Contemplating the cruelties of life

Isaiah always got hurt on april fools. He sometimes thought it would be easier to just go to the hospital first thing and ask for a full body cast. It wasn’t as though it was on purpose, it was always an honest (and extremely painful) accident.

Someone doused him in water mixed with soap, it was all very congenial until he slipped into the street and got hit by a car.

Cracked ribs and heavy bruising. Three months in the hospital.

Another person was hiding in an alleyway and jumped out in grade A makeup pretending to be a zombie. He was so scared that he turned and ran straight into a lightpost.

He was out for an hour and woke up to a broken nose and a concussion.

(He kept telling the kids at school that they “should have seen the other guy.”)

The most recent case was with a false falling stack of boxes, he stumbled backwards and got his leg caught in a storm drain.

Diagnosis? Broken leg, he was in crutches for a few months and was subjected to physical therapy.His shoe was also disgusting when he got it back.

Drew keeps telling him to press for charges on someone, for reckless endangerment or something, but the people were always so sorry. 

(Plus, Isaiah felt it was mainly his fault.)

April was drawing near again, and Isaiah began to fret. How would he avoid another disaster?

He tossed and turned the night of March 31. As he lay in bed worry began pooling in his stomach and dread kept him up. Sleeping had gotten progressively harder throughout the entire month of March, and for good reason, he really didn’t want to get hurt. 

But what could he do? 

Isaiah flopped around his bed, he tossed and turned, he put his feet on the pillow and head near the end. He tried counting something, but the numbers just reminded him of the hours to doomsday.

Minutes.

Seconds…

He huffed, he wasn’t going to get any sleep like this. He shu

He went down to the kitchen taking slow steps hearing the floorboards creak loudly in the silent night. He flinched as he opened the fridge the cold air and bright light hit him like a truck. Isaiah blinked for a moment readjusting and then scanned the fridges contents lazily. 

Milk, orange juice, water. His eyes landed on a forbidden drink.

He shouldn’t, it was forbidden as a night drink.

But did he really care?

No.

No, he did not.

He reached for the chocolate milk. He spun off the cap with dry milk scraping off along with it and started to drink straight from the bottle. His parents did it all the time so he felt no guilt.

(If any of them were sick, they were all going down together.)

He sat down on the cold floor taking the bottle with him. His chocolate milk addled brain began to crank the gears slowly. He could stay home?

No, he would go stir crazy.

What about hiding in the auditorium? The kids there are cool and too busy to be pulling pranks when the musical is going on.

With his luck, it would go as well as his audition. He would break a hand.

There’s always a protective suit. Isaiah perked up. That could work! What material could he use? Bubble Wrap was used to keep packages safe, and he had like five rolls of bubble wrap in his room. He was saving it for extra comfort on a camping trip that his Dad would force them to go on, but this much more important.

(It wasn’t weird to save bubble wrap, right?)

He was practically giddy. He put the chocolate milk back in the fridge and without bothering to wipe off his milk mustache he bounced back to his room.

This year he might not be injured! He grabbed his bike helmet that was lying on the floor, a roll of duct tape and rolls of bubble wrap. 

First the helmet, Isaiah folded carefully, he taped carefully adding layer upon layer of protective material. The helmet mirrored a huge bubble by the time he was done. He punched the helmet not even making it through one layer

The rest he wrapped around himself, he felt like the kid from A christmas story by the time he was done.

Isaiah was proud of his makeshift bubble wrap ‘suit’, he didn’t care that he could barely move his arms. 

He flopped on his bed feeling mentally and physically exhausted.

His Mom looked at him strangely all throughout the morning. She didn’t say a word about it. Everyone at school looked at him, and no one talked or asked about it.

No one except Dido, she bared her teeth and hid behind Luther hissing and clawing at him with artificial nails. “Burn it! Burn it all. The abomination belongs on no person except the scum of the earth!”

The day went smoothly. 

(Translation; he failed a quiz passed a test and did not receive detention.)

He got into his Mom’s car at the end of school. He sat down with plenty of pops left. The ride was quiet with his Mom giving him side glances of ‘what is going on in your head’?. They arrived back at the house and as he waddled up the driveway he heard his Mom speak.

“Okay, I’m sorry honey, I must ask why on earth are you wearing that?” 

Isaiah beamed and explained the genius behind his craftsmanship.

“And I haven’t gotten hurt all day!”

His Mom looked at him biting her lip trying not to laugh. “Honey, you had been so stressed out that we let you sleep through the day.”

Isaiah collapsed onto the concrete. He, he missed it?!

Isaiah sighed as he stared up into the sky. He sat there wondering why the universe hated him. For hours he sat and contemplated the cruelties that life holds.

His Mom had to drag him inside, the concrete started tearing through his suit and he moaned more of life's cruelties.