Fresh Man

Worst day of my life.

I started my freshman year of Journalism at Empire State University the other day - keeping in mind that the term officially started a week ago. Maybe my lateness is a blessing in disguise given all the disappearances on campus lately, but - whatever.

My first class, Online Media and Publishing, went fairly smoothly, so I should've figured right then that luck was about to release me from its tenuous grasp.

In Foundations of Journalism, I made the mistake of sitting in a seat where the prof was able to point me out (out of a class of hundreds) and demand I answer some obscure question about journalistic integrity that I didn't know because I DIDN'T READ THE COURSE MATERIAL BECAUSE I DIDN'T GET THE COURSE READING LIST BECAUSE -

Okay, well, I've been really busy last week, what with, you know, playing photographer... for all the crimes. New York is... crimey. And it demands a photographer's eye.

Anyway, my prof bitched me out and made me leave class. There are plenty of people who'd love to be in my seat right now, she said, and I'm disrespecting not only her but everyone around me by being such an asshole. So, I packed up my stuff. And left. While everyone watched. In a huge lecture hall of about 300 students.

You know what would have been really awesome right then? Death.

I almost didn't want to go to my next class, but unless I wanted to major in Advanced Living In My Parents' Basement I knew I had to sit through at least one lecture today. And this I was dreading. Science credit, yawn. Superhuman Biology seemed like the less bang-my-head-on-my-desk option out of all the first year sciences, but... still, dudes. Biology.

Now, here's where things got just a tid strange. In my first two classes our profs did a little shpiel about the disappearances of students and gave - I assume administration-written - warnings to stay indoors after 7 pm, and not to traipse around campus like a fuckhead waiting to be kidnapped.

My superhuman biology prof?

Not a peep about it.

Somebody in the row behind me even brought up to our prof that there have been rumours that all the missing students have had some sort of low-level mutation. Professor Gein either didn't hear her or chose not to hear her, because the next thing out of his mouth was, "Turn to page 28. Today we're talking about basic energy manipulation."

His behaviour struck me as rather sad, actually. It almost seemed like a student he had taken a shine to was one of the missing persons - I suppose it was a sore subject. Poor guy.

Oh, my roommate ate all of my marshmallow fluff and my motor scooter died on me today. How the hell am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Fly?

God, Jim better vouch for me tomorrow if I'm late. He owes me*.











*not really

You're Not Here

Every couple of days for the past... god damn year, I've been having the same nightmare. I read somewhere that writing it down will, like, purge it from your mind or some voodoo shit like that, and given that I don't have access to a nightmare-take-out-of-my-brain-er (yet) I guess the ghetto version will have to do.

I'm walking through a ghost town. There's... fog? Mist? Smoke? Everywhere. I can still breathe, but it makes me feel weaker somehow. I can barely see ten feet in front of me, it's so thick. The wind howls into my ear so loudly and suddenly that my heart leaps into my throat.

The wind passes.

Then it's silent.

That feeling you get when you're alone but you know you're being watched is creeping up my spine and spreading through my body. I turn around suddenly and there's what I think is a girl in the distance... looks about my age but with the fog it's hard to tell. She's waving at me. The closer I get to her, the farther she appears. I don't get it.

I scream and scream at her. What do you want? Who are you? What is this place? But I make no sound. So, that's fucking great. Then, the girl points to the ground, as if to get me to look.

I look. I can see through the road. Below the ground is this godawful nightmare world that looks exactly like the town I'm in except much, much different. The basic structure and buildings are the same but everything's made out of blood and metal and rust. There are these things roaming the street... god, the noises they made...

I'm too scared to run, so instead I sink right into the road and into the nightmare world. I fall - forever it seems like - and land on this platform, right next to a broken wheelchair. There's another man there with me... not a monster or anything. He seemed frightened. But he wasn't confused like I was.

He leans over to me and whispers, "I see it all now."

"See what?" I ask.

He gives me this look, then mutters "Bodyslide by two."

And I wake up with a jolt.

Dreams don't make any fucking sense, do they?

I don't think he realises it's a Jesus-y name

Through my astronomically impressive journalism skills I was able to score an interview and a picture with the superdude who saved that family from the fire last week.

His name is "Redeemer", as it turns out, and he says he's not aware of any religious connotation attached to the codename. I wasn't aware either, and it would be nice if I could fly by a church
without being pelted with tomatoes for once.

-He, sorry. It'd be nice if he could. He can fly. Not me.

I mean we've got that one lunatic running around (the honchos at the Sentinel are dubbing him Zealot - does every crazy in New York need a nickname?) declaring the end of the world and talking to God and shit, and yet Redeemer's the one they throw tomatoes at?

Anyway, in addition to the flight this guy can walk through shit. I was allowed one picture of him demonstrating his ability.



...holy shit, right?

In other news, the Daily Sentinel has been kinda hellish the days I've been in. They're still doing construction on the floor that Heavyweight (bah) demolished so Jim had to move into my office temporarily. I don't mind this, it's just that Jim's kind of an intimidating dude.

And like... a red head.

What do you say to red heads, really?

Fuck fuck fuck

I've got a deadline at the Daily Sentinel which'll have the editor parading my head around on a pike if I don't make it. I've been late with my pictures for the last two assignments. It's not my fault, stuff kept coming up. Like that dude who saved that family from a fire by literally walking through walls.

All my article proposals about this guy have been rejected so far. He's apparently not high profile enough. What - do you have to be the god damn Heavyweight to get on the front page? Why not give exposure to the lower-profiled supers. Might, uh... give them a much needed ego boost.

Can't type any more. Must develop film.

Fuuuuuck.