The Fifth Session

“There was this kid I knew growing up-”

“You are welcome to talk about whatever it is you want, but I was hoping we could talk about you today. That is, after all, what we’re here for.”

“I want to talk about this kid.”

“Yes, that’s fine, this is your session but-”

“That’s right, my session. I’m paying for this shit, so I’m going to talk about whatever I feel like.”

“Of course, go right ahead.”

“So there was this kid I knew growing up. Kind of a dorky kid. No friends, always reading books, was really quiet, hardly ever spoke to anyone. He was fat too. Not horribly obese or anything, but fat enough that other kids would make fun of him. He rode the bus to school, seems like everybody did back in those days, and every morning when the bus pulled up in front of his house, here he’d come, all red-faced with tears streaming down his cheeks. I’m telling you, just about every morning, this kid was in tears. And when he got on the bus, the other kids would laugh at him and make fun of him. Calling him a cry-baby fat-ass, little pussy, all sorts of nasty names. And they were relentless. All the way to school, they would throw things at him, slap him in the back of the head, take his stuff, spit on him, you name it. And he’d just sit there and take it. Trying his hardest to stop crying, because you know, maybe if he stopped crying like a baby, then they would leave him alone. But even if he managed to stop, they never did. Getting on that fucking bus each morning was like walking straight into hell for that kid. And you know what the funny thing is? This went on for a long time- years, and nobody, not the bus driver, not the teachers, not any of the other kids ever stopped to ask why in the hell this little kid was crying every morning. Nobody gave a shit.”

“Did you ever have any interactions with this kid?”

“Yeah, I sure did. Some years later I killed him.”

“You killed him?”

“I had to. You can’t go through life like that.”

“Like what?”

“Being a weak little shit. Being fucking pathetic and letting people beat you down like that.”

“How did you kill him?”

“It was a slow, meticulous process. I pulled him apart piece by piece and scattered him in the deepest, darkest place I could find. It was a mercy killing, he welcomed it. I tell you what though; he’s a lot tougher than I ever imagined because once in a while, when I least expect it, there he is again, peeking out from the darkness with that fat, crying little face of his.”

“And what do you do when he shows up again?”

“I drag him back on that fucking bus so he can remember why I did what I did. So he can remember that he doesn’t have a place here, that he belongs buried alongside the rest of his childhood.”

“So why was he crying every morning?”

“I don’t think that matters anymore.”

“Perhaps, but I think it’s worth asking.”

“Well, maybe, but looks like time’s about up. I gotta get moving, it’s a long commute, and I’ve got a bus to catch.”

fifth session 2

114 comments

  1. Is this the bus to Hell?! XD
    Wow. In such a short time I became invested in that kids story. I really want to know why he was ceyin1g but I loved that it isnt given to us and that we dont know who or what the narrator is. It seemed so common place, a normal session…Great piece!! i cant wait to read more of your work!!!

    Like

  2. I have no idea why my comment got logged all weird the first time. Maybe cause I was mobile haha But to reiterate what I said…

    I’m sure that dude catches the bus to Hell every damn day haha
    And I loved that the reason the kid was was crying wasn’t given to us and that we don’t know who or what the narrator is. Although it wasn’t a normal conversation, It seemed so common place to discuss the death and pain of this kid. I wonder what the other sessions are like~

    Liked by 1 person

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