Michael Hamburger: A hopeless, lost cause. Psychopath.
Warning: This story contains scenes of an intense and
Chapter 1/2: Summer Lovin'
"Something so beautiful, so light and pure should always be dancing on sun-lit stars," Michael whispers to himself, sitting on his bed and looking out the window at the moon, glowing in the atlantic sea-like midnight sky. He stands up, slowly walking towards the window and delicately putting his palm on the crystal clear glass, as if his hand had become the moon in the sky; the intense silver auroa coating the outside of his fingers like angel wings. His eyes begin to water at the sheer beauty: "I just want to have sex with the moon..."
Michael weeps as his bedroom door is violently kicked from the hatches by his father eating a seven kilogram tub of plain vanilla yogurt.
"Boy! Tomorrow is the big dance and you haven't got yourself a date! I'm asha--"
Michael's father slips on a big black dildo laying in wake beside now broken splinters and chunks of wood from Michael's door. His father lands throat-first onto the floor and starts coughing so violently as he rolls around on the floor that it gives Michael an erection.
"Father!" Michael says, ecstatically jumping for joy as his father coughs up yogurt. "You sound like you have Bronchitis, father!" Michael begins jumping up and down, dancing around his father. His father's eyes burst, his lungs float into his liver and that's the end of that.
Just another day at John F. Kennedy secondary school for fifteen-year-old Michael Hamburger. Not quite able to fit in with the cool kids, not quite able to fit in with the smart kids, not quite able to fit in. His dream to become a doctor was slowly slipping away from him now that his father, who never believed in his dreams anyway had passed onto the next life.
A bell tolls through the halls and Michael makes his way to his English Literature class, respectively.
Michael sits alone as kids sit around the classroom like a pack of wolves, calously snickering at Michael. One stouty ginger haired boy throws a piece of rolled up paper at the back of Michael's head. Michael looks behind him; the group acting as if it never happened. He reaches his sweaty palm down to the plain grey carpeted floor and picks the ball up. He unfolds it carefully: 'fa**ot' is written on the paper in big, bold red letters. Michael scrunches the paper back up and eats it.
After Michael finishes his last sentance, the bell tolls and it's finally time for lunch. He makes his way to the caféteria, alone. One thing keeps playing on his mind, and that's what his now deceased father said last night. He realises this could be his one chance, his one big break to finally make it in this school. Michael Hamburger was going to find a date!
Standing in line, waiting for a sloppyjoe burger with honey mustard soaking through the stale, out-dated bun, he sees a foreign exchange student who only arrived last week. He attempts to cut through the line to get to her, but boys and girls alike all shove him to the burning cold wooden floor below, covered in pubic lice and kidney failure.
Everyone gets a good laugh before Michael is helped up by the foreign exchange student. He stands tall and as proud as he can get as she smiles at him, flicking the long golden locks out of her deep and sensual brown eyes. Michael stares into her eyes for what feels to him like an eternity. She grips him by the hands and smiles; she's found herself a man for the dance.
"I like your boobies!" Michael blurts out, as her face glomps into a failed psilocybin-trip state. She begins to run off before a tall, well-built man rugby tackles her through a wooden table, dreadlocking her spinal cord and bursting her thoracic diaphragm.
Michael declares to himself it would be pointless to help her up. Not because she might forgive him, but because she's about six minutes and twenty-four seconds from death.
Michael holds his head in his hands as he walks home with his Foxy Brown backpack strapped smartly to his back.
"How do I find a date? I'm a doctor for pete's sake!"
Michael stops at McDonald's on the way home and orders a new thing on the menu: a burger with cheese! He wharfs it down in four and scurries on home. Arriving, he sees his mother rocking back and forth in her chair on the lawn, knitting a sweater for her cat. He doesn't bother to acknowledge her, and the response is mutual on her end.
He climbs through the window of his room and lands on his desk, breaking his Hulk Hogan action figure and rolling onto his feet. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror: brown tuxedo from the sixties, pink under-shirt, shocking yellow tie, balding. He couldn't understand why no girl would wish to go to the dance with him.
He hears a knock on the door. "Mum, you fa**ot tits," he yells. A knock once again. Michael has a knack for answering the door and spitting and possibly biting whoever is on the other side, so he prepares himself. He yanks the door open and sees a cute twelve-year-old girl in a girlscout uniform with a box of cookies in her hands.
"Hi, mister. I'm se--"
Before she could finish her exceptionally good marketing skills which made her Junior Scout of the Year two times in a row, Michael violently grabs her by the pigtails and yanks her inside, slamming the door with his left foot.
"You're hired!" he says, frantically trying to re-attach the hair he pulled from the roots of her head.
"What do you mean, mister?" she questions, beginning to cry.
Michael starts kicking her like a football into his room as she shrieks and cries in terror with each and every boot to her theigh and ribs. He locks his bedroom door and puts his finger on his lips.
"Shh, shh. Don't worry, I'm a doctor! I can re-attach that hair to your skull. I just need a jacknife!" The girl begins panicking and tries to make a break for it out the open window by his desk. She slips on the yogurt his father spewed from his gastric bowels before death and lands knee-first into the floor, instantly causing the bone to pop out her shin. She begins crying and screaming like a banshee before Michael finds his trusty jacknife. He turns her over onto her back and peers inside her leg, seeing her muscles. He digs the jacknife in and begins cutting the muscles like strings on a guitar.
"We're going to have to reroute the entire central nerve system in your leg! There is no time to put you under! Oh wait, yes there is." Michael thumps her on the head with his fist. This only causes her to cry louder. He continues to thump her in the brain until both of her eye sockets shatter and her cheek bones replace her back teeth. Michael sees she's unconcious and gets back to work.
She died, obviously.
Michael rocks back and forth, cradling himself in his arms, clenching the girl's muscles in his hands. The jacknife is sticking out her brain, which is visable on eye-contact with the girl and half of her intestines are being used as a belt around Michael's trousers. He can't understand why he couldn't save her. It was his dream. He stands up, and after a seventeen hour operation, he walks into his living room and picks up his phone and begins dialing.
"This time, I'm going to do it right."
He gets a response.
"Hi, 'Little Bakers'? Yes, hi, I'm doctor Hamburger of one-five-five of bullace close, and I'd like to request a purchase of some cookies. Delivery? Okay, I'll be in. Send someone right away. I'm hungry as a turnip."