Jocking, The: Adam Turner

A Hero to Save Us


By CallMeCrazy

. . . and itís currently eleven in the morning with cloudy skies. Next on our lineup is the Asian star, Kai Cole, with his single ĎFly Again.í Youíre listening to AM 1440 KHT, for all

the hits outside of America. Iím

The radio had been stopped suddenly by a once still hand. The body attached to the hand turned over in bed and prepared to go back to sleep. Except, for some reason, he couldnít. After a few minutes of tossing about, he finally gave up. Mindlessly, he began to sing the words to the song he had silenced.

"Can I come close to you? Can I talk to you?

And if I say so,

will you love me?"

He sat in silence a moment longer before sitting upright and leaning off the bed. He didnít like the next lines in the song, so he sang his own.

"If you gave me your hand,

I would fly again.

If you would love me,

I would fly again.

I can fly . . with you."

But somehow, the words sounded hollow, reverberating against the pale walls of the room. It was a small room, with a tiny bathroom attached. The room was part of a two-bedroom apartment in a small college town in Oklahoma.

"It rains everyday in this town," he began narrating to himself. "Like the sun itself refuses to shine on this decrepit land. I wonder if a place really exists, where the sun glows from the sky, caressing the world with its golden light. Or maybe itís just some sick joke, because no one ever leaves this place. Itís like a tiny hell here, each day a lifetime of dying slowly and each night a series of unending nightmares."

He opened the closet door and began to sort through his clothes.

"And amid this chaos, I live in silence. Waiting for a chance to be heard, to change the world. But the rain still comes. And my dreams fade away into darkness."

He glanced in the mirror.

"Who am I? My name is . . . Adam Turner."

Adam was a tall boy, with brown and blonde hair. He was thin, but had a cut body. Not beautiful, he was cute and charming enough to overpower sheer beauty. He walked out of his room wearing low-cut jeans, a dress shirt, and flip-flops. He scoured about the kitchen/living room for any traces of food. Instead he found a note from his roommate.

"Get up earlier and Iíll save food for you."

Adam just smiled as he read the note. Then, he noticed something else.

"P.S. If you get up before noon, call me."

Adam just shook his head, full aware that James knew him that well. James was a short, Indian man with a fairly muscular body. They had been friends for years, and just recently got the apartment together. It had two small rooms, each with its own bathroom. They shared a small living room and kitchen. Tiny was the operative word, but it worked.

It was Wednesday morning, and the end of the week was fast approaching. The entire campus was absorbed in the excitement of the football game Saturday. The team was on a winning streak, causing long forgotten fans to pour into the stadium. But Adam had little time to think of it. Mid-terms approached without pause, and threatened to ruin his grade point average and his credits.

"Leave it to me to want to be a doctor," he muttered as he packed up his books. Adam and James were both pre-med students. They had promised to transfer at the end of the second year, yet they had both returned. There was more to it than being lazy.

His mind returning to the note, Adam took out his cell phone and searched for his roommateís name. It rang four times and then the machine picked up. Adam hung up in slight frustration and headed to class.

Having tried to avoid some classes, Adam found himself stuck with some basic courses, one being Federal Government. Adam hated nothing more than politics, and spent all class just waiting for it to end. The class was taught by a Mr. Theodore Fisher, the resident psycho on campus. Each day he spouted theories of government conspiracy and alien abduction.

Adam sat down next to his friend Mitch, a starting offensive lineman on the football team, and pulled out a blank sheet of paper.

You look happy.

You hate this class as much as I do.

Itís not that bad, Adam.

Yes, it is. Here comes his speech about government

conspiracy. Theodore Fisher is a crazy man. He rants

about how the CIA is hunting him down.

Heís old.

He should die.


"Alright class, now todayís topic is mind control. There are various methods of mind control. . ."

Adamís interest immediately began to increase at the mention of such odd topics. The very relief of not hearing about how conservatives were working with aliens and liberals were high was enough to make Adam beam. That fact that the topic was almost fun made it incredible.

One hour later, Adam was running across the school to his second-level psychology course- Human Sexuality. Taught by the infrangible Madam Cull, or Spinster Cull as her students spoke, the class was a mixture between aged cynicism and outright hatred of love.

"Love! Does not exist!" She spouted everyday in her decrepit voice, like Old Faithful. No one tried to challenge her anymore, the bitch was set in her ways. For some reason, Adam seemed unable to alter his schedule and spent his semester listening to crazy, bitter folks rant about nothing.

"People express sex in their lives. Every action taken is the result of some repressed sexual desire. We strive in life to relieve those desires, and so we behave like animals. Instinctively, we all try to satisfy carnal urges lusting deep within our souls, or the penis for the boys."

Man-hater. I wish people would die. Not everyone, just the people who make my life in this hell-hole miserable. I donít want James to die, that would just make this whole thing unbearable. At least this way I can antagonize him.

"Adam!" barked the ancient hag. Adam sat straight up as he was jutted from his thoughts on paper. "Provide an example of something in life that is an expression of sex!"

Holy hell.

"Umm . . . . touching a person-"

"No! An activity unconsciously based upon the desire to enact sexual urges."


"Anything. We express sexual desires and inhibitions in every aspect of our lives. From the word choice we use to the way we move. Itís all about sex. Sex! Sex! Sex!" He screamed down at the woman. Spinster Cull appeared surprised, but recovered nicely with a simple nod.

"Continuing . ." came the screech.

This is not my day. •

This collection was originally created as a compressed archive for personal offline viewing
and is not intended to be hosted online or presented in any commercial context.

Any webmaster choosing to host or mirror this archive online
does so at their sole discretion.

Archive Version 070326