Young Writers Society

A/N: I’m not trying to write this as I think I’m intelligent for writing this.

Our life goal is to outdo each other. Whether it is sports, women, success, you name it. We live in a world where we scavenge each other. Our mission is to top the food chain. Sometimes we murder, or play dirty. We all have a dirty little thing that gets us on top. You can use steroids to become the home run king, or fraud to control the market. It’s never about the quality, it’s all about the volume.

I am more of a quality person. I think how to execute actions before doing it. That never goes well for people who commit premeditated murder, but I’m not any psychopath. I honestly don’t know what I am anymore. I think I had a wife and two kids, but I’m unsure about it. Past memories of mine have a tendency to fade away. I do know one thing.

My life has no plot.

I’ve spent the last ten years traveling across the U.S. I have gone on “artistic” benders, where I attempt to write a book but it ends up turning bland once I actually write it. My advanced English teacher in 8th grade had us write a short story. I kept on thinking I had a great idea, but I couldn’t continue on it. I eventually settled on a somewhat bland and uninteresting story.

That’s when I started thinking ahead, attempting to make anything perfect. For some reason, I’ve been chasing something I can’t find. It’s been generic, just like that story. Once I’ve written a good story, I will reach the top of my food chain. One problem about my story though, is that a character heard the narrator’s rant in the beginning. I was too lazy to add quotations to it. I left it there for comedic effect. The narrator wanted to talk to the reader and the other character directly. Sounds pretty stupid, huh?

“No, that’s amazing!” She exclaimed, with a smile. She plays with her pen, then starts writing. I could tell she is writing in cursive, as the pen never rarely leaves the paper. I take a sip of my coffee and stare at her.

“Was it good enough to write an article about it?” I ask the reporter. Her grin stretches ear to ear like she was in a Soundgarden video. The place in my mind that over exaggerates things can’t tell whether it is a genuine or false smile. I lost my concern about it, realizing happiness can be faked at times.

“I could write a lot about you! Quick question, where do you go to find what you’re looking for?” Her pitch changes tone after her statement. It was a happy tone at first, but then it dropped like she was Nancy Grace.

“I follow where my mind goes.” I reply, kicking my feet up on the table. Her expression is a mix of “I found a pot of gold” and “this guy’s favorite character is Holden Caulfield”.

“Names Edith Moore. Yours?” She reaches out her hand. I stand up and take it.

“Mayer Tomkins.” I answer with a subtle smile. Edith’s other hand cups mine. She shakes her hand with the other, then she lets go.

“Where are you flying to today, Mayer?”

“O’Hare. You?”

“Same.” This time I can tell the smile was real by her eyes slightly narrowing. We both walk down the D Gate area of Dulles. Nothing really special is here. I see a group of 14 year old kids wearing pink shirts, obviously supporting Thyroid cancer. Nobody else who’s interesting is here, except for the man attempting to shove a sharpened toothbrush into another man’s throat.

He’s holding the man down, saying something that sounds like a Satan worshiping club’s motto. The toothbrush man is slamming the other’s head repeatedly on the seat. Edith is oblivious to this, looking at a sports bar that we passed. For some reason, this seems really similar to my story. The protagonist stops an altercation that happens, and then he meets the antagonist. I believe the antagonist was--

“Who are you trying to find again?” Edith interrupts my thought.

“I forgot.” I say in a bland way. My attention is over at the man who wants an apple after he brushed his teeth. The non nihilistic “hero” of my personality is attempting to break through. The other 99% is stopping him, but he somehow manages to break through. I stop for a moment, and take a deep breath.

I take a good four meter stride towards the man. My pace is even until I reach there, where the man decides to attack me. He shoves the brush into my arm, where it pierces. My adrenaline pumps through my body, and I manage to lift him on the ground. My muscles seem to gain more strength, as I eventually hold him over my head. All of a sudden, my arms drop.

His face hits face first into the seat. It makes a loud bang as his neck snaps back. Everyone stares at me as I make a loud grunting noise. He starts screaming, asking help from the savior. I kneel down and make sure that I didn’t break his neck. Then it hits me. The antagonist was the protagonist's brother.

“Hey, Mayer.” A voice says behind me. I turn around to see Joe, tired from a man attempting to kill him. I start shaking my head, as I could’ve never imagined this happening.I start heading back to Edith, who has her jaw dropped. I find this moment bittersweet, as I just fought death. I also found who I was looking for.

I hold her in my arms, as she is shaking. A round of applause can be heard from the witnesses who saw me go Ultimate Warrior on a crazy man. This is the first time I’ve actually held a woman in ten years, where my memories got all blurry.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Edith tells me with a sigh of relief. I currently can’t think of anything else but Joe. He is the whole reason why I have no home, company, anything. I don’t know the reason why I’m chasing him down, as I forgot. It better be a good reason why I chased him down. I hope he burned our house down rather than taking the last of the Fruit Loops.

My bladder is suddenly full. It is at the point where it creates a cramp, causing to run funny while attempting to reach the bathroom. I let go of Edith and rush towards the bathroom. My sock rolls up, making my running into some sort of a speed limp. My right side nearly goes down when I run. I rush through the entrance of the restroom and head to the urinal. I can’t remember why the protagonist is chasing down the antagonist. I sigh in relief, then a person enters.

“Mayer, I sorry for assaulting your wife.I regret it with all my heart. It was rage. I promise.” Joe states, trying to get an apology from me. I flush, then I turn around. His eyes are faking sadness. I could tell, because he always did this when we were kids. I know why I was chasing him.

To clear things up, I had a wife and two kids ten years ago. He wanted her to leave me and go to him, but she refused. Joe, he beat her in front of Walker and Jessica. If I can remember, she went into a coma. When she woke up, her final words were “I love you, forever and always.”I had to file some papers, then I walk out to see our Prius in a fiery wreck. She took Walker and Jessica. I sold all my stuff and took out all our savings to have enough money to manhunt him.

He keeps on running from me, but I manage to follow him.My memory kept on turning feint, making me forget what I’m living for. I always knew in my heart though. I spent all my money on books, airline tickets, hotels, knick knacks, and a watch that has “W+J+V=Life” that I always wear just to catch him. Here’s my moment.

“I would give my life just to turn back time.” He adds, faking grief. I’m no man for a killing, but here is time for quality over volume.

“Give your life, you say?” I ask him, with a dark laugh. His grief turns into fear, as he knows what I’m pointing at. “I know you can’t turn back time, and I know you’ll be arrested for murdering someone. I do know what comes around goes around.” My sick smile is still there. He starts pressing against the stall doors. I take a single breath, then I bolt at him.

I slam him against the door and I punch him in the face.I keep repeating the punches, where he is crying louder and louder. My fist gets sore, so I switch hands and keep on hitting him. He screams stop, so I let go and take another deep breath.

“Sorry about that. Can I clean up your blood?” I ask him. He nods his head, so I open the stall door. Holding him, I kick the back of leg so he is now kneeling before the toilet.

“Not only did you beat my wife, but you also gave me swirlies as a kid.” I add as I shove his face down into the toilet. Thankfully this is a clean toilet, so he didn’t have to suffer that bad. I flush the toilet once, lift his head for five seconds, then put his head back down. I repeat the process of this twenty times, then I let him go. He is gasping for air, bruised and somehow still bloody. I pull out a zip tie from my pocket and tie him to the bar. I shut the door and walk out from the bathroom.

Edith screams as she sees the blood all over me. She rushes towards me and hugs me, which is weird because we just met three weeks ago. Wait, we did meet weeks ago. I found her ad ona journalism website, and we met for the first time today. She is a sweet lady, with blonde hair and a great personality. For some reason, I feel unaccomplished.

I also remembered that my English teacher asked us for a theme. My theme was that some things aren’t worth it. It’s not worth to nearly kill someone. Why teach someone that you shouldn’t kill by nearly killing someone? It is wrong. Some things aren’t worth it. It sounds like a perfect plan, but it isn’t.

I also remember the ending. The protagonist gets arrested for attempted murder.