This So-Called Disease
by Walter S. Fisher III
They’ll be expecting something for sure, so I may as well get on with it. They advised me that they wouldn’t read it, but I understand that in all probability they will. I’m sure they will not be expecting this however. They’ll be expecting something childish, immature, something they would expect to come from some kid with no brains or ability at anything worthwhile. They’ve misjudged gravely in their falsely elevated state, the way they misjudge every kid with any real talent in this godforsaken school. It’ll be over before too long anyway. It escapes me at this very moment what exactly I mean by that.
As compared with the majority of children, I guess it could be argued that I am rather atypical. While the other boys are out playing hug the guy with the big ball, you’d find me spending my high time reading or playing guitar in my room or something else weird like that. I’d read all kinds of silly books alone in my room. No one bothered disturbing me at all really. Most of the time I would have the whole empty house to myself, with my Aunty Olivia out all the time dabbling in god knows what. My brother Earl would come to visit once in a blue moon. I liked him, despite him being a complete and utter nut case, but far be it for me to hold that against him, me of all people.
Well, just recently my feeble existence it seems has taken on a rather eccentric element. Some might argue that that is a vast understatement. None is as uncertain as to what the future holds as I am in these unsettling times. Perhaps Rev Gallantry is right in making me record all this craziness. Perhaps it may help in some strange way, for it seems that nothing else is helping much at all. The darkness is setting in, and I can feel it creeping up upon me, ready to engulf me into its eternal oblivion. Sounds depressing I know, but at times it can really get like that, the highs contrast so completely with those death-defying lows.
None of them can say what’s truly the matter with me, the expensive doctors, the kind-hearted musical therapists (the rapists), hungry for your soul, or even if there is anything really the matter with me at all. I can’t say myself really. I only have these perceptions and no one else’s, just as anyone else, and as such, as everyone, it becomes a matter of guesswork as to whether your own world view is in some way sub-standard to the rest of them. But perhaps that’s not it at all, levels of standards out the window. Sometimes I think that it is a mere case of compatibility. Though if what they say is even remotely correct, then how have I seen the things I’ve seen, the way things have been?
And yet another thing comes clear to me, that if they are indeed right, then they had better lock us all away quick smart, if preservation of their precious established system is in their high priorities. For it seems for those sitting upon the fence, that it is catching, this pestilence, this so called disease.
A generation, my generation, our generation, emerging upon the world.