Remnant from a Long Troll

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

I'm really sorry to dump all this on you right away, but I didn't know where to start and this is a place where people can freely communicate with each other and you all seem like the type who can realy deal with the crazy s*** that the world is built out of, or maybe I'm wrong and I'll get kicked out of here but I don't care anymore I have to tell someone you have to believe me I don't even know if I can believe myself anymore but I saw it, it's real, and I swear to god I'm not crazy.

My mom coddled the hell out of me when I was growing up. I was an only child in a nice little suburban family, but mom insisted on staying home with me and wouldn't let me go to the public school because its full of bullies and crackheads and she didn't want anything bad happening to me so I never really left the house or made any friends. I mean, I left the house sometimes for like going to the grocery store or errands or crap like that, and she would let me talk with other kids while we were out, it wasn't one of those creepy control things, and she's take me to church every sunday and I'd sit there quietly asking god why I was different from everyone else because I could tell, you know? I could just tell there was something weird, something wrong with me that had been wrong since I was born and there was nothing nobody could do about it. Not even mom. But god didn't talk to me because I'm not crazy. I just sat there looking at the big old wooden cross behind the priest and nothing ever happened.

I don't know who my real dad is. I wouldn't even know that he wasn't my real dad if I hadn't heard them fighting one night and he said he was this close to walking right the f*** out that door and that monster upstairs was her problem and not his and when was she going to do something about it and ther was some banging and I heard mom cry but I didn't do anything because what do you do when that happens, you know? Nothing. Cops don't even want to do anything. She wasn't bruised up or anything that week, so maybe he was just hitting things. I don't know. I know he always hated me because I'm wrong and he knew it and he wanted me to be better but he just couldn't make it happen and every time he tried mom would get in the way and tell him that I was too delicate for all that, never get a husband, and he'd laugh and say of course she's never going to get a husband and then I'd cry and he'd say he was sorry but he was never sorry you can tell when people mean it and he didn't.

Anyway, that was a lot more than I meant to write, I'm sorry, but I think you need to understand that this is my whole life, this is everything I have. I didn't wake up one day and go "HOLY COW I'M DIFFERENT!" it's not like this is some coming of age nonsense that people go through I read Catcher in teh Rye this is definitely not that. No. I was always off, like a plug that didn't fit right in the socket only the socket was the world around me.

Mom got me a razor, for my legs and my pits, because all that's starting to get a little out of hand and I want to be able to wear nice things. She showed me how to use it and I swear I was really careful but I cut myself anyway, right on that little bump of the ankle where it sticks out. I never got cut before. I knwo that's probably weird, I hear things about kids skinning their knees and stuff so I guess that's what's normal but remember mom didn't let me go out and roughhouse or play around much. I cut myself and there was something underneath it. I could see it. Like those stories of people getting their bones broken and trying to pull them out because they look like tree limbsstuck in there, but it's just their own femur cracked in half. There was somethign under there, and I had to get it out. This dark green scale underneath the blood and thin crust of skin. Only I couldn't get it out, because it's me.

I just tore half my leg skin off. I don't know what will happen if I take it all off, I don't think I want to know. It's still bleeding some but I wrapped it up with some gauze right around the edges where I tore the skin and under pants you can barely tell but I need to know what the hell I am and what's going on with me. I heard stories about the lizard people, but I never thought it was a real thing. And who the f*** is my father?

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

Typos were intentional, to convey urgency and a lack of self-editing. It was supposed to be part of a long troll on some forum or another, I don't remember any of the details at this point. Found it spelunking in the Holy Nonsense folder.

[MMIX]

O I love this. It needs to be a discordian shaggy dog story and the punch line needs to be "Don't fucking judge me, I've got tentacles for a face."

or not, yanno