Radiation Face
By Phil Skaggs Jr
Copyright 2013 Phil Skaggs Jr
Dammit. I thought about suicide again. The idea of taking a knife out of the cafeteria and grinding it down onto my wrists hit me like a flash. I hate when that happens. It makes me queasy and the veins in my forearms throb then burn and shrivel up. Trying to hide from my horrible mind.
I’ve been trying to get those thoughts out of my head. It ain’t easy. I go about my business. I don’t bother anyone then all of a sudden someone decides it’s open season on me. Then I start feeling bad for myself even though I know I shouldn’t. I can’t help it. The thing is, it’s like they’re reminding me I’m fucked up. I know I have a bulbous head. With two bulging and twisted eyes and my chin is super weak. Like nearly non-existent. My hair is thinning on top. My nose is too big for my head which seems like it should be impossible and my ears look like someone was trying origami on them. I am not a good looking man. Oh well, just another child born in the radiation belt thanks to that giant space egg and the giant radiation spewing lizard that came out of it. Followed by many more.
Still hurts to be called troll face. Or blender face. Or garbage face. Pretty much anything negative followed by face. Radiation face has always been my favorite since it is the layman’s medical description of my physical deformities. I wouldn’t worry too much about me. I’m not going anywhere. At least, not by my hand. I got better things to do then find out that everyone’s a big a prick on the other side as here. Now, that would be fucking depressing.
I don’t think it would be such a problem but my parents decided to move out of the radiation belt aka the zone while they try to have another kid. Down there I was just another face in the crowd. Not too bad compared to a few others there. But here. In the ritzy part of the country, I’m something that they only see on TV when a token freak is needed to preach some shitty after school message about kindness to others.
One good thing about being a freak though is all these mutant chasers around here. I never thought I’d come across any of that. Thought it was a myth to be honest, but it’s real. I got one of my own. Melanie Goodwin the hot cheerleader is banging Abe Jennings the mutant freak. I have to keep it secret, of course, but that’s fine with me. I’ve never been one for girlfriends. Tried back at my old school. No good. They all seem pretty boring to be honest.
Nice to have someone to get worked up over though. Speaking of the devil, the alarm sounds across the school. A loud, blaring sound that rumbles down my ears. It means that there’s a monster fight near my old hometown so everyone heads up to the roof to watch. The monsters are big enough that you can see them quite a few towns over. Melanie always finds me during these shows and takes me to the theatre’s backroom and someone always ends up against the wall before we get through the door.
I sit and wait for her to find me in the usual spot. She does. She has a nice wide grin across her face and that look in her eyes that let’s me know I’m in for it today. We don’t really say anything to each other. We tried it once or twice. Didn’t really work out. Pretty lackluster. Sucked the fun out of the room real quick. Now, we know better.
She takes me to the backroom and holds my face in her small hands. I’m drooling a bit. I got a small mouth and get a little extra saliva going when I’m horny which is often being a teenager. My twisted face just gets her excited.
‘You know I heard some things about you people.’ She told me once a few weeks before anything happened between us.
‘Oh yeah?’ I asked. I’d heard that opener before. It was usually followed by shit.
‘Yeah, I heard you guys were wild. That the radiation did something to your mind. You know?’
‘Oh yeah, I’m wild. Just completely nuts.’ I replied.
‘No, like in bed. There’s stuff that’s different about you.’ She gave me a sideways glance.
‘Oh...yeah...’ I had heard about this stuff. Never came across it, but then again I never got out of my hometown until I moved here. Now, I’m surrounded by weird stereotypes that just sound , well, stupid.
‘Is your cock all weird shaped and stuff?’ She scooted in closer. We were sitting on some bleachers during a music appreciation class. Not many kids show up for it so we were nearly alone there. The teacher was occupied trying to impress some kids with his days as a punk rocker.
‘No, not really.’ What the fuck kind of question was that? I tried to stay normal. ‘Don’t know, never really compared it.’
She cooled off after that, and I thought that was the end of it, but I was wrong. She did some “online research” and shit and figured I just had a fucked up face with a fucked up mind and a sex drive in overdrive. These were all true. The first from radiation. The last two more from being a teenager who’s hormones were hitting their stride.
I wipe my chin and get off my knees. Melanie’s up against the wall this time and her face is flushed. She takes me by the hand and leads me to a chair and I take a seat. She gives me what I want.
#
School gets out early. Some kind of holiday or the teachers needed a break. I really don’t pay attention. I just go through the motions until someone tells me to stop. Just a few more years and I’m set to go for real.
See, I’ve got plans. I’m a fighter. Getting punched is one of my strong suits. Hitting is something I’m even better at. When I was back in my old hometown, there wasn’t much for any of us freaks to do except hit each other. Which was a good thing since that’s one of the few profitable sports left out there for us. There’s all these rumors that we radiation guys are super strong and super fast and super everything. Like the radiation decided to give us twisted faces and bodies on the outside but make us into some kind of genetic superiors on the inside. This just ain’t the case. I know plenty of kids with nonstop tumors popping up on their bodies. They get them drained on the regular. I know kids with chronic radiation burns. I know kids with no arms. The only thing different between us and the poor souls that get hit with high doses of radiation is that we live. For some reason the weird radioactive foam that those monsters spew is different from every other radiation out there.
My parents were exposed to it, but they look normal. Nothing wrong with them. But everyone born there is pretty much lucky if they don’t have a second stomach coming out of their shoulder. It’s not normal back home. I was kinda freaked out when I first showed up in this place. Everyone so pretty and sweet looking. It was bizarre to say the least. But you get over that fast. After the second kid asks you if you’ve got a sister that’s half dog or if my brain works right before they shove you into a locker, well, you kinda see that people can be asses just about everywhere you go.
I get home and Mom and Dad are on the couch. Mom’s going through all the little baby clothes she picked up at the store. She still has a ways to go before she’s ready to push one out, but she’s getting ready. They didn’t waste anytime on getting pregnant once they moved here. I’m not going to lie to you, the fact that they moved my ass across the state just to have a normal looking kid kinda pulls at my guts. But when I think about it I can’t blame them. They want someone that looks like them not like some busted up cantaloupe. Besides, I’m sure I’ll love the kid no matter what he looks like.
‘Hey, honey. How was school?’ Mom asks then holds up a small green onesie. ‘Isn’t this cute?’ She asks me before I can answer with ‘Fine.’ followed quickly by ‘Sure.’
‘You look into jobs?’ My dad asks.
‘No, Dad. I didn’t ask anyone if they knew about any jobs.’ I answer.
‘Well, you need to start looking into it. You need to start saving for college. The sooner the better.’ Dad adds. ‘You might even want some gas money now that you got your
license.’
‘Yeah, Dad. I’ll look into it again.’ I won’t I’m too worried about starting my training back up. I’ve been out of it too long. I used to trained for fights with my friends at Luther’s Fight Room. But since I’ve moved here I kinda put that on the back burner. Really, I just haven’t felt motivated. Nothing really driving to get out there and practice. Plenty of stuff that makes me want to hit something, but there’s a difference between punching and fighting. I want to fight.
‘I’m going to head upstairs and work on some stuff.’ They kinda nod and I head to my room.
I get in the door and throw my backpack on the bed followed by me flopping down beside it. I pull out a small flyer I picked off the floor near the boy’s locker room. “ALL-IN FIGHTING!” is printed across the top. It shows two mean looking dudes with their hands up to their faces. One’s normal looking and one looks a bit like me. I scan through the whole flyer again. It’s a cross-fighting event. Mutants and humans going man to man in the cage. They have a bout this Saturday downtown.
I walk over to my dresser and slide the paper into the mirror. Now, this is something worth training for. Something I can focus on. I pick my fists up from my side and put them in front of my face and I get into the stance and bob around a bit. I throw a few punches into the air and it feels good.
I get my homework out of my bag and get to work. It takes me most of the night. I stop for dinner and talk to my parents some more. Dad is still getting on me to get a job. Mom helps me out. I finish dinner and head to bed early. They’re both a little surprised since I’m usually a night owl.
‘I need to get up and train early.’ I tell them. Neither approve. I go to bed. Excited for the next morning.
#
I drag my heavy bag out of the storage. Thank god we have a yard here otherwise I’d have no idea where to go. I find a decent enough branch to hold it and I chain it up. I take my time getting into it even though my body is just aching to be pushed. I don’t want to pull anything. I know I’m really out of shape. I don’t think I’ll be up to fighting form for a few months. But I’ll probably be ready to get into the ring sooner. I’ll just have to keep myself in check. I don’t have the guys or coach here to help me out.
I start with some jump rope for about as long as I can take it. That’s about seven minutes. Then I get down and do some elevated sit-ups. Never been to great at those. The head and all. That’s fine this is just to get me warmed up. I just want to get used to moving again. The real edge a fighter has is stamina. Conditioning is something that most people leave out, but it’s the most important. You can have all the style and grace in the world, but if I’m still standing then I still have a chance. And if you’re breathing harder than me then that chance just got better.
I get my sneakers out and my sweats. It’s got a nice chill out so I don’t need anything too heavy. A hoodie will do. I head for the front and start running. I’ve got a few hours before school starts so I push myself to go for as long as I can. If I have to I’ll walk back. I should be fine.
It’s Thursday today. It’s going to be a long day as is tomorrow. I’m just going to be counting down the minutes until I can head out to the fight. See what people have around here. See what kind of atmosphere there is. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. I turn the corner and keep heading east. My feet feeling lighter and lighter with each step.
#
I head back home this morning after about thirty minutes of alternating sprinting and jogging. I want to say that it’s some kind of technique to get my stamina up faster, but the fact is that I ended up taking a few breaks.
On the way back, I have my hoodie up and some tunes blasting through my earbuds. I’m minding my own business when a squad car pulls me off to the side. It is followed by two more. Everyone stays in their vehicles shouting at me to get my hands up and get down on the ground. Two things I’d already done when they pulled up next to me. A few cops get out with tasers and pepper spray drawn. I’ve gotten this before.
The thing is I’m pretty sure some of the same cops who have stopped me a few times since moving here. They can’t seem to remember my face, the lucky bastards. Mutants and freaks and all of us radiation kids scare them a little. Not to mention that we’re not exactly the wealthiest people in the world. Not many jobs out there in radioactive land.
They ask me a few of the same old questions. ‘What are you doing here?’; ‘Why are you wondering the streets?’ And a few new ones. ‘What are you doing out so early?’; ‘Haven’t we stopped you before?’ I answer them. I tell them I’m just out for a morning stroll. Jogging. I don’t tell them I’m training or that I’m a fighter. “Any excuse” seems to be their motto. And I don’t want to give them one.
They seem satisfied. All three of squad cars roll out. Each one makes it a point to drive by me slowly while they stare me down. Then they speed off. I think about stepping out in front of one before they go. I don’t. I head back home and get ready for school. Saturday can’t come soon enough.
#
The rest of the Thursday was uneventful. Friday has been something else. A few jocks saw me drooling over the flyer and now I’ve got Dweebil Martin, Joosh Sydney, and Ken Marz breathing down my neck.
‘Well, check this out guys, we got ourselves a fighter!’ Ken snatches the flyer out of my hands. I just sit there.
‘You a tough guy?’ Dweebil asks. ‘You think you can take me?’
‘Oh man, watch out, Dweebs! I bet he can take us all on if he wants to.’ Joosh laughed.
‘Oh yeah, he’s got that retard strength, doesn’t he?’ Dweebil adds.
Ken kicks at my bag. ‘No. He knows we won’t touch him. We don’t want to get sick. Might catch the freak virus or something.’
I stand up and all three jump back, but they catch themselves. The eyes are all on us. The cafeteria is not a great place to try and avoid these guys.
‘Oooohh. Careful. He looks like he’s ready to swing. Aren’t ya champ?’ Joosh pushes himself close to me. He’s up in my face. He has breath like rotted fish balls.
‘No. I was just looking at it. Can I have it back?’ I hold my hand out. I do hope that they just get their kicks and move on. I look around and a few teachers are watching us. They don’t move. They keep glancing over then talking to each other. They’ve never really shown me any love here. Probably waiting for me to make a move so they can haul me into the office. I’m just about to. I’m getting sick of these pretty boys being in my face.
‘Careful, Joosh.’ Ken pulls him back. All of them ignore my last question. ‘You might pop that oversized head of his like a zit. Get radioactive pus on all of us.’
‘You don’t want that on ya.’ Dweebil smiles.
‘Are you done?’ I ask.
Ken looks me over and wads the flyer up after spitting in it. ‘Yeah, we’re done.’ The three of them walk away and I pick up the wad of spit and paper and shove in one of my bags pockets. The kids around erupt into a wave of laughter. A few throw what’s left of their lunch my way. I catch a few of the teachers’ eyes and they quickly look the other way.
I’d leave. I really would. I’d get out of here in a heartbeat, but my parents fought tooth and nail to get me in this school. My dad worked his ass off to get transferred over here and he’s working the rest of it off to keep the family here. I’ll get through it. Just a few more years is all it’s going to take. And this doesn’t mean anything anyway. All that’s important is training and fighting. Training and fighting.
I just want to hit something.
#
I come in from working out. I went nearly all day, but I didn’t want to be too exhausted to go to the fight so I took it somewhat slow. Of course, being stopped yet again by cops this morning helped break up the day. I’m hoping this does not become a regular occurrence. I check my phone and there are a couple of missed messages on there. Texts from Melanie. She wants me to meet her out in Keystone Park. She follows it up with things
she wants to do me.
Poor girl. I’m going to have to cancel on her tonight. She’s not going to be too happy about that. The last time I did it was when I got the flu over break. She didn’t acknowledge me for two weeks. Oh well, them’s the breaks.
I take a shower, take a nap, and get changed before I start to head out. I borrow a few bucks off of my dad so I can take the bus downtown and pay the cover to the fight. He lectures me about responsibility and getting a job. I nod along and say I will then head out.
Keystone, Michigan is a pretty decent looking place. My home is smack right in the middle of tv land suburbia. We’ve got the fence and the sidewalks and everything looks clean. All the houses are two story and have the same shape but look different enough that the grown-ups can all feel good about themselves. Trees line the sidewalk and kids play out in the street. It’s pretty. It’s a nice place. I can’t deny that. Better than my old hometown of Middling, MI. Now known (along with surrounding towns) as the radiation capital of the world.
That’s the shithole of America, now. Since there’s already radiation thanks to a bunch of monsters deciding to make that their stomping ground every few months, the politicians decided that we’d be the perfect place to store all kinds of crap there. Now, most of us grow up with waste and radiation in about everything we touch or eat. It took me months to get used to the taste of tap water here.
On the bus I watch the pretty little houses turn into brick buildings with cute little signs advertising haircuts, coffee, and clothes every few blocks. There are people milling around outside as the shops close up and the restaurants start to turn their lights on. I’ve only been down here a few times. I’m not one for shopping. Not that I’ve had too much extra money for shopping. Last time I was here was to see the latest “Frankensteins in Space” release. Probably the only other thing that could drag me out here besides this fight.
I get off at Woodlawn and walk the rest of the way. The fights apparently on the bad side of town. I didn’t even know Keystone had a bad side. I see people sitting out on steps and kids standing around talking shit. People stop and stare. Music blasts in the night air and I can smell someone cooking from an open window. For a bad side of town it sure beats the nicest part of Middling.