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Micheal Stevenson isn’t special. He isn’t famous, he isn’t the world’s next super genius, he isn’t anything except a kid who was born with one red eye and never got hurt or a very slightly above average student. He isn’t even a student anymore, he just graduated from high school and he isn’t going to college. His parents don’t have enough money for that and he definitely doesn’t. That’s why Micheal is looking for a job; he needs some income because his parents are getting old and he can’t ride off of them forever, even if his mom says he can.
Micheal just left the Taco Bell that he put an application in for and rode his bike down the highway back home. Staying close to the edge of the road near the ditch so he wouldn’t be hit by a car, he coasted the mile home and pulled into his yard. Once he put away his bike, he went into his house, going through the dining room and into the kitchen. He shoved a cordon bleu into the microwave; he knows that you're not supposed to microwave it but he’s hungry and he doesn't care enough to wait.
After the microwave beeps, he pulls out his food and grabs a fork from a drawer. He goes back through his house and up the stairs bumping into the sturdy dresser that's just at the top. He slides into his room and sits on his bed, pulling the Switch from near his pillow to directly next to him. After the switch is powered up he clicks on Minecraft, planning to play on the realm that his friend made, but he suddenly gets a call.
It’s Taco Bell, he got the job; they are tight on people so it was easy for him to get a spot. Micheal, while being happy-no ecstatic-that he got the job, he is also scared because this is the first job he has had and while he learns things fast he doesn’t want to mess anything up. His muscles are slightly more tense than normal and his eye that’s almost disturbingly red, like a red fluorescent bulb in the completely black darkness of a satanic Halloween, seemed to almost fittingly glow. He starts working on Monday, today being Friday, and he will finally be able to help his parents with bills.
Just after six, Micheal’s mom texted him to come down for supper. He ran down the stairs, almost falling a couple of times. He was hungry and his mom’s food is always good, so he risked falling to get down the stairs, then jogged through the living room, then the dining room, then popped into the kitchen and had a quick back and forth conversation with his mom as she made plates.
“Hey, hun,”
“Hey, mom,”
“How’s it going?”
“Alright. What’s dinner?”
“Spaghetti.”
“Nice.”
His dad came into the kitchen. “Hey, Deb.” his mom.
“Hey, Bologna.” his nickname, and it’s said bologna, not boloney.
“Hey, Lue.” His mom handed his dad a plate.
“Hey, dad.” He got his plate and headed to the dining room.
As they sat down to eat they made small talk and told each other about their day. Once they were all done Micheal dropped, “I got a job at Taco Bell.” he then stood up and took his plate to the kitchen. “I start Monday.” His parents congratulated him, giving matching soft smiles, the corners of their eyes crinkled, and the most innocent dollar sign surely lit up slightly in his parents’- who rarely had enough money to do anything other than survive- eyes.
He turned, grinning, “Soon I won’t have to mooch off of you all the time.” He did a small celebratory dance, helping his parents do dishes, then went upstairs to go to sleep. He might have -no he definitely did- play Minecraft for an hour before actually falling asleep.
When he woke up Monday he got ready slowly and headed straight to Taco Bell. It was a windy day, his dark hair was going in his heterochromatic eyes and annoying him to no end. His bright red eye was twitching and he had a bad feeling about today even though he just got a new job.
His eye was sore all day, like a pressure headache from allergies, but he was doing good. He hadn’t made any mistakes, and he had only had to ask a few questions. He had a great day and surprisingly no Karens or Susans or any of the sort came, so he had a lot of genuine smiles. He was proud of himself, especially that he got Bologna as the name on his nametag.
On his way home he was listening to music in his headphones and because he didn’t think to look behind him while he was pulling into the street home, because that’s not the normal place to check. A drunk and cold man pulled out of the bar, which was at the unsafe junction of a residential area and a highway, and hit him. He was flattened, but the impact knocked him out long before that, the drunk man drove away with no conscience.
TWENTY.
Micheal was tired, he woke up on the grass next to the road with a broken bike. He just got that bike and it's fully broken, bent frame and flat wheels. He was mad but that’s all the feeling he can muster now. He had to walk home, good that it’s not five miles and only a few bunches of street blocks. He had to shamefully and slowly pass his uncle's house, his uncle got him the bike he cherished, his old bike was rusty and would only move if you used half a can of WD-40 on its chain.
He did a walk of shame, anger, confusion, and sadness back. He walked a solid few blocks before he could feel the sting in his eyes, the red a little less bright. He could feel the tightness in his chest and the clench in his jaw as he fully realized a drunk man nearly killed him and left his bike in a crushed pile on the side of the highway. He was nearly in tears, he wanted to run back and try to find the man that shouldn’t be driving and he wanted to run to his uncle and furiously apologize for his ignorance that the bike got destroyed. What he decided to do was go home and hope he doesn’t cry in front of his parents that raised him well and did their best to keep their troubles off him to make sure he was okay.
Once he got home, he passed his parents in the dining room and tossed out a slumped, “I ate at work.” He took a few more steps then turned with a soft plastic smile, “It smells great though, save some for me to have in the morning please.” He pushed up the stairs, he hoped they didn’t see through him and just saw him as tired.
When Micheal woke up the next morning he realized that he needed to go fast. He woke up at the normal time, but he knew he had to walk, probably run. He ran through the house trying to get everything done in a fraction of time than normal. When he went down the stairs it was not elegant. He fell, hard, he broke his ankle.
He picked his leg up and his foot painfully slumped against his will, then he felt nothing. His ankle loudly popped back into where it should have been and a dull grinding sound brought lethargy and an ankle that was no longer broken. Micheal could feel his red eye twitch a bit before he got back up.
“That was weird.”
Not stopping to think he ran out of the house and got to taco bell faster than he expected but barely on time and pushed into the establishment panting. He quickly wiped his forehead for sweat and washed his hands to start his job.
After his shift ended he went down the street to Dollar Tree before going back home. He got a craft knife and some aquarium rocks. He was curious because he had a revelation. He realized the drunk man couldn’t have wrecked his bike without wrecking him too, it wouldn’t have been possible. He didn’t run back home but he didn’t take his time while walking.
Once he got home he made his presence known and shuffled into the kitchen to eat the leftovers that his parents had saved for him last night. Once he ate he went up to his room, to experiment. He sat at his desk shoved on the wall by his bed, he pulled out the craft knife from the bag and pokes his finger, the skin breaks and a bead of blood surfaces. The skin quickly comes back together and the blood sinks back into the skin eerily.
He pulled the aquarium rocks out and looked at them. He cut a longer slit in his arm and without pain, it disappeared with a twitch in his red eye. His eye pushed a slight and short tension headache and he cut himself again shoving one small rock in his arm as some blood pushed out, ready to be absorbed again. As the cut closed and the blood disappeared the small piece of gravel pushed out.
He pushed himself from his desk and pushed his chair closer to the desk. He put the knife and the rocks in a drawer before going down to see what supper was going to be and if he could help. When he got to the kitchen only his mom was there but he could hear his dad moving things out in the yard.
“What’s he doing out there?”
“He’s changing the brakes on the car.”
“Ahh,” he made an acknowledging noise, “whatcha making for dinner.”
“I’m baking mac’n’cheese and I’m gonna pop some chicken nuggets in the air fryer once I get this in the oven.”
“Need any help?”
“Nah, I think I got it, go see if your dad needs any help.”
“Alright,” Micheal goes through the door that leads to the area that holds the stairs to the basement and the door to the backyard.
As he pushes through the door into the backyard he sees his dad nearly fall. He rushes to him and catches him before he hits the mess of lugnuts, wrenches, and other tools and parts for the car.
“Woah, careful.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“You good?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.”
“Need help?”
“Probably,” Micheal’s dad heaves the tire that he took off to a standing position. “Can you help me put this back on the car?”
“Yep,” Michael grabs the tire and jerks it up so he’s holding all of it, and admittedly not smoothly, slides the tire back on the lug bolts. “Need any more help?”
“Nah, I think I got it from here.” With that Michael leaves his dad to finish putting the tire on. He could feel a pressure on his hip where the tire was and thought, ‘that's gonna leave a bruise’ then remembered it wouldn’t, his red eye twitched.
When Michael woke up the next morning he told his mom that he was going on a walk, he brought a spare change of clothes. He walked up the street, passed the blocks, towards Water street, then up Wall until he turned on Station. He set the small bag of clothes down, and he jumped off the bridge to test the river's current. He was underwater, he opened his eyes, it was murky, it was lived in, it was weirdly calm, he breathed in, it didn’t hurt. He kept breathing as if it was air, it was uncomfortable but he felt at peace.
NINETEEN
He got out of the water after about 15 minutes. And walked down to Court street, still wet but holding his dry bag of clothes, once he got there he jumped in. The current was harder there, there were more things to hit.
EIGHTEEN
His body hit against things and air was no longer in his lungs, he didn’t regret this. It felt good in a kind of way that poking at a bruise does, or poking at the cut in your cheek with your tongue, satisfying. It was cold and refreshing and it was painful and hard but that didn’t matter anymore because he felt good, more good than pain. But then there was a rock.
SEVENTEEN
Once he got out of the water he felt tired, his red eye flickered and slightly faded it glow, he didn’t feel anything other than that and he just wanted to lay in his bed and sleep for three days, so he changed into his dry clothes and went home to do -or try to do- just that.
“I'm back.”
“That took a while.”
“Yeah, I'm tired now, I'm going to my room.”
He slumped up the stairs too exhausted emotionally and physically to notice, or care really, which parent talked to him. He fell into his bed and he closed his eyes. He didn’t sleep but he laid there for at least a few hours before moving.
He did similarly for the next few days, slumping around pretending to be energetic and going to work just to get a paycheck and not get fired. He got through until he had another day off. He wanted to see what else he could withstand, he was curious about the aquarium rocks. He ate a few, he felt a weird gurgle in his stomach and felt the rocks dissolve. He ate a lot more, then began choking.
SIXTEEN
A stupid thing to do, a stupid kid, a stupid thought that he is invincible because he hasn’t stayed dead yet. He didn’t like it though, he wasn’t curious now, just destructive. He cut his arm again with the cheap craft knife.
He cut until the cut stayed for longer than five seconds, then longer than ten. He cut himself, glad that the blood never strayed far from his skin to make a horrid mess. He kept cutting until his cut stayed for twenty seconds he blacked out for a second and the blood seeped back into him.
FIFTEEN
He felt numb again he didn’t care he just stood up and wiped his hand on his shirt removing the blood that wasn’t there anymore. He pushed his body out of the room and down the stairs practically shoving himself out of the house. His parents weren’t home so he didn’t bother with letting them know.
He walked, more like wandered, down streets and alleyways. He found himself at a familiar railroad, he always got stuck there, he decided to get stuck there again. He walked down the tracks until he was in a place that would be hard to get to if you didn’t go down the tracks. He laid down and looked at the sky, the only shape he could imagine out of the clouds was one that looked eerily like a severed head. It was long but rounded and there was a shadow making a jawline and whisps to make hair but there was no illusion to a body and cloud where the neck would be seemed to drip down like blood.
He closed his eyes, he didn’t need to use that sense at that time. He was listening and smelling and feeling. The sound of wind and wild wings from the flock of geese, maybe. The smell of dirt and grass and the rusty metal. The feeling of the warm breeze and the rocks and metal under him.
Then the sound of grinding metal and a train horn. The smell of smoke and sparks. The feeling of anticipation and the tracks shaking and vibrating underneath. He didn’t move as the train barreled past and over him. As it hit him he went everywhere, yet not as far as you could think as his body pulled back together like a magnet.
FOURTEEN
Again. His red eye flickers.
THIRTEEN
Again. Splash. Flicker.
TWELVE
Again. Gloop. Flicker.
ELEVEN
Again. It is disturbing but Michael doesn’t mind because it feels like a satisfying pop at a chiropractor.
TEN
Again. His eye is screaming with pain and burning to stop.
NINE
Again. His leg is pushed out whole and pulled back under like a cursed and disturbed magnet.
EIGHT
Again. He didn’t feel anything anymore. He just felt numb, his legs and arms and at one point even his head kept popping out from under and coming back. His eye kept flickering and becoming murky with the brown that was under it noticeably depleting of its color and brightness.
SEVEN
SIX
FIVE
FOUR
The train was almost over, he was almost out. It didn't really matter either way as he didn’t care and didn’t feel himself being dismembered and put back together in such a cursed way it shouldn’t be fully described.
It wasn’t clean, it was messy, there was blood and there were broken bones. There were bits of muscle flying out and defying physics to come back. There were bits of his brain sometimes and everything just came back together like a cursed jigsaw puzzle.
THREE
The train ended. His body limply fell out flat. He wasn’t in the same position as he started in and he’s glad he wasn’t in clothes that he particularly liked.
“I should probably get home and get changed.” he mumbled to himself something obvious and started to stumble home before he gained a rhythm and walked home completely numb, not caring who found him or saw him beyond disheveled. His clothes were tattered and his hair a mess, the blood wasn’t there anymore, it had grossly gone back into his skin.
Once he got home he shed the tatters and got into the shower, letting the mud pretending to be blood wash away and his body get wet. He remembered, “My first paycheck is tomorrow.”
He finished his shower and passed out in his bed in what would have been an uncomfortable position if he could still feel.
Once he woke up he pulled on random clothes and left his house so he could walk slowly, he didn’t fix his hair, he didn’t check his clothes, he didn't eat, he didn't say anything to his parents, he just left and went to work.
After his shift, he got his money and went to Walmart. He got a bike and a change of clothes. He biked over to the bridge he first jumped off of, there were no people and he set his things down and jumped.
The water was moving around him and he was just there. The water was still refreshing, he couldn’t feel that though. And it was still calm, just not to him, it was eerily quiet, dead. He didn’t like it anymore. It wasn’t calm but thrilling like the first time he did it.
TWO
He got out and changed, then started cycling home.
“I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t have done this at all.”
He pushed headphones into his ears but kept talking to himself.
“This is stupid I can’t believe I did this, and so much.“
His headphones died and his phone was just playing his random Spotify playlist out loud.
He pushed harder to go faster, his red eye was trying to become brighter and as it finally started shining again there was a car.
He got hit, a car started this vicious cycle, this cursed and hurt journey, and a car is ending it. Micheal could feel the rest of the unnatural red fade from his eye, it's now his rightful brown.
He knew he made a mistake.
ONE -his end
TWENTY.
Katie is a very basic-looking girl. She has dirty blonde hair with light highlights, blue eyes, and a basic fashion sense. She just woke up. Except it wasn’t just, she was in her car, on the edge of the highway.
“What's going on?” She pushed herself to be sitting up straighter and saw an ambulance, a couple of cop cars, a firetruck, and a news car. She was confused.
The E.M.T. came to her window and her eyes were wide, trying to figure out what was going on. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
The E.M.T., who had just written down her time of death, grabs a flashlight and checks her eyes for dilation. “One of your eyes is red.”
Katie is top-tier messed up. Not physically, physically she is a-ok. Mentally there is a current trainwreck, the mental equivalent of having 50 tabs open in a browser on a bad internet connection. She doesn’t know where the music is playing from either. “WHAT THE F-”