#5 (by JJH)

The monocle was the object of constant derision, which frustrated the boy. The denser of his classmates found its peculiarity simply “weird”. Those more aware felt it to be a pretentious affectation and taunted him with cries of, “Hey, Mr.. Peanut!” To him, however, the monocle was an item of practical necessity. His vision perfect in his right eye but failing in the left, the boy saw no need for a complete set of glasses. Glasses were expensive, and one lens would be a smaller financial burden than two. After months of saving money by sacrificing his daily Astro-Pop at lunchtime, the boy amassed enough to correct his vision. Ridicule he could endure, but physical damage to his eyepiece he could not risk. His brothers threatened it at every opportunity, calling the lens, “a piece of gaywad bullshit” and “fagtastic”.

He shivered as he approached the front door of his house, hoping his brothers wouldn’t notice him. However, as he neared the door, the cacophony of steel, wood and howling boy emanating from the shed grew intense. He suspected that whatever preparations were being made within, they were being made in his honor. A sudden crack from the shed confirmed his suspicions.

The shed door had been flung violently open and standing within was his younger brother Erogenous. Erogenous was wearing work boots, leather gloves, a welding helmet, and an athletic supporter (complete with protective cup) over denim pants; this was what he referred to as his “Battle Dress Uniform”. The boy doubted the likelihood it would pass a military muster.

“Laszlo, you queer fucker! Get your ass over here. We need your help with something.”

Young Laszlo pivoted and shuffled toward the shed, understanding that compliance would hasten the end of the ordeal.

#4

What he admired in Fraulein Eberhardt was simple: deliciously large round breasts and smooth curves around the bottom. Years later, he would think back and realize that she was not an overly attractive woman. In fact, she had wide, square teeth that looked like crude dentures. The teeth of a primate, he thought. What's more is that Fraulein Eberhardt would unwittingly accentuate her large teeth by opening her mouth and running her tongue along the outside of her lower gums -- a gesticulation that caused the liquid in her mouth click and pop in a tedious and unflattering display.

But now he was thinking fondly about Frau Eberhard's strong thick legs and how tightly she could squeeze him. When his thoughts were interrupted by shouts from behind the old shed, he clutched his monocle to make sure it was stowed safely in his pocket.

#3 (By JJH)

These concerns gnawed at the back of the lad’s mind throughout the day, accompanied by a constant uncomfortable tensing of the lower abdomen. He sat reclined in the back row of his classroom, one eye squinted, the other staring dismissively through his pewter rimmed monocle. His eyes glimmered only with the passing of his German teacher, Fraulein Eberhardt. As he glanced slowly up from her navy blue pumps to her grey woolen skirt, his eyes widened and the left corner of his mouth took a sinister turn upward. Then, as she inevitable would, the buxom German glanced downward and shook her head as she gazed at the clammy hand tucked beneath the waistband of the boy’s green sweatpants.

None of the boy’s classmates noticed this interaction, as they didn’t notice him at all. Despite this obvious truth, he felt all eyes in the room searing his nearly translucent skin. Most painful were the eyes of the Lord Baby Jesus bearing down from the manger scene depicted behind him. If only he could convince the Christ child that his innocence was in fact, intact, he thought. The pain in his gut worsened.

The bell rang, the boy tucked his monocle safely in his shirt pocket, pulled his athletic socks over the elastic cuffs of his sweatpants (to guard against ticks, of course), hefted his monogrammed backpack upon his shoulders, and began his journey home. As he waded through the swamps that guarded his home, the reflective thread of the initials LKQ shimmered on the boy’s pack as he dreamt of his commode and his journal. Little did he know his brothers his awaited him and had no intention of allowing the boy the peace and relief of his afternoon bowel movement.

#2

Entry after entry was filled with a detailed commentary on his peers and their interaction. He was reclusive justice at its finest. An hour, two hours, even three passed before he realized that he had spent his afternoon wandering the cumbersome labyrinth of social perception and diagnosis.

As talented as he was, or at least thought himself to be, the young man felt most awkward in his own palpably tense skin. “A proverbial matter” was his most common response to this unfortunate self-awareness. Yet this lackluster response always ached and rattled around his ‘universal understanding.’

The question whose answer eluded him most, however, was whether he was responsible for what had happened or even what ought to happen. How obligated should he feel to both determine his role, and follow thru with that responsibility? Again, these questions were sheltered from serious consideration under the simple “too cliché” defense. "Instinct," he admonished, "has a manner of self-preservation that makes the curious mind immediately uneasy."

The Phoenix also rises #1

From a young age, he was a suspicious and decidedly pessimistic boy. Most notably, he saw pretension everywhere, even among infants who could seem "over-coddled," as he liked to say. Once, in the third grade, a little girl noticed him staring at her painting, which had won a first place award in the school's recent art show.

"I see through your proverbial bologna," he said with a sneer. She didn't know what that meant, and neither did any of the other children standing around him. Nevertheless, the apparent insult made the little girl cry and run to the teacher for comfort.

Similar comments led to him being known as "weird," and, moreover, mean. However, once in high school, his disdain for his peers subsided as his detachment from school and family grew. He was soon an invisible young teenager, of little interest to anyone, including his own mother who had two younger and more promising children to tend to. At least that's what he liked to think as he scribbled into his journal -- a spiral bound notebook that he kept behind the toilet of all places.