King Jeremy (Inspired from Pearl Jam)

“Jeremy” The teacher called. It was his turn to speak. I have to say, I will never forget that day.

The poor kid.

They never told us why he did it, but I think I can figure out what had gone so wrong.

His problems started at home I think, just weeks before. His father must have lost his job or something, because he became abusive to Jeremy. In those weeks, months too maybe, he came into school having to hold himself together. His eye was almost always blackened, and his lip a bit swollen.What made matters worse was the fact that he didn’t have any friends to talk to about it, and the teachers never did anything for him.

After that first time it happened, the incident repeated. Every few days he would come into school with cuts and bruises, and the bullies tortured him because of it. Just taunting and teasing him, striving to add as much of their own brand of pain as possible.When they tried to hurt him they must have reminded him of his father, because the second they laid a hand on him, he lashed out. He beat one or two of them to tears before the teacher came to stop the fight. She didn’t phase him in the least, and he just attacked them too. Bit her I think. What ever he did, it was enough to have his period of suspension extended past the other boys. He was gone for two weeks, and now as I think about it, his father must have put him to about an inch of his life, because when he came back he was more than limping. He couldn’t possibly have been the same boy who had left. Before his suspension, there was a sadness, something telling that he still felt, but now…

Now he was scary…

Now you could feel his eyes on you. As though his furious gaze could pierce your body. There was this resentment towards everyone and everything. When he sat alone at lunch, he glared at all others. The bullies would pass him, and after that fight, they didn’t mess with him again. Either from fear he would attack back, or that look of hate he gave to them and everyone else. No one messed with him.

It went on for a while like this, the rage behind his eyes focusing in on the people around him. He didn’t speak to anyone, did his school work, and wasn’t called upon during the day to answer questions.

That is, until we were assigned a project.

I think it was something about family, which probably stung him harder than anything else, and you had to ask your parents questions. Presentation day came, and I distinctly remember him not having a project with him to enter the class. Thought it was strange, but assumed he was just being the regular old Jeremy. The bell rang, we all sat down, and we each presented our projects.

“Jeremy” the teacher called, it was his turn to speak. He stood from his desk, hand to his pocket, and walked up to the front of the room. Something changed in his eyes, he went from fury to a bitter sadness. I will never forget it for as long as I live. I was sitting in the front row, his face aimed towards the floor, and out from his pocket he pulled a gun. The teacher flew back in her chair, “Oh poop”. How professional really… He didn’t wait at all, not a second, but moved the gun to his chin, and looked straight to the sky. A tear rolled down his face as he put both hands on the trigger. The next few seconds felt like hours, not a person could move until he pulled that trigger. It hurt. He blinked and squinted his eyes and it finally released. His brains flew and hit the chalk board, his knees buckled beneath him, and he fell to the floor. Not a person in the room moved, we were all shocked by the scene before us. Jeremy had shot himself.

I guess they could hear the gunshot down the hall because the principal burst into the room, ready to try and protect the students. When he saw Jeremy his knees buckled too, though I’m sure there wasn’t a pistol involved.

My shirt was wet, and I knew that I had gotten blood on me, but I couldn’t turn away. I really didn’t turn to look away until the paramedics came to move him. They worked so fast, like its normal. Following the paramedics were the police, and following them the news reporters. The Officers took us to separate places, giving us things like soda and candy to calm us down, and asked questions about what had happened. They scribbled down notes about what we were saying, occasionally offering to stop if we needed a moment to breath. One or two of the girls in the class actually started screaming, and a boy crawled into a ball crying. Everyone reacted in their own time, but I guess it just came to the fact I was the closest person to Jeremy when it happened. Perhaps I was under the largest amount of shock out of anyone. We were dismissed from school early, and I went home to tell my parents what happened. They erupted in fear and tears asking if I was alright. I told them I was, and it wasn’t a lie.

It wasn’t until later that night that what had happened truly hit me. My mother came into the room, hushing me to sleep as I sobbed into her arms. I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I was having nightmares.

There is nothing in this world like seeing someone die.

That next day, over the announcements, the principal told the school a very very toned down version of what had actually happened. Told us that a boy named Jeremy had been shot the previous day, and that there was a funeral to be held tomorrow.

I went to that funeral. I don’t know why I did it, and my parents objected to it at first, but I just thought that someone should go to see him. When we pulled up to the funeral home, there was not a person in there. We talked to the attending door man to make sure we were on the right date, and he assured us we were. Jeremy’s parents came, as did three of his other relatives. Not a single person out side of his family came to visit him that entire day. They were short handed, so my father offered to be a pallbearer for him, and we led off to the cemetery.

His parents didn’t cry. His father looked at his coffin with more disappointment than anything and his mother devoured the sympathy from the three others.

After a short sermon over the coffin, rushed by Jeremy’s father, they buried the poor boy once and for all. My parents wanted to leave, but I didn’t let them go. I told them that I had to stay. Jeremy’s family all left, and I felt it was safe to talk.

“Jeremy. I’m sorry. I should have stepped out, I should have said something. We all should have. Its all our fault. Now that you are rid of your parents, and the cruel cruel world you were born into, I hope you can rest easy. I hope to god that he understands what you went through and lets you go to heaven. I am just so sorry, but I fear it is to late. Jeremy, I will not forget you or what you went through. Jeremy, I hope the best for you. Good bye.”

The evil eye is watching in the background, and, if you watch carefully, there are alot of subliminals like the class giving a fascist salute. I remember this video was made after Bush the father’s war in Iraq

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