February/March 2005




Shock and Awe
by
Andrew Walton

i remember a teacher we had in high school.
he would begin every one of his classes with the words, “i’m not me…i’m…i’m really someone else.” he would say it exactly the same way each time.

none of us knew what the fuck he was talking about.

we asked him to stop doing this
as it was starting to affect us in adverse ways
the words became a daily injection of something cold and terrible,
lingering within us and making us scared to do certain things
like use the bathroom alone or
be the last one up to turn off all the lights
in our parents’ homes at night.

our dreams (usually as scatterbrained as we were when conscious)
began to tighten and focus themselves into screaming nightmares.
              
our requests fell on the teacher’s deaf ears.

needless to say, we formed a small group
and surprised him one evening while he was walking to his car.
we pinned him to the ground and beat him about the shins and ankles
for 30 minutes straight, using tire irons and hammers.
he vomited three times during it, but we knew he was only kidding.
finally, we sliced off his head with a steak knife
and held him over his decapitated body
taking stock for the last time of his naked three-foot-long frame, our teacher uttered,
“there I am...but was he me?”
he died sometime after that.
              
his was a barbed wire, but you'd never know it using today’s standards.


Back