<Name it yourself>

Some scientists believe that the universe was created in an event called ‘The Big Bang.’ First there was nothing, then there was everything. Greg believed that he was like The Big Bang. When he came to Derk County high school, there was nothing, but now, there was still nothing. What can you expect, the original Big Bang was a cataclysmic event, involving the whole of the matter in the universe, while Greg, Greg is just a person. He didn’t mind that nothing had changed, because change meant the use of energy, and Greg needed all he could get. As he sat lying on his bed, listening to the music pumping through his speakers, he wondered what he was going to do about everything. Greg didn’t waste his time with changing little things, he didn’t know the meaning of the phrase ‘Baby Steps.’ Greg didn’t just eat the chocolate or just the vanilla ice cream, he ate the chocolate, the vanilla, and the strawberry.

"I’ve been thinking, maybe I should start writing for the school newspaper," Greg said. If there was anyone in the room, they probably would have responded with something along the lines of "Why not?" or "Sounds like a good idea to me." Unfortunately for Greg, the only other active presence in the room was the music, and it was already busy concentrating on something else. Greg continued anyway, "Get involved, you know, maybe make some new friends, meet a lady, have some fun." The lamp tried to respond with a "What have you got to lose?" but was rudely interrupted by the dresser, who had decided on "Whatever makes you happy." They both felt pretty silly, after they realized that they couldn’t talk, and apologized to whomever they might have offended by attempting to. "I guess that’s it then, newspaper it is." He nodded in agreement and went to sleep, while dreams of scantily clad women danced in his head.

"Greg, wake up! You don’t want to be late," screamed Greg’s mom up the stairs. Greg rolled over, and shot up into a sitting position. Greg turned off his alarm. When the noise continued, he hit it, hoping to knock it unconscious. When that didn’t work, he stopped for a minute.

"Okay mom, I’m up." The noise stopped. Greg thankfully dropped back into bed.

"I hope you’re not going back to sleep. You’re already late you know."

"All right, all right!" He oozed out of bed, put some coverings on, and went downstairs. "I hope you know I wasn’t going back to bed, I was just looking for my slippers." She looked down at his wriggling toes.

"Well, where are they?"

"I couldn’t find them." He plopped down in his seat, and happily began munching on his Cocoa Pebbles. Today is the start of it, he thought. Today I become a new man. Today I change the world. Today, it is cold, I shall have to wear a jacket.

Greg strolled down the hallway, but stroll isn’t the best word. It was almost a strut, not quite a meander, and definitely involved a little mosey. Stroll was really the only word he could think of to describe what he was doing. He strolled confidently, ignoring those who passed, those misguided robots, locked into the drudgery of it all, trapped, not free, free like Greg. Greg was a rearin’ to go. Nothing short of an arch-villain could stop him now. Greg had a mission. The bell rung. Greg had first period, Greg had to go to class. Destiny would have to wait.

"Hi Greg, how are you today?" Speaking of arch-villains, Greg turned to face Melanie, the owner of the voice that had told many a sad individual what twisted fate awaited him, just before that fate arrived.

"Hi Melanie, I’m dandy," he replied. You couldn’t tell from her well brushed hair and smart, feminine clothes that she was so cold-blooded. In fact, there was really nothing to give it away. Except, of course, the boots.

"That’s nice," she went back to her book for a moment, then turned back to Greg. "Oh yeah, tell your friend Jeff that he is in big trouble for what he did yesterday." She smiled and turned away. He didn’t know what it was about the boots, it was just the boots. They weren’t army boots, God forbid she would be so cliché. They were just normal hiking boots, brown, with dull pink laces. Something about them made him shiver. It was probably the Smiley Face on her right foot toe, with the phrase ‘Have a Nice Day’ inscribed on it, that made him tremble. He thought about how many poor, poor souls had felt the world crumble beneath them because of that little sticker, and the more important foot that it was attached to. Greg got lost in his thoughts. So lost, in fact, that he forgot what he was thinking about.

"Greg, do you know the answer?" Greg’s history teacher, Mr. Stevenson asked.

"Hello," Greg responded, twisting it so it came out as an exaggerated ‘Yellow.’

"Do you know who Huey Long was, and what he was famous for?"

"Hmmm," Huey Long of Louisiana, known as the ‘Kingfish,’ elected into the Senate in 1933. Was known for his ‘Share Our Wealth’ program, in which he promised to confiscate large fortunes, guarantee every family a cash grant of $5,000, every worker an annual income $2,500, provide pensions to the aged, reduce working hours, pay veterans’ bonuses, and assure a college education for every qualified student. Famous quote on his program; ‘Maybe somebody says I don’t understand it. Well, you don’t have to. Just shut your damn eyes and believe it. That’s all.’ Was assassinated in September 1935. Thank you, and I’ll be signing autographs in the lobby after the show.

What actually came out; "Well, lets see, Hu-ey Long, hmmm, stylish dresser, made a fortune in sanitary toilet covers for public toilets." Something wasn’t right. He could have sworn he said what he was thinking, but the teacher was looking at him strangely, and that was never a good sign.

"Did you do the reading last night?" Now was the decisive moment. Greg didn’t know whether he should tell the truth, and look like a liar, or lie, and look like he told the truth.

"Little from column A, little from column B."

"How ‘bout you read it now then, and don’t answer anymore questions if you don’t know the answer. Now, to continue. . ." Greg was dumbfounded. Since when were teachers allowed to have such harsh attitudes? Isn’t there are rule somewhere that says teachers have to quiet and non-combative? He was going to have to have a talk with Mr. Stevenson’s superior. Yes, that was the thing to do, talk to his superior. No wait, he had an even better plan; he would write an article about it for the paper. Yes, he thought, the paper will be my salvation. Greg rubbed his hands together and laughed fiendishly.

"Would you like to share what is so funny with the rest of us?"

"Ummm, no?"

"I think you would." What was going on? For some reason Mr. Stevenson had, overnight, had become a wise-cracking student basher.

" I re-ad a rea-lly funny mag-a-zine article. Yep, that’s it. A really, really funny magazine article." He chuckled. "Whew, every time I think of it it makes me laugh." He shook his head. "Wow, that was a funny article. I don’t think I’ve ever. . ."

"Enough, we get the point." Greg smiled. He still had a measure of control over this one. You know what they say; the best offense is a huge ass gun that can be fired from 200 miles behind your lines to the enemy’s capital, utterly destroying their government, leaving them in chaos and disorder, allowing your armies to completely destroy them with little, if any resistance, or, if that is not available, a good defense is number two. Now, back to the matter at hand. He could write an exposé on the state of teaching in the school. With one fell swoop, he could both become really popular, and destroy his entire academic career. He laughed maniacly, to himself. The bell rung.

"Now don’t forget to read those pages, and answer the question. I will be collecting it tomorrow," finished Mr. Stevenson as the class hurried out. Wow, I must’ve really been lost in thought, thought Greg. That class just flew by. But what about that assignment? If I ask him, I’ll be admitting I wasn’t paying attention, yet if I don’t ask, then there is the possibility that I don’t get it done. Tough decision. Greg walked out the door, as Mr. Stevenson prepared for the next class.

"Hey guys! Wat up!" Greg put his tray down, and squirmed his way to the bench. The dismal crowd surrounding him dismayed him. "What’s the matter, kids? Didn’t your mommas give you any Ovaltine today?"

"Shut up." Pete.

"Why do you care?" Ed.

"Life’s a bitch, so go die." Joel.

"Why are you happy?" Diego.

Greg hadn’t seen so many unhappy faces since the great frown-in of ‘67, when the whole school frowned for the day, protesting the wearing of fur coats, especially when they didn’t match the rest of the ensemble. Greg had seen the situation before, and was not about to let his happiness get sucked into the black hole of despair his comrades were wallowing in. "C’mon guys," he said excitedly, "what is there that could possibly make you feel so down."

"I have a paper due today, which I didn’t do." Pete.

"I do not have a girlfriend, but he does." Ed pointed to Fred Kloman, the biggest jerk in the school, at least to the group’s collective knowledge, which was extensive.

"I have an exam tomorrow." Joel.

"My friends are losers." Diego. Everybody stopped wallowing in their own self-pity, and looked at Diego. There was a brief silence as they all contemplated this statement. They then all looked at each other, and firmly agreed that they too, had losers for friends.

"Guys, it ain’t that bad. Just think about all the good things in life. All the possibilities."

"Injury." Pete.

"Disease." Ed.

"Hair loss." Joel.

"Death." Diego.

"Hair loss? What are you talking about? You’re seventeen years old. Nobody loses their hair at seventeen. You got at least five, ten years before you start losing your hair."

"Can I change my answer?"

"No, it’s too late. Your answer will no longer be considered for the final round. Thank you, feel free to enjoy the reception we are holding for friends and family of the contestants in the Counseling Room."

"What about our answers?" Pete.

"Yeah, they’re still valid." Ed.

"Will there be donuts at the reception? I love donuts." Diego.

"All right," Greg slumped in his chair with the rest of his companions, "I give up. Life does suck." The lunch was long and laborious. If there was a record for most sighs in a period, Greg and his friends would have won the award. A minute didn’t go by where there wasn’t at least one sigh, with two answering sighs in return. People talked, the clock ticked, a bell rung, and so ended the lunch.

The light breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree Greg sat under. The warm sun was filtered down through a slight covering of clouds, creating a pleasant environment of peace and tranquillity. Greg paused from his work for a moment to gaze at a squirrel busily searching for the nuts it had buried in the fall. "Here little squirrel, go home and have a break." He took some walnuts he had been eating, and tossed them to the fury creature. It sniffed them, looked at Greg quizzically, and ran off, the walnuts bulging out of its overloaded mouth.

"If this spot taken?" Asked a sweet voice. Greg looked up to see Lorraine Dreb glancing down at him. The sun framed her like a celestial being, and Greg was about to confess all his sins, when he finally returned to his senses.

"Su su sure." He slapped his head. "I mean no, no it’s not taken." This was his chance. All bets were on the table. He was one roll away from a life of luxury. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"Yes, thank you." Greg reached over and brushed off the area where she was about to sit, only after did he realize the ground was dirt. Lorraine sat down perfectly, legs stretched out before here, back straight against the tree. Greg tried to straighten, but was as successful as Macguyver trying to stop a chemical leak with chocolate bars.

"Would you like a Gummi Bear?" He pulled the pack out of his pocket. The bears were warm and squishy from being in his pocket all day.

"You know what, Greg?" Lorraine stood up and faced him defiantly. Greg sat perfectly straight, and responded, "No, what?"

"You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever met." She knocked the Gummi Bears out his hand, ripped open her shirt, and kissed him passionately on the lips.

Greg sprung up like a spring. He felt a little disoriented, but it only took a moment for him to realize the situation. "Fuck!" He said a little too loud.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potrey," Mrs. Heinky asked. "Would you care to repeat that?" Oh great, he thought. Not only did he fall asleep in class, but in math class no less.

"I said truck. My younger brother got a new truck. It is very," pause, "yellow." He smiled. The smile always saved him. It said, "Hey, do you really want to discipline such an insane fellow. He might attack you or something."

"Well, let’s try to keep our little ramblings to ourselves." Everyone laughed, or if they didn’t laugh, they giggled. There were of course one or two hold out sniggers. He turned to see Lorraine looking at him from the desk next to him. She didn’t seem too amused.

"Yes ma’am," Greg said into his book, as he pretended to concentrate on a really tough problem. The desk leered at him. "Chris was here." "Guns n’ Roses rulez!" "This class sucks!" Ain’t it the truth, he thought. Sucks like a two-story Hoover. Greg didn’t just hate math class, he was morally against it. His hatred did not come from years of boring classes, and hours of pointless homework, but from a more carnal instinct. He felt that the trait had been passed down through his family, and, thousands of years ago, one of his great great great great great. . . great ancestors had decided that it was more important to survive, than figure out what one Ugh plus one Ugh was equal to. It was a violation of Greg’s nature that he should be forced to sit through this insignificant drivel, but what can you do?

As Greg sat there in class, attempting to connect with his long dead predecessors, a thought popped into his head, a thought that would revolutionize the cosmological world. According to entropy, everything is going towards an increasingly unorganized state. At some point, if the universe does not come crashing back in upon itself, the universe will eventually become totally chaotic. The universe was born out a chaotic state. We can then hypothesize that the universe will never die because of this cycle. But this idea, brings up an interesting point, what if, before total chaos occurred. . .

"Do you know the answer Greg?" Argh! Not once, but twice he had been interrupted from very important things. This time, there would be no retreat, nor surrender.

"Oh yeah, I know the answer." He firmly stated as fact, though he wasn’t sure of the question.

"Feel free to share it."

"Well first," all right, here comes the big one. The career ender, the game stopper, the knockout punch. "You have to move the y term all by itself, and then take the square root of both sides. Don’t forget to put both a plus and minus in front of the result, it is very important. Then all you have to do is move the 12 to the other side, and its plug and chug from then on."

"Very good, I didn’t think you were paying attention." Neither did he, but he wasn’t one to admit it. He made a mental note to thank his subconscious for paying attention.

"Well, when you got it, you got it, and when you don’t, well that’s a whole other story, which I will not go into, for the sake of the class, and all therein." Greg sat back comfortably. Maybe there were some good things to life. Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t just your house burning down, but also your enemy’s house. A bell rang, and somewhere class ended.

Greg walked into English class to find his seat occupied. Yes, occupied. Greg gaped in awe as he sat there looking at the body that violated his personal space. It was female in nature, with some sort of covering over most of its body. It had eyes and hair and some other stuff, but that wasn’t what was important about it. What was important was that it was sitting in Greg’s seat.

"Excuse me, but you’re sitting in my assigned seat," Greg said politely. "Would you be so kind as to vacate it as soon as possible due to the laws of physics?" The body turned away from its current conversation and looked at Greg. He looked back.

"Wellllllll, I doooon’t knoooooow." The person seemed to have some sort of problem talking at a normal speed. "I would," that’s better, "but since you say this is your assigned seat, when in fact, I know it is not, I politely decline the offer."

Greg was stupeified. He stood standing before the person for a moment, muttered out a "Thank you" for a reason that he will never know, and walked over to an empty seat. He sat down awkardly, not quite sure what to do. He had never been displaced in such a way before. He sat thinking for a moment, when he realized that this seat was actually better than his old one. Not only could he not see the board, but he was also in a position of minimum call-on possibility. "Hello new seat," he told the chair. The chair, blushing from embarassment, didn’t respond.

English class flowed by like marshmallow fluff over filthy gym clothes. Thematic strands flowed into Greg’s nose and attempted to rip his brain out in some sort of mockery of mummification. While students chattered enthusiastically about the most recent piece of ‘literature’ the class was working on, as Greg tried to escape by drawing anything he could think of in his notebook. Years later he would come back and wonder what exactly he was thinking of. For now, though, he was content to juxtapose different objects and creatures into huge structures of indistuingishable characteristics. Ha, juxtapose, like to see one of those airheads use that in a sentence. Greg scribbled on and on like some madmen in one of them old horror moves. Just as he finished his tour-de-force of artistic creativity the bell rang. He got up, quite content with his creation, and walked out of the classroom.

"Due to rain, today’s track meet has been cancelled. Practice tommorrow at the normal time. Thank you." The speaker said to Greg as he walked down the hall. "Sweet," he muttered as he put his books in his locker. He exchanged them for the ones he would need. The only one he ended up taking was his math book, because he was sure that he had an assignment, though he couldn’t get any more specific. He zipped up the bag, and headed out to get his bike.

Ewww, I hate wet bike seat, he thought as he squished down. One of these days I am going to get a piece of plastic so I can cover my bike while I’m in class. Greg sped down the road, hoping to avoid as many raindrops as possible. Heh, I wonder when it started raining? I’m pretty sure the history room has windows, and I can’t exactly remember it raining then, so it must have been sometime after that. Yes, definitely sometime after history class. Greg was happy that he had deduced this. It wasn’t every day that he made such a breakthrough discovery in the field of meteorology.

Greg hopped off his bike, letting it fall in the backyard, and jumped into the door. After regaining his wits, he took the housekey out his bookbag, opened the door, and jumped in. As he shut the door he wondered why the door was locked. He went into the kitchen to find a note upon the table:

Went to the store

Back by 6 pm

-Love Mom

Greg made a mental note to forget about the note and then badger his mom about why she didn’t leave him a note. He grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and plopped down in front of the tube. Ah, another productive day, he thought as he flipped through the channels, trying to find something ineresting.

Greg flopped down onto his bed, not to be confused with his plopping down in front of the tube. The two were very different, and Greg disliked it when they were mistaken for each other. He reached over to turn on his alarm, weary of the state his mom would be in if forced to wake him up two days in a row. He took of his shirt, laid back, and began his nightly ritual of thinking in bed.

Wow, I’v had quite a day. Well, not really. It was pretty much like yesterday, and basically a replica of a fortnight and a day ago. Another day, another sigh. Greg sighed and settled deeper into his bed. I wonder what I am going to do tomorrow? Maybe I’ll get me a girlfriend. Yes, that is exactly what I am going to do. He chuckled to himself. I hope that they don’t reschedule that track meet too soon. With my luck they’ll put it on the weekend or something. What can you do, though? You just got survive through days like these. It’s like that movie, "Big Trouble in Little China." Like Jack Burton always says, "When that big ugly guy in the bar picks you up by the shirt and pushes you up against the wall, and with stinking breath hissing through rotten teeth asks, ‘Have you paid your dues?’ You just respond, ‘Yeah, the check’s in the mail.’" Or whatever he says, I can’t remember. It’s all about the flow, he mumbled as he closed his eyes and attempted, finally, to sleep.

"Oh shit," he said out loud as he popped up, "I forgot to join the newspaper." He laid back down, and closed his eyes. "Oh well, there’s always tomorrow."

The End