Butch stared at his large-bellied, balding algebra teacher with a false expression of interest as he droned on and on about factoring trinomials. The teacher, Mr. Duncane, had an annoying nasal aspect to his voice, but it was also throaty in a way. To Butch, it was intolerable. That’s why he chose to listen to his iPod all class period every day while his peers, much like an annoying brunette to his right, fervently jotted down notes of his lesson. When it became time to work on their assignment, he just stared blankly at his open book.
Factor each expression:
1) Eight y cubed minus four y squared minus fifty y plus twenty-five
“What the fuck?” Butch whispered to himself. He looked around the class room and saw that everyone else were already well into numbers twelve or fifteen. The annoying brunette was on number twenty-two. He glanced back at his own paper.
1) Eight y cubed minu
He never finished even writing the first equation, and everyone else were well on their way to completion. He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t good at much anything unless you counted being a dick to just about everyone. He had a way to make even the most confident people feel like absolute shit about themselves, and he took pride in that. It was all he could claim as something he did best, so why shouldn’t he be proud of it? He didn’t have many friends because of it, but who cared? Although, that may have been the issue.
The annoying brunette stood from her desk triumphantly to turn her paper into Mr. Duncane, who offered her an approving smile in turn. When she returned to her desk, she had a smug atmosphere about her. It was probably because she was the first person in class to complete the assignment. Butch didn’t understand the repletion she felt, but sometimes he wished he could understand. He was much too lazy and uninterested to ever try harder than he had to.
Butch glanced at his wrists. They were covered in scars from the nights where he lay awake, thinking of his life and how useless it was. He had started small months ago; just a tiny slit across his vein when his counselor scolded his lack of motivation. That was when he realized how pointless he was. His depression grew deeper and deeper, and his cuts followed subsequently.
As terrifying as it was to him, he couldn’t find the energy to feel concerned. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere with his life. With even the best of luck, his greatest probability was living in a box and eating from trash cans. His family hated him, and they made it profoundly clear that he would be out on the streets as soon as he was a legal adult. That was that. Maybe he could sell drugs for a few hundred bucks here and there.
The bell finally rang for school to dismiss and Butch had talked himself down so far that he was dazed. He didn’t remember going home, locking himself in his room, or grabbing the gun he kept in his underwear drawer for safety. All he could brood over was that he wouldn’t be missed. The type of people that the world missed were ones like the annoying brunette that had a positive outlook on life. No one, he was sure, would shed a tear for the incompetent Butch Jojo. He slowly raised the gun to his head and placed his finger over the trigger.