An On-line Novel: The Immoral: Good Character

Mr. Haggerman stuck his face into Grueber's. The kid had a lot of nerve. He was unruly for a missionary kid. What was the world coming to? Maybe the end of the world as the Bible had predicted. But he was far from rapture ready. The retired Army-man had a lot of anger to iron out. Maybe after retirement.

The kid staring him straight in the eyes glumped something down twice. He noted persperation dotting across his pimpled forehead.

If he could, he'd head butt him like he used to do to some of his undisciplined privates. But this was a high school. And according to the rules, it was only the principal who could dish out physical punishment. Child abuse laws were making things harder. It was just another sign of the times and another reason why his blood boiled. How was he not supposed to let the sun go down on his anger? He deserved respect.

But he restrained himself, squinted his eyes at the walking-grease-pit, and shouted, "Get into your seat!"

Grueber responded by spinning around and skittered  toward his desk.

The classroom fell silent. Faces went sullen and everyone scurried to their seats.

Mr. Haggerman stood in the doorway, right hand in pocket, jingling change. He gazed around the classroom and then at Cassandra. "Do we have names, Miss Berg?" He strutted toward her. "I hope I pegged you correctly."

Shelly Arkon 2015

An On-Line Novel: The Immoral: Chapter Four

Man Up

 

Ronald’s alarm let out an ear-piecing noise. He peeked out of his covers and let it continue to screech. 6:30AM. The first day of high school begins. Nausea had jumbled in the pit of his stomach. The uniform he was required to wear, a pair of navy blue slacks and a red polo shirt, was more than boring. It would be the same outfit day in and day out for nine months except for weekends and holidays. The ensemble lacked style and would be like every guy in school. No creativity whatsoever. At least he didn’t have to worry about where the pant length ended like Cassandra had to with her skirt. God forbid if it wasn’t a good two inches past her knees. Something like that could get his best friend suspended.

“Ronny!” his mother hollered. “You up?”

“Yeah!” He threw his covers off, sat up, and finally switched off his shrieking alarm clock.

“How come you’re not in the bathroom yet!? Did you forget the head cheese is leaving in an hour!?” He couldn’t figure why his mother referred to his stepdad as that. Why not baldy? Or jerk? Either one fit the man perfectly. His mother married him two years after his father died when he was four.

Ronald swung his legs around and planted his bare feet onto the shag carpet. “I’m making my bed,” he lied, although that would be the next thing he would do.

He turned around and grabbed the bed covers pulling them up to the pillow. After, he smoothed out the wrinkles and tucked in the corners. Someone could have bounced a quarter off his bed.

Next, he walked toward his mirror attached to his dresser across from his bed. There, he turned on his lamp and studied his chin. No zits. Good. The crushed aspirin mixed with a little bit of water worked over night like a charm. But his dirty-blonde hair was a whole other matter. It didn’t help that he had a major cowlick smack dab in the middle of his forehead. The hairdresser called it a widow’s peak. His mother called it the Eddie Munster. He rolled his eyes as he smoothed his bangs back only to have them fall across his forehead again. It would take a lot of hair spray to keep it parted perfectly down the middle and feathered.

The door to his room swung open and smacked the wall.

Ronald jumped and veered his eyes toward the left.

“Why aren’t you moving, girly-boy?” his step father said, standing in a pair of boxers, showing off his hairy chest and pot belly. How could his mother cozy up this grody-human-being at night?

“I am.” Ronald huffed out the words. It irked him how his step dad felt the need to throw around his authority.

The man reached for his crotch and scratched.

Ronald winced, turned his attention back to the mirror, and primped his hair. What kind of person scratches their ball in front of another person? He kept the thought to himself.

 

“If I were you,” his step father said. “I’d man up before I stepped foot onto a Baptist campus. If I know what you are, they’ll for sure figure you out.”

Shelly Arkon © 2015

 

On-line Novel: The Immoral, Chapter 2

After Ronald hung up the phone, he sauntered from the kitchen toward the living room. There, in the middle sat a glass-top coffe table. Right between two heavy gold candlesticks laid the family Bible. He picked it up and flipped it open quickly. Closing his eyes, he trailed his finger blindly down the page and counted to five and then stopped. There, he peeked at the scripture.

It read: Deuteronomy 22:5 The woman shall not wear which pertaineth unto a man,  neither shall a man put on a woman's garment for all that do so are an abomination unto the Lord thy God.

His mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. "What?" He said out into the room. "Why are you picking on me? I can't help it." He couldn't help that he liked girl clothes and make-up and even Cassandra's dreamy-Schneider. The last part he'd keep to himself all the way to the grave.

"Did you say something, Ronnie!" His mother hollered from her bedroom. She had her Do-Not-Disturb sign hanging on her door. Afternoons were for her cocktails and naps even though she had all day to herself for those. She didn't work like Cassandra's mom.

"No!" He yelled back. "Just doing some homework!" A trickle of sweat ran down his left temple as heat rose from his toes all the way to his cheeks. Shame and anger being the instigators.

" Just keep it down. You know your mama needs her beauty rest before the head cheese comes home."

"Okay."

He glanced down at the verse again. "Why are you picking on me about this, God? You know I'm different. I always have been." He fanned through the pages and it stopped in the book of James. His eyes caught a verse that he could use for confirmation. But he took it just as personally as he did the first one. 

James 4:7 Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

"What? Are you telling me this is the devil's fault?" He whispered." But you made me like this. Didn't you?"

Shelly Arkon ©2015