Drop Dead (A random short story)

Drop dead, I thought, Damn you, drop dead! Drop dead, drop dead, drop dead!

I’d say it out loud were it not for the odd looks I might get and the almost-definite trip to the Principal’s Office—and, most likely, a shrink—but, sadly, I would get those looks and that trip and that was why I had stuck to simply thinking it. Not that that wasn’t satisfying too. Drop dead.

You know, I had heard enough conspiracy theories to be sure of the power of curses. For years, people had broken something, lost all of their money, and most importantly, dropped dead because of curses: simple little words uttered by some seriously pissed person—you know, “All of your children will die because of what you have done to me” and the like. So why in hell were my repeated thoughts of drop dead not causing that little prick of a teacher to collapse right there? Did I have to say it to make it work? Well, working or not, it did give me a bit of entertainment in the bland world of History. Drop dead.

Maybe I wasn’t thinking it right. I couldn’t think of a better way to express your desire for one to drop dead than to think drop dead, but perhaps the powers that be wanted something more… dramatic? I curse you, Henry W. Alan, to live a miserable and disgusting life because of your altogether prickishness! Oh, by the way, DROP DEAD! Nope, that one wasn’t working either. Damn. Maybe I needed to concentrate more. I completely drowned out the emotionless voice of that idiotic slug up there in the front of the classroom—not too tough—and began thinking my old standby again: drop dead, drop dead, drop dead…

I had had a dream once that I could destroy things just my glaring at them. Too bad it hadn’t come true. Obviously it hadn’t, for God knows I was glaring right now, and that piece of trash was still standing. I wondered vaguely why I was wasting my time trying to cause something I knew wouldn’t happen, and all just because my History teacher and I didn’t exactly “get along,” but dismissed the thought almost instantly, reverting back to drop dead. He was still standing, curse him. I’d have to concentrate even harder. Drop dead.

I was usually a pacifist. Honest! As you can tell, I’ve always been… well, darn, I don’t have enough money to be classified as “eccentric,” do I? Well, I’ve always been interesting. But… well, okay, this was my first time trying to attack something with my mind, so I guess I’d graduated to weird by then. I’d fully announced to my friends that I hated plenty of people before, but yes, this was my first time trying to psychically kill one of them. I’d been watching too much TV. But I couldn’t stop now! Drop dead.

Drop dead, drop dead, drop dead! I blocked out everything else. In my mind, and outside of it, I knew for a fact that there was nothing but drop dead. In fact, I couldn’t even remember who I was trying to cause to drop dead and why exactly I was doing so. The drop deads evacuated and, motiveless, I started actually jotting down a few fake notes as reality sank back in. As it did so, a voice started to speak. Or, rather it had been speaking. It was a nasally, self-assured, annoying, idiotic, prickish little voice, and I immediately hated it. I tossed one last drop dead in before letting go of my temporary insanity.

Mr. Henry W. Alan dropped dead. Oh, I thought, Oh shit.