Hello. My name is Jeremy. I was the one who spoke in class today.
That is not what matters. What matters is what I spoke. What made me speak. And why, after speaking, I am here, instead of still in class, still in school, still...normal.
Ugh, normal. What a wretched word. My parents were normal. All they wanted was a normal son. Someone who would behave in public. Someone who would be a puppet. Someone who would dance like a marionette, obeying their every demand.
I am not a puppet. I am not normal. Evidence of this can be found in the fact that I hate music.
My parents are exactly the opposite. My father used to be a marionette for the CEO of a large company. He was a yes-man, a well paid one, but a lackey nonetheless. My mother was a puppeteer, commanding him to do her bidding when she could not command me. Perhaps the only thing that drew them together was an extreme love of music. But music curdles my flesh, makes my skin crawl, makes me...angry. Like an enraged bull, like a dog beaten one time too many, like a tortured child, that is how I feel when I hear the horrid, horrid strains of music.
And that is what snapped me. You see, I am named after a song by some horrid "grunge" act named Pearl Jam. My parents are very fond of that song. And one day, possessed by god-knows-what spirit, I decided to listen to it. Throughout, I wanted to leap up from my chair and turn off the music. I wanted to run over and bash the speakers in. I wanted to destroy it. But instead, I sat rapt, listening to it until the song ran its course.
Then, only then, was I able to get up and turn it off. I say this because the song haunts me even now, even as I try to escape it, try to find something I can use to save myself from it. It haunted me then, too, and the next day was where everything went wrong.
The next day, I was listening to our teacher talk about the Constitution. For a reason I'm not sure of, I raised my hand to ask a question. When she called on me, I said, "You're a stupid fuck."
Every face in the room turned to look at me. The teacher stopped, and said in a quiet, threatening tone of voice, "What...did you just say?"
"You're a stupid fuck."
"You have detention for one month."
"Yes, you are a stupid fuck. You should have kept your mouth shut."
Unfortunately, detention doesn't fall on lunch break. And as it was a warm fall afternoon, 64 degrees and cloudy, we were shepherded outside to eat.
Now, Rick Nicholson is a goon. A big, stupid goon, a goon with an I.Q. of approximately...well, on a good day, it gets into the double digits. This was not a good day.
Of course, two goons are worse than one. And five goons can get their way even better. And Rick had a gang of five.
Rick wasn't after money. He was after nothing more than entertainment. And he thought he could get a show from me. And he did. In fact, the whole class did.
The show started with him making fun of me. He kept insulting me, threatening me, and just pushing me to the brink. But then he uttered his final comment:
"You're a harmless little fuck."
I hit him with a surprise left. His jaw dropped open, and probably would have left hurting had I not picked up a metal pole. I took the pole, and bashed his head in with it. I then broke the skulls of his four friends.
At this point, the recess lady had noticed what was going on and headed towards me. She received the same punishment as Rick Nicholson's gang. I then leaned down and bit into her breast, ripping off a chunk of bloody female flesh. I climbed on top of the bodies, raised my arms in a V, and roared. The sun was lemon yellow, the bodies were lying in pools of crimson, and the rest of the school was thrown into chaos.
Then the police arrived and subdued me. And that's why I'm here. In an insane asylum. I suppose it's a fitting place. After all, I'm Jeremy, and I'm broken. Jeremy's broken...broken...Jeremy's broken...broken...
And I still have that goddamn refrain running in my head. Jeremy's broken...broken...