So, there she was . . . becoming younger and younger before my eyes. I always wanted to see that bitch go down, and now there it was. She wasn’t quite realizing it yet, for her height had yet to reduce. Ha, fuck, I start playing with exotic gadgets and I already start using such words. “…for her height had yet to reduce.” She wasn’t shrinking. She wasn’t getting wittle-er. But she would be, and all she was trying to understand was why I was smirking in front of her with the Jehuwl.
“What is that thing?” She was referring the instrument of her downfall – that which was making her wittle-er. The other children in the class room were scared, because the had no idea why Mrs. Mitchell was surprised. You see, her world within the classroom had been one of order. Kids feared her, like I did when I was young – the first time around that is.
“I would try to explain it to you, my dear, but it would go over your head.”
“You’ve sure got a little mouth on you, little miss.” She spoke petulantly. Mrs. Mitchell was rallying, only taken off guard for just a second with the gray eyeball like thing with a tentacle wrapping up the length of my arm. Damn, she sure looked good for a sixty-year old. Oh wait, that was the regression, hee-hee.
“Okay, do you really want me to explain this to you?”
Ah, hell, rewind! I think I need to go back to sometime around the beginning of this, when I was first in her classroom.
Okay, it was 1979, and yep that’s me, standing in the corner. And no, I’m not wearing a dunce cap. I always saw that in old-as-fuck cartoons, but I was still the dunce. I think I was talking in the lunch line or something equally as menacing. That cunt! No, I didn’t know such words back in the second grade. All I knew was that I never paid attention to anything. I never did my homework, and my parents were divorcing, boo-hoo. I admit that I should have been disciplined a little better, but what does it matter now? This is a revenge story and I want to talk about why I wanted to take Mrs. Mitchell down.
“Why’re you in trouble this time?” Oh, that was my friend, Lisa, standing behind me now. We could only talk at school, because we got caught kissing each other one night when I slept over at her house. At the time it was all very innocent; we didn’t know anything about fags and dykes yet. We just wanted to know how to kiss so that we could kiss boys better once we got older. I wonder if either of us realized that we were falling in love with each other in some innocent, child’s way?
“I’m always getting in trouble,” I said pitifully. This was true. Life seemed too boring listening to adults. Besides, it had been my idea to kiss with her – or at least, that was what her mother told my mother. Is that what you want people to think, that you’re queer or something? Ugh. Sorry, sometimes my mother’s voice can come booming into my mind quite loudly.
That was the sound of a rolled up newspaper hitting me in the ear. Mrs. Mitchell, the Terrible. Lisa was cringing from the sound of the impact, and from inadvertently getting me in trouble. And what did I do? I turned and stuck my tongue out at her. It happened in all the spiteful rage a seven year old could muster. Big mistake, let me tell you! But she was taken off guard by my defiance . . . and that was a fucking Kodak moment. It was worth the paddling I would receive later. You see, she held such tight control over our lives because her life was shit. Her husband was leaving her (I wonder why) and how well could she support herself with a teacher’s salary? Better than most, I would wager. But she thought she was in dire straights.
To hell with her and her selfish little world.
I spent the rest of my life hating that woman. My family was shattering. My sister was a drunken college student. My father was busy going through a mid-life crisis, or male menopause. I think it’s funny that when women experience menopause, we become unholy monsters with uncontrollable emotions. Men, they buy a motorcycle and run off with twenty-year old women. But all of this is not important. What is important . . . is focus. You can’t stop and think about the downfalls of your life and all the things that made you who you are; you have to find one thing. Just one thing in your life – a person in my case – who you can take it all out on. Dad was gone, mom was sleeping with some guy at the factory, sis was having an abortion that none of us would know about. You see in college, she had become very busy . . . just not with studying. Mom blamed Dad, my sister blamed Dad; even though he had nothing to do with her pregnancy, and I needed someone to blame too.
I blamed Mrs. Mitchell.
Now, most people grow up and just have dark memories of someone who had wronged them once upon a time. This wasn’t the case with me, because one day I found the Jehuwl. As you know, they aren’t easy to find, or else the world would be an unhappy place indeed for older siblings, cheating husbands, and bitch schoolteachers. And I can hear you asking where I found the thing, and I’ll just have to take the Fifth Amendment on that one. Knowledge is power, and this power is all mine. So be content with knowing that I found it one day . . . on a mountain in Asia. That should narrow it down some.
I had to be given a crash-course lesson on its use by the old man who sold it to me. When I got back to the U.S., I decided to go and show it to Lisa. Yep, same old Lisa. She lived in New York at this time. When I got to her apartment, I had it wrapped up in newspaper inside a briefcase.
When she opened the door, she gave me a warm kiss, the type of kiss that makes circumventing the globe all worthwhile. She had the face to launch a thousand ships, and a smile to bring them all back. Now, me on the other hand, I have the face to launch many, many more ships. Unfortunately, when I am done using vessels, I tend not to smile.
Oh god, she could kiss.
Watch her press up against me, my nipples getting hard, feeling the satisfying weight of her breasts against mine. She knew how to turn me on. I pressed her inside the house and fucked her right there on the carpet. When she came, she kicked one of her house slippers off. It hit the briefcase, and that reminded me of my discovery.
“You’ve gotta see this,” I said – wiping my mouth with my sleeve. Heh, sometimes sex can be pretty non-glamorous. Sorry if this isn’t the deep romance you expected from this sort of story. I took Lisa for granted, and I pawed at her like a man, or some other animal. Don’t get me wrong, she could bring the animal out of anyone.
“What is it? It can wait, just hold me.”
“You have to see this.” She sighed, but sat up, sticking her left leg back into the leg-hole of her panties. She didn’t close her bathrobe, so go ahead, you’re my guest in this flashback. Just take a look at those tits! If her face could launch a ship, I couldn’t begin to fathom what the rest of her would launch.
I took the wrapped object out of the suitcase and proceeded to free it of its confines. And there it was, the big gray eyeball with a black pupil at its end. Except, Lisa thought differently than me. She saw it and asked, “What is that, some kinda root?”
“I don’t know what it is, but it has some interesting abilities.” She grinned and looked at me. Now what was she thinking at that moment? It was phallus-shaped, that’s for sure. Did she think I brought back some sort of mystical dildo?
“Okay . . . Like?”
“Like reliving the old days.”
“It is a root, isn’t it? You chew it or make a tea out of it and it makes you hallucinate. I read about some stuff called salvia that they use down in South America. Er . . . Salvia isn’t a root, it’s a leaf, but still . . .”
“No. This has effects that are real, and I don’t do drugs any more. I told you.”
“Then, you’re saying it’s some sort of time machine.” My back’s turned from our view but I sighed at that point. I picked it up, and I allowed it to wrap its tentacle around my right arm. Lisa gasped and scooted back a little. “Jesus it moved!”
“Don’t worry Lis, it’s never hurt me yet. Just watch.” I stood up, spoke to the eye, saying, “I want Lisa and I to go back to when we first kissed.”
“Lilly, that was a long time ago. Don’t tell me we’re going to teleport back into my old bedroom just in time for my mom to come in and scream bloody murder.”
“No, it doesn’t work like that, but it will at least take us back to that age.”
“Lilly, hon, that’s impossible. Are you okay? You’re talking crazy shit, you’re acting strange, and you look like you’ve lost weight.”
“Oh, the weight. I’m skinnier at twenty-three.” She frowns with confusion.
“Now you’re really starting to worry me, you are thirty years old, for Christ’s sake.”
“Well, I used to be. And so were you.” And that was when she looked down and realized that she wasn’t quite her old self any more.
(To be continued . . .)