//------------------------------// // Crap // Story: Spike Is Screwed // by Geoice //------------------------------// With the blazing heat of the day only getting worse as the sun rose into the sky, everybody was feeling the muggy weight of mother nature bearing down on them. Most chose to tough out the heat indoors. The mercy of at least an electrical fan awaited those smart enough to realise how unreasonable moving outside was. There was, of course, those crazy or passionate enough to move in this heat. Athletes and health nuts were running the course of exercising and keeping fit. In this blazing heat, it was obvious to everyone that having light clothes was a must. Though even amongst the foolish, there are those more foolish than others. There in the middle of a dirt jogging trail, was one such fool. A short green-haired boy was sweating profusely. Taking deep, gasping breaths, each step would seemingly be his last. Spike looked at the female pacing just a few steps before him. Gilda, keeping just a few paces ahead of Spike, to serve as motivation, was revealing a decent amount of skin with her compression shorts and crop top. Unlike Spike, whose torrent of sweat left a trail behind him, Gilda only had a light sheen of sweat covering her. With a click of her tongue, she looked at Spike and contemplated how such a fit-looking kid had such poor endurance. Without even trying, the space between her and him was growing step by step. “Burn off those burgers! Come on, pick up the pace!” She hollers while jogging backwards. “I’m sweating buckets. I didn’t even know I could sweat so much in my life. This could be hazardous to my health,” He complained, attempting to pull the sweatshirt for a little fresh air, but it was seemingly fused to his chest. “Stop complaining and just pick up the pace. You’re falling behind.” Gilda rolled her eyes, “What’s wrong with you? Little dweeb getting tired already?” “Well, I didn’t really come prepared, you know,” Spike said. “I have jeans on right now. Adding to that, they don’t give any air flow, so they’re not really the best thing to wear in this heat. You at least have on shorts and a top. Of course, you’re doing better than me!” “Didn’t you have some gym clothes in your P.E. class or in your backpack?” Gilda turned back around, keeping her pace ahead of the sweaty teen. “You could’ve changed into those instead of what you have on, you know.” “You told me that we were going for a short walk! This is obviously not a short walk it’s a freaking marathon! I barely have any stamina in me left.” “Ha! You can only blame yourself. If you hadn’t been peeping on me in the girls locker... well, who knows, you could have been home, doing whatever pervy boys do.” “I thought we already discussed this....” Spike wheezed, panting between words before falling over on the ground. “I can’t go on anymore.” Gilda turned around to the sweat flop laying in the dirt. With a sigh, she walked back until her shoes were right next to Spike’s sweaty green hair. She squatted down, staring at him quite annoyed. He continued to wheeze as if he was having a seizure. Without a care, she dug her nail into his purple sweat drenched shirt repeatedly, not actually knowing if he could feel the pain. Gilda looked at the fool and imagined oddly enough how close he looked to an eggplant. His green hair covered in sheen almost looked like dew, and his purple clothes almost looked like the plump body in his fallen state. He was like a vegetable... And somewhat lifeless... Startled, she checked his breathing. Only after a tense moment did she let out a relieved sigh. Unfortunately, all that came out were just weak breaths, other than that the veggie wasn’t moving a single twitch. She raised a brow, patting him on his back with little to the same results. His wheezing came to a sudden halt, adding on to Gilda’s growing concern. She patted his back roughly against his wet shirt. “Uh... Spike are you okay?” Gilda asked. With no response, she started shaking his shoulders. “Come on, you can’t be that out of shape. We only ran a little more than 7K, that’s nothing.” She chuckled anxiously, hoping the teen would get back up saying it was a joke he was playing to get back at her. Then shortly afterwards she would pound his face in repeatedly with both her fists. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for him, sort of, he wasn’t playing a prank on her. “Hehe... there I gave your joke some points. Now get up, dammit, before I make you!” “...” “Okay, stop dicking with me, wake up.” She used her free hand rocking him harder side to side. She flopped him over on his back and squatted over him with each of her legs on each side of his body, her butt directly over his abdomen. She grabbed him by his hair, pulling it up, levelling to hers, shaking lightly , “I said wake up, dweeb!” “...” “Oh hell,” Gilda sighed in distressed. She let go of his sweaty hair, letting him plop on the dirt. She examined the young teen’s attire noticing that it did seem very unfitting for what they just did. She took hold of the cloth of his damped shirt, it being a very dark color and somewhat thick. She noticed that his shirt   felt as if it was a soaked tub of sweat along with its stench. Looking at his body, it was practically drenched in his sweat. Looking down at herself, she had clothing that was much lighter than he wore. She had on a pair of semi loose shorts made of thin gray cloth giving her plenty of airflow with her legs unlike his. Her grey tee shirt that fit tightly around her chest and waist was also light enough in color that it didn’t trap heat in like Spike’s shirt did. Based off how damp her shirt was, he might as well have been a human-sized water balloon with holes in it; she didn’t break a sweat as nearly as much as he did. His face had several droplets all over, running all the way down his neck. Some of the droplets had stuck dirt to his face. She picked up his left arm by the wrists and wiggled it around. Other than it being covered in sweat, it did look well-toned for a boy Spike’s age. She gave his bicep a hard pinch. “Hm… that’s pretty hard,” she said, impressed by how well-toned it was. She laid her palm flat on his arm to feel more of it. After a few moments of rubbing his arm, it struck her. Wait a minute! she thought. She let go of his arm, letting it plop back onto the ground. “Why am I feeling him up while he’s knocked out... or at all!” Standing up, she walked away from the unconscious teen, scratching deep into her scalp... “He’s definitely out for the count,” Gilda said, rubbing her temples. “Well, I can't take him to his house like this. Nor could I take him there at all. I never did bother to ask him where he lives...” Gilda looked back at the teen who still hadn’t moved an inch. She walked back to the unmoved teen, squatting over him again. She lifted his left eyelid up with her thumb. His emerald eye had rolled to the back of his head, showing mostly white and hardly any of his cornea. ‘That’s not good!’ She snapped her fingers, trying to grab his attention... Not really effective towards contributing to his nonexistence consciousness.   He was breathing peacefully, as though he hadn’t a care in the world, lying down as if he was asleep. To him, it appeared as if he was free of his troubles, drifting in bliss. His face mocked Gilda. She glared at him, raising her hand from his eyelids before she slapped Spike across his face, leaving a red handprint on his cheek. “Not yet,” She proceeded to slap him, one cheek after the other. After each slap, his cheeks became redder and redder from of hand prints. “That's for being a dweeb *slap* that’s for having a dweeb face *slap* that’s for having a dweeb voice *slap* being short *slap* the boob comment again from earlier *slap* for sweating like a balloon with holes in it *slap* dweeb hairdo *slap* green hair *slap* not standing up for yourself *slap* perverted dreams of your friends *slap* making sure you don’t have one of me *slap* for making this slapping session boring *slap* and making me run out of stuff to say *slap* being a cute dweeb…” Gilda pauses rethinking on what she said. She looks back down at his face completely red on each cheek complemented with a black eye. It mocked her. “Forget that last part *slap*. ” After a good three minutes, she ceased the thunderous smacks in defeat, or rather boredom, leaving him with two bright red cheeks and a frown. On the upside, his face no longer had any dirt or dandruff flakes if he had any. She rocked back, sitting down on his stomach while knocking the air out of his lungs. Subconsciously, he wiggled his arms around, struggling for more room for his lungs to expand. He choked for a bit grabbing her attention, but slowly settling into soft breaths without the slightest sign of response much to her disappointment. The athlete shook her hand trying to relieve the pain of the constant slapping. It was stinging in pain she as she massaged it with her other hand. “Going to need to put some ice on this,” she hissed. Gilda spread her legs apart, glaring down at the unconscious teen between them. Possibly already in a coma under her butt. “But what am I going to do with you? Can’t take you to your house in a soggy mess like this.” She placed her palm under her chin, trying to think of her next move staring at him. The teen under her continued with his blissful unconsciousness. Tapping her cheek bone, she pondered on what she was going to do. “Wait a second,” the athlete grabbed Spike’s head with both hands,pulling it to hers. “What am I supposed to do with you?” She asked, shaking his ragdoll body. Spike remained totally unresponsive to her despite the violent tugs back and forth. Though she did manage to get him to fling his tongue out which flapped vigorously along his mouth. Consequently flinging a long stream of spit to her face near her mouth. She let go of the boy, wiping the saliva off her cheek, disgusted . Doing so, she let the boy fall with an unusually loud plunk head first onto the dirt, though it might have been closer to a crack. “Crap!” Gilda screeched, she grabbed his head and turns it on its side, revealing a rather large flat rock underneath. “Oh, son of a bi-...” `````````````````````````````````````````` Somewhere off in the distance `````````````````````````````````````````` We find Rumble, Pipsqueak, Snips and Snails laying behind a group of trees, all of which are on the verge of puking, panting heavily. Each of them designated themselves a tree to each of them to rest upon. With the exception of Snails, who apparently passed out face first on the ground. “Uh… I should not have eaten that many pizzas at lunch,” Snips muffled through his hand. “Five slices in one sitting before running for my life, really bad idea.” “The bad Idea was not getting on the bus when we ran past it,” Rumble pants, laying on his tree’s trunk. “We could have gotten on it, and yet we just ran past it like it wasn’t even there!” “Yeah, we screwed up on that one,” Pip adds, “I don’t think I ever ran so fast ever in my life. Fear really does make a good motivation to run when your life really depends on it.” “Yeah, you said it Pip, I’m beat,” Rumble remarked lowering his head. “I guess it’s safe to say that we definitely burned a lot of calories after that fiasco, right Spike?” None heard anything from said teen, causing all of them to raise their heads with the same expression of realisation. “Um… guys, where is Spike?” Pipsqueak Inquired nervously. “He was right behind us, right?” The group didn’t answer instead that remained fixed in dead silence, none of which having the courage to break it. “Where is Spike!?” Pip turned to Rumble. “Do you know where he is?” The questioned teen bites his teeth together sucking in a large amount of air tilting his head up then exhales. “... I think he was behind us?” “If he was behind us/ then where is he!?” “Um, guys, I think we actually left him behind,” Snips interjected into the conversation. He sank his back against the tree, lowering himself to the ground. He cupped his face in his hands, groaning loudly in his palms. “In the hands of that psycho girl.” “Oh crap,” the group replied lowering their heads facepalming. “What the heck are we going to do!?” Pip yelled, running to each of the everyone's sides, anxiety leaving his pores like water from a faucet. “What are we going to? Should we tell the police? Should we tell his sister that he is maybe, might slightly be, absolutely probably most likely presumably dead!?!” “Woah, woah, take it easy,” Rumble grabbed Pip by the shoulders and shook him gently, “We can’t be jumping to conclusions right now.” Pip grabbed Rumble by his wrists throwing them off to the side, “Are you kidding me!? We practically left him to die!” The small kid dreaded as he grabbed the other boy by his shirt, shaking him violently, “His body might be in the news tomorrow morning!” He continued to panic, which earned a hard slap across his face. He fumbled backwards hissing in agony as he rubbed the tendered red cheek. “Better?” Rumble asked, patting the other boy’s shoulder. “Yeah, I think that slap got the panic out of my system,” Pipsqueak replied. Though he still felt as concerned three minutes before, but he really didn’t want to receive another slap. “Okay, so we messed up big time, we know that now. But come on, we know for a fact that Spike is not dead. Of all of us, he is the best when it comes to talking to girls and could probably talk his way out of that situation. I mean, really, what would she do, tear his limbs off?” “Um, Rumble, how does that help with our situation?” Snips scolded the taller boy. “That’s exactly what she could have done to him!” “Now wait a second,” Rumble rolls his eyes. “That’s what we think might happen. We shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions right off the bat, here.” “And where were you when we got chased all around the high school!?” Pipsqueak asked hysterically. “She was obviously going to pound our faces out of our butts!” “Yeah, but what about when we thought that Miss Zecora was a witch from Africa,” the taller boy replied brusquely. Pipsqueak held up his finger to respond, then stopped. He thinks over what Rumble said, “That’s a rather fair point.” “And what about what we thought about Principal Luna?” Snips added. “We were all afraid of her at first, even you, Pip.” “Well yeah, that’s another fair point,” the small boy shrugged. “That has changed dramatically ever since the Halloween fair a few years back.” He finished, a smile forming on his face, even given the current situation. “Yeah, you have a crush on her now,” Snips mentioned, which everyone gave a nod to, much to Pip frustration. “No, I don’t! I just really really like to see her. ” Pipsqueak said, flustered. Much to his denial, the redness of his cheeks didn’t contribute him any support to object the case at hand. “And for the last time, Snips, I don’t have a...” “STUPID DWEEB!” a loud voice interrupted him mid-sentence, causing each boy to jump near out of their skin. “What was that?!” They all screamed, quickly slapping their hands over their mouths. The question may have been unanimous amongst them, but the answer was clear shown by the immense fear on their faces. Collecting himself, Rumble removed his hand from his mouth, taking a deep breath before exhaling. “Okay, this may seem bad right now, but we got to remember that we could be misjudging the situation at hand here,” He insisted, holding up a trembling hand. “So, we left Spike with her, but that doesn’t mean that he’s dead.” He looked at each of his companions hoping for some glimmer of reassurance, a sign of any kind that their goose wasn’t completely and thoroughly cooked. As much as they didn’t want to admit that they thought their friend was dead, fear and dread kept their response at bay. Each of the two gazed at one another, then back at Rumble with an unsure depression in their eyes. They stared down without a reply. “Oh, come on!” Rumble stressed under a whisper. His eyes perked up, hearing footsteps along with something dragging meters away from where they were. Consciously he advanced to the sound passed the group, “Come on, let’s just ask her then,” he stated, causing the other boys to shake their heads furiously in disagreement. Rumble turned back, getting behind them and pushes them with extensive force, “I said come on!” In protest, the boys mumbled their pleas through their hands in almost faint muffles, not wanting to draw attention to their hiding grounds. Whether Rumble could hear them or not, he ignored them regardless. He marched them to the highest point of the hill holding both Pipsqueak and Snips by the collars of their shirts. They made an effort to break Rumble’s grip, trying to run back away from the potential death zone, but the effectiveness of it remained futile. Soon enough, they came to the bottom of the hill close to a nearby medium parking lot holding a handful of ten or so cars stretched around the area. Not a very ideal place if they wanted to hide from some kind of horror, or to their predicament, someone very similar to it. “What the heck do they feed you at home, rocks?” A feminine voice growled further down the pavement, causing the three of them to come to a sudden halt. “You just had to miraculously hit your dweeb head on a stupid rock! Leaving me to carry your dweeb body to God know where! And not to mention disposing you afterwards!” ‘Disposing?’ the group gulped, instinct stabbing each of their sides, demanding them to run for it. As much as they would have wanted to follow, they were counteracted by the roots of their fears. Moments later, two individuals came into sight closer to the three. Letting out a mouse-like screech, the three dived behind the closest car they could. Fortunately enough, she wasn’t able to hear their shrieks to distinctively tell if anyone was there. “If you’re not dead now, I’ll make sure you are dead  for later when I put you six damn feet under!” Gilda grunted, irritatedly shifting the boy over her shoulder. ‘Dead!’ the three gulps behind the car. “Really, for a shorty that’s afraid of cupcakes, you really are shoving some kind of heavy dough up your a-” ‘Achoo!’ A loud sneeze interrupted mid-sentence halting her in her tracks. She shifted her eyes in the general direction of the sound, locking onto a yellow Mustang six meters away from her. The trio, targets in her, domain cowered together in a ball. They all exchanged grim gazes to one another as they rattled in place against the metal of the car. All thanks to Rumble. Rumble st on the further side of the car, closest to the approaching beast, rocking back and forth on the pavement he mumbled under his breath. The words ‘I’m sorry’ repeatedly formed over his quivering lips to his companions. Without gazing upon each other, his two friends responded in the same manner as him silently mouthing. ‘We are going to die! We are going die! We are going to die!’ Gilda raised a brow, curious and unsettled, she proceeded to the vehicle, shifting Spike’s body in a tighter grip. The three cringed as they listened to her footsteps stomp closer to them. Sweat damped their clothes as anticipation built higher. They gnawed at the end of their knuckles, nibbling hard against the bone as she prowled closer to them. Stressing to the matter at hand, a rather loud ring tone broke the atmosphere in two ways. First off, the sound was just enough to alert anything with the ability to hear pinpoint their location. Marking their execution point. Secondly, the ringtone was a rather peculiar sound. The boys heard it before during their lunch period shared among other classmates. Though those classmates were composed of the girls. As in the sound was the most girliest thing they ever hear comprised in cellular sound. The most improbable tone that was to be played at the moment of their own death... Cute… Puppies… Barking… Repeatedly… Scared out of their minds as they were, dumbfoundedness was stronger in the concoction of raging emotion dwelling in their entire being. Basically expelling the entire meaning of fear straight from the existence of their minds. Mere seconds after the ringtone, a solid thunk on the asphalt of Spike’s body, or rather his head crash down. Following that sequence was the screech of the teen girl as she got down on her knees over Spike as if he was a box of glass. Might as well be shattered at this point. “Crap, crap, crap,” Gilda yelped. “Spike, if you would please be a good dweeb and not be dead for real this time, it would really make my day.” As Gilda frantically expected said shattered package to respond, the three wasted no time in making their exit away from the scene. As soon as they were out of sight, they continued their mad dash out to who knows where next. Her phone continued to ring in her pocket, but was promptly ignored as Gilda frantically checked if he was still alive. She held two fingers against the veins of his neck while checking for air flow. Thankfully, his pulse was still holding strong, as well as his breathing. A long sigh of relief blew out of her lips, letting the anxiety melted away. She hovered over his unconscious body, creasing his cheek with her palm, “That’s a good dweeb,” she smiled. She then felt the rumble of her phone leaving a text in her pocket. She rolled her eyes as she grabbed the phone out of her pocket, muttering her anxiety under her breath. Upon viewing the text, her face changed from annoyed to distress. A heavy sigh broke past her lips as she cast her gaze back to the boy under her. “Well...I guess you’re coming with me, now.”