Sunday, January 18, 2009

Jimmy Dearest, Part One

I found this little one sheet play tucked away inside my writing files, that was based on the people in my sixth grade elective art class, and chalk filled with inside jokes I absolutely don’t get now. I think I wrote it for their amusement, and I remember them being amused.

Scene 1

Corky: Well, we’re finally here. [I was Corky. I told my art teacher my name was Corky--Think R.L. Stine’s Fear Street Cheerleaders--and went by it for that 9 weeks period--My real name‘s Michelle. And Amanda told her teacher she was Kimmy. It was kind of awesome.]
Marina: Yippy yippy.
Corey: Great! These speedo’s are killing me.
Daniel: Well, why are you wearing them?
Corey: Well, why are you wearing a tootoo. [Yes, even as a former wannabe Princess Ballerina who explored the forests of Egypt, I didn’t know how to spell tutu.]
Daniel: Because I’m better than everybody else. I make the world a better place wherever I go.
Lindsey: Look what I brought.
Corky: An ax! I brought one too. See!
Marina: Wonderful! I brought one too.
Lindsey: Nice dress.
Marina: Thank you. I designed it myself.
Daniel: And I think I know where you got your design.
Marina: Funny!
(She punches him)
Corey: I think Marina’s in love--
(Then she punches him)
Lindsey: Well, let’s go find a place to set up camp.
Corky: Yeah let’s go.

Scene 2 (everybodies sitting around the kamp fire)

Corky: I brought something for everybody.
Lindsey: What did you bring?
Corky: Ketchup [There’s a story here.]
Daniel: Of course.
Corky: There for all of you, for good luck. Now let’s tell ghost stories. I’ll go first. Well a long time ago.

* * * * *

The end. Yeah, I don’t get it, either. If anybody wants to hear the embarrassing anecdote about the ketchup I’ll tell it. But anyways, onto bigger and better things.

My first horror story. Jimmy Dearest. This was “inspired” by Fear Street books such as Switched and the MTV cartoon The Maxx. In The Maxx there’s a character named Sarah who I was very taken with. She was a loser outcast with long dark hair and big thick glasses with only one friend and wanted to be a writer. Her father was dead and her mother was kind of a cook. I wonder why I related to her so well. *snort* But instead of Amanda she had Jimmy for her best friend. Sarah and Jimmy could have also been shades of the Sarah and Jimmy in Any Way the Wind Blows, which you’ll get to read eventually, you poor souls [And as you can clearly see, I liked the names Sarah and Jimmy.]. This was also my first time trying out 1st person narrative. I tried to write in the style of Fear Street, so be prepared for very short cliffhanger chapters.

Jimmy Dearest
Written May 1996
Age 11


I am quite an ordinary girl. With ordinary brown hair and brown eyes. I’m no beuaty. But Jimmy thinks so. And that’s because Jimmy’s weird. I don’t have many friends. Jimmy’s my best friend. I guess because we’re both outcasts. From what I’ve said so far, you probably thinks this is the most boring thing in the world [Not after you’ve read The Tie That Binds]--But trust me, it’s not.

My story begins at about a year ago. About a girl, who’s name was Sarah. I will tell it to you now. . . .

Chapter 1

“Damn!”, I muttered. “I forgot my homework on the coffee table.”

“You’re going to be in deep shit, Sarah,” said Jimmy, “this is the third time this week. You really should do your homework more often, even I have it.” [Doesn’t he sound dreamy… And it seems I need to have at least one character in every story that is excessively profane.]

I hate it when he ridicules me like this. Does he really believe he’s so great? Why do I even have to ask myself that? The answers obvious of course. Yes.

“Well sorry O-great-and-powerful Jimmy,” I said sarcastically, “I guess no one could be as great as you.”

“I didn’t mean it that way Sarah,” he said apologeticaly. He really did sound sorry but I’m to smart for his stupid act. So, I just left him standing at my locker, and went to class. Strangely enough no one was in the classroom. [That’s a sure sign something’s wrong, right?]

[By the way, some dumb shit back in sixth grade stole my notebook and passed it around the class. They drew all over it and went through and with a black marker put a dot in every round letter, like a’s and o’s, which makes it really hard to read. Did I mention I was an outcast? I don’t know if I’ve yet made that clear.]

As I stepped in I noticed a red puddle on the floor, behind the desk. I walked over to see what it was. If I had known what was on the other side, I wouldn’t have looked, but it’s too late to change that.

I walked over, and then saw the most frightening scene any one could ever see in life.

Chapter 2

A corpse.

A bloody mess of organs and muscle, and tissue. A bloody mangled mess. I took a step back. Right into another puddle of blood. I slipped. Hit my head on the wall. Fell right on my but into another puddle of blood. But this time there was something squwishy in it. I couldn’t move. Things got dim. Dimmer. Still dimmer. Black. [Umm…yeah. I was clearly a mentally healthy preteen.]

Chapter 3

I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize. Jimmy was standing above me.

“Where am I?”, I choked out in a hoarse whisper.

“Your in the hospital,” he said to me. “That fall you had gave you a pretty nasty bump.”

“Who was that guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy that died.” [What other guy could she mean?]

“That was Mr. Wain.”


“Yeah, and how did you get blood all over your ass?” [Because that was the only thing he was checking out.]

“I fell into blood?”


“Excuse me,” a voice said behind them us. [Still working on this first person thing]

“Yeah,” Jimmy said eagerly.

“It apears Miss Devens has only a minor cancussion,” he replied. I hate when doctors adress their patients as Miss or Mr. I really hate it.

“When will I be released,” I asked in a voice a little above a whisper.

“Tomorrow probably. Young man.”

“Yes,” Jimmy said once again.

“Visiting hours are over.”

“I’ll leave.”

And he left.

Left me all alone. [Where are her parents? She has a concussion and is being kept at the hospital. Shouldn‘t they be around somewhere?]

Then the doctor left. And turned of the light behind him.

Then I was alone in the darkness.

All alone.

It swallowed me up. Surrounding me at every angel.

I felt tired and hungry. And scared. There was something out there in the darkness. Something that was waiting for me to fall asleep. Something that wanted me.

Yet I still felt tired and hungry. The hunger I could ignore. But not the tiredness. I was so tired. I didn’t want to go to sleep. I was afraid of the thing in the darkness. I had never wanted Jimmy by me so much as I did then.

But in the end of this rediculas struggle I had, the other side won. . . .

* * * * *

I know, I know. It looks as though I’m Sarah, but trust me I’m not. This is just a story about an unfortunate girl. A very unfortunate girl. A very very very un-- Why am I doing that? I don’t know. Like people say I don’t know anything. I’m mindless. Brainless. Just there.

Well I must hurry, the hourglass runs low. [So lifted from Chain Letter 2] Movin’ on. The next mourning. . . . . .

* * * * *

Well, wasn’t that murderously marvelous! Who killed the teacher? How did he die exactly since he was so mutilated Sarah didn’t even recognize him? Who is this other person telling the story? Stay tuned for the next installment of Jimmy Dearest, where none of these questions are answered.


Fear Street said...

I love this one so far.

That sucks about your notebook! I was an outcast, too, but no-one ever bothered me. I guess they would have had to actually acknowledge my existance in order to do that. Wow. I sound really pathetic....

Anyway, thanks for giving me the link to your Fear Street covers! I could really use it. I usually Google them, but sometimes they're crappy quality or whatever.

Deathycat said...

Oh you're welcome. Glad someone will get use out of them. I scanned them for a website I never quite got the motivation to do. ^_^

You don't sound so pathetic. That was me in high school. I only really got picked on me when in sixth grade, so I can't complain too much.