt like it will pop off the screen to caress my skin. Those eyes. They look so bloated it's inhuman. Yes, exactly. Inhuman. There's no way those eyes are human's.

His body covered in hair. His genitalia completely exposed. His hands covered in veins. His mouth stretched wide. His eyes are that of dolls forcefully inserted into his eye sockets.

I am speechless. Whatever this thing is, it's definitely not John's stalker. This is a monster!

I replied to the text with a simple 'WTF' showing my obvious disbelief to the photo. I'll think of this as a joke.

After seven minutes with no reply from John, I attempted to rest for the night. No good. After seeing that horrible image it's unlikely for me to get a good night sleep. I turned from left to right but there's no position possible that could lessen my discomfort. Or at least remove the memory of the picture from my brain.

Then I heard my phone ring, it's a call from John's number. What kind of deranged s.h.i.+t is he going to pull out now?

"h.e.l.lo?"

What answers me is panting, "What is it, John? It's late, what are you calling me for?" I asked but he replied with more panting. What the f.u.c.k does he want?

I noticed that he sounded like he's running? "John, stop joking around or I swear I'll... I'll hang up." I was about to say I will bash his head if he continues doing this but that's not cute. "John?"

"Help!"

The call ended with that whisper. I can already hear the beeping of my phone but I still shouted his name. I tried calling back. n.o.body answered. I tried texting him. n.o.body replied even after I sent about a hundred messages. I was so mad when a cla.s.smate called my number because I thought it was John. With both fear and anger in me, I threw my phone on the wall. I instantly regretted that decision when my phone stopped working after the shock. I stood up from the bed. Fidgeting with my arms on my forehead, I walked about trying to calm myself down. I shouldn't have thrown my phone. I could've asked someone where John lives. There is so much bulls.h.i.+t in my head, I can't find the time to relax.

John Smith's voice rings all over me and it feels as if on the dark corners of the room, John's monster lurks, prowling around me. I wasn't able to sleep that night.