Story Notes:
I use a series of symbols, so this may be a little complicated.Something that looks like dialogue but looks like (this) is a thought inside of Dillon's mind.[These] indicate song lyrics playing in Dillon's head.If {these things} surround something, then it is a dream that Dillon is having.If squiggly lines ~that look like this~ surround something, then that something is written.__________________________________________________________If the above line separates two things, then Dillon has written the passages at different times.__________________________________________________________ For example, if Dillon wrote these story notes, then he would have written the explanation of symbols first, then he would have come back in a little while because he remembered that he forgot to add an explanation for the lines. Then he would have come back and written this part because he forgot to include an example of how the lines work to make it easier for you, the reader, to understand. You got all that?__________________________________________________________NEW SYMBOL FOUND IN CHAPTER 5! If stars *like these* surround a word, then it is only onomatopoeia for a sound that is being made. __________________________________________________________NEW SYMBOL THAT WILL APPEAR IN CHAPTER 6! When two lines || That resemble something like this || are around something, it is a written side note.
"No way!"
September 15, 2011 was the day my life changed forever. Whether the change was for better or for worse, though, I'm still a little unsure and probably always will be.
"'You got Dillon in the hot seat,
submit to my beat!
'Cause I'm the king
and you should be kissing my feet!
I may be white,
but ma rhymes are tight,
I'm quite the sight!
So, you wanna start a RAP fight?
You? They hear ya try ta rhyme
and they treat it like a crime!
Everybody avoids you
like your an explosive landmine!
Me? They hear my sound
and can't resist crowding around!
Your like a leaf on a tree
You fall to gravity eventually, gravity being me!'"
"Seriously," begins Shanon, "You know I hate RAP and R&B and reggae and pop and all that other crap. I thought you did, too." Shannon likes to call herself goth but is actually a real nice person underneath it, even if she can be a little stubborn sometimes. The only thing really gothic about her is her appearance: combat boots, black jeans, a leather jacket, and some red streaks in her otherwise light brown hair. Also, like me, she's an Atheist.
"I do," I say, "but I thought trying it might make me a better writer in general. I guess it was a waste of time, huh?" My name is Dillon Glaser and what you're reading is NOT fiction, despite the fact that much of what you will read seems impossible. I swear, it's all true.
Let me tell you about me. I'm 16-and-a-half years old, or at least I will be in October. I like to wear black trail runners despite the fact that I never run, blue unripped and non-saggy jeans, and the T-shirts of all of the bands I like. Shanon and I both like hard rock, metal, and heavy metal. Today, Breaking Benjamin was sprawled across my chest in an intricate design. My hair is always a little too long and a little too unruly and I wear blue half-frame glasses. Oh, and most people don't like me very much. I'm still a little kid inside, and I like to watch things like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Pokemon, Digimon, Phineas and Ferb, and lots of other cartoons. I even still like the Pokemon games despite the fact that most people my age look down on that.
"Yes." was Michael's simple answer. Michael has sort of a monotone voice, but that was because of his AD/HD medication. He's 16, but that's gonna change in a couple of months. He dresses a little like me, even down to the glasses, but wore plain and simple shirts like the gray and black horizontal stripes he had right now. He is the only Theist I know, besides my family, that's totally OK with my religious choice. Uh-oh, I'm going into pro-Atheism mode, sorry about that.
"Can we get back to the script?" calls Shannon. She was referring to the Halo 3 machinima we were writing. "All of our characters are in position, so I think Dillon's character should give the order to attack now."
"I had a different idea, actually," I say. All four eyes turn to me, and I'm put on the spot. I get a little nervous when I'm the center of attention, but I also like it. I'm not vain, I just like the feeling of being accepted because it's not something I'm totally used to. "Since we're all out of sight, I was thinking that Michael's character and Ryan's character just keep hiding and eavesdrop for a little to give some information about the enemy to the audience." I don't know how the decision was made, but my character was the leader of the "Black Wolf Squad" and the other two with me were also in that squad underneath me.
"Dillon," calls Mrs. Kelly, the CA teacher, "your mom's here." CA stands for Curriculum Assistance, which is a special ed class where we all pretty much do our homework or makeup work and talk to each other when we're done. The reason my mom came to get me early was because I had a neurologist appointment that day. (Yes! No Spanish today!) I thought.
"How was your day?" asks my mother the way she does every day. "Good enough," I reply the way I do every day. It's almost always a lie. "I took care of all that missing geometry work, and even wrote a whole song, though I think I'll just toss it." This time, however it was true. Oh well, you can't lose 'em all.
The neurologist appointments are always boring. All I really do is talk about my anxiety levels and how my life is in general. Then, Doctor Milowick and my mom discuss which medication to shove down my throat. "If the Prozac is making him sleepy, then maybe we should try..." I was off daydreaming in my own little world until I was addressed by the doctor.
"Dillon, I found a study going on about how autistic teens socially interact with others in large groups. Do you think you'd like to participate?"
"No way!" was my immediate answer. It was a little too harsh, but that's because of one effect Autism has on me: I'll accidentally say things in a tone of voice or with body language that conveys a meaning different from what I was going for. Sometimes I won't even know that I do it, like right now. Anybody else's parents would tell them off, but she knows it was hard for me to help. Another thing is that I'll misinterpret something that somebody else says. I'll also get anxious over little things like being late or being told that I have to make a change in my morning routine. Not "oh, I don't know about this" anxious, but bursting into tears anxious. And when an environment is loud and wild, I'll get overstimulated and cry then, too.
"Well, goodbye."
The first thing I normally do when I get home is tune my guitar and start rocking out, but a cardboard box in my driveway catches my attention as I step off of the school bus. It was huge, too, bigger than a casket for an average man. My father was above the garage in his home office while my mother was getting my little sister because she missed the bus, as I was later told, so I snuck the box in without anybody knowing. It wasn't a secret really, but there was nobody home to see me bring it in
After dropping the box in the corner of my room, I was finally able to fulfill my urge to play my guitar. After an hour or so, though, I snapped a string while playing. I was about to put on a new one when my dad called me down. (Ah great, he's gonna make me do something now.) I'm not against doing something nice for somebody else, but I'm very lazy and don't like to get up unexpectedly. I shoved the scissors I use for cutting my strings into my pocket and head downstairs.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"Could you and Nicole please cover up the pool? And feed the dogs when you come in." Nicole is my 13-year-old sister and I usually don't hate her despite her abilities to be a selfish and vain brat. Don't be fooled, though, it's pretty rare that it happens.
"I did it yesterday!" This was one of those rare times.
"So did I. Now let's go," is my witty response.
I also have a big sister, but she's married and lives on the opposite coast so I play the role of the eldest sibling around here. Besides us four, there's five dogs and an African Grey parrot who likes to pick up her food bowl with her beak and throw it at my father to communicate "Refill my food and this time put a peanut in it!" No African Grey can resist peanuts.
Feeding the dogs after covering the pool is always tedious; they aren't exactly well behaved despite the fact that most of them were trained for agility. One of the two border collies, in fact, has won a few titles. The other three dogs are two Australian shepherds and one who looks like a border collie but sure doesn't act like one. We really don't know what he is. "OK, Keele, Patch, Shelby, Brady, Chester- no! Sit! OK, Chet." Chester was just a pup and was the worst behaved of them all. It was usually him who led the sessions in the back yard, which involve barking at absolutely nothing.
As soon as I finish feeding them, Chet, as we call him, ran outside to bark and the other four followed suit. Around here it was my job to shut them up when they go barking, so I went back outside to tell them to be quiet. I never did say it though, because something else caught my attention. A large, blue figure ran through the hole in our fence and looked like it wanted to be anywhere but there.
I set off in pursuit, naturally. Now understand that my physical strength and endurance is just plain laughable. I'm not fat, I'm actually pretty scrawny, but as I've already stated, I'm lazy. My only athletic skill is that I can run fast. Very fast. I sprinted after the thing as it ran behind my backyard and into the vast wooded area behind it.
I didn't really need to move too quickly, though, because I found it just sitting down in some fallen autumnal leaves after two or three minutes, panting and clutching it's right leg just behind the shin. I tried to creep up on it, but the rustle of the leaves revealed my presence. The thing stood as quickly as it could, which wasn't very quickly, and knocked me out with one blow.
I guess I was only out for a second or two, because when I came to it was pinning my arms to the ground and looming over me, baring its teeth and growling. (A swampert?! What the hell?!) I thought now having a good look at it. A second growl brings me back to reality.
I had three options: play dead and look like I'm not a threat as if it was a bear, struggle to get away as fast as I could like it was a shark, or try to show my dominance by maintaining eye contact and charging it the way you should if attacked by a wolf.
I looked into its, or should I say his because I could see he was a male, eyes for a split-second to see what I could find. His pupils were dilated, which meant he was either angry, excited anxious, scared, sad, or surprised. (Well, I think I can rule out surprised, excited and sad, which leaves angry, fearful, and anxious. Anxiety's definitely a factor, but is it backing fear or anger? There's nothing I can do if he's hell bent on ripping me apart, but if he's just afraid...)
Something told me that this was the case. If so, then appearing non-threatening seemed like the best way to go. However, I couldn't just lie there pretending to have suddenly died in case I was wrong.
I relaxed all of my many tense muscles and tried to breathe slowly to appear calm, even though I was screaming like a little girl who just saw a man chopped in half by a psycho with a chainsaw on the inside. After looking completely relaxed for about thirty seconds, I shifted my gaze to the swampert's eyes. He was no longer baring his teeth, but his eyes were still suspiciously narrowed and his pupils were still larger than normal. I was completely powerless and in his mercy, so all I could do was maintain our contact.
After keeping absolutely focused on his eyes for a couple of minutes, I calmed down internally too, as if HE was trying to get ME to relax. There was something about him, something about his face, something about his dark gray eyes that had a soothing effect on me. I couldn't understand it, particularly because I was at HIS mercy, and yet I was the one who was more relaxed. Something about him, though...
We must have stayed like this for ten whole minutes, but I suppose that there was something about my eyes, too. He cautiously released my arms, but remained on top of me. I thought that it was in my best interest to remain still for a while longer, as a nonverbal way of saying, "I surrender." After a few moments, I slowly raised my head enough to see all of him, but no more. Now that I could get a decent look at all of him, I saw why he was holding his leg: it was cut and bleeding.
"'You got Dillon in the hot seat,
submit to my beat!
'Cause I'm the king
and you should be kissing my feet!
I may be white,
but ma rhymes are tight,
I'm quite the sight!
So, you wanna start a RAP fight?
You? They hear ya try ta rhyme
and they treat it like a crime!
Everybody avoids you
like your an explosive landmine!
Me? They hear my sound
and can't resist crowding around!
Your like a leaf on a tree
You fall to gravity eventually, gravity being me!'"
"Seriously," begins Shanon, "You know I hate RAP and R&B and reggae and pop and all that other crap. I thought you did, too." Shannon likes to call herself goth but is actually a real nice person underneath it, even if she can be a little stubborn sometimes. The only thing really gothic about her is her appearance: combat boots, black jeans, a leather jacket, and some red streaks in her otherwise light brown hair. Also, like me, she's an Atheist.
"I do," I say, "but I thought trying it might make me a better writer in general. I guess it was a waste of time, huh?" My name is Dillon Glaser and what you're reading is NOT fiction, despite the fact that much of what you will read seems impossible. I swear, it's all true.
Let me tell you about me. I'm 16-and-a-half years old, or at least I will be in October. I like to wear black trail runners despite the fact that I never run, blue unripped and non-saggy jeans, and the T-shirts of all of the bands I like. Shanon and I both like hard rock, metal, and heavy metal. Today, Breaking Benjamin was sprawled across my chest in an intricate design. My hair is always a little too long and a little too unruly and I wear blue half-frame glasses. Oh, and most people don't like me very much. I'm still a little kid inside, and I like to watch things like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Pokemon, Digimon, Phineas and Ferb, and lots of other cartoons. I even still like the Pokemon games despite the fact that most people my age look down on that.
"Yes." was Michael's simple answer. Michael has sort of a monotone voice, but that was because of his AD/HD medication. He's 16, but that's gonna change in a couple of months. He dresses a little like me, even down to the glasses, but wore plain and simple shirts like the gray and black horizontal stripes he had right now. He is the only Theist I know, besides my family, that's totally OK with my religious choice. Uh-oh, I'm going into pro-Atheism mode, sorry about that.
"Can we get back to the script?" calls Shannon. She was referring to the Halo 3 machinima we were writing. "All of our characters are in position, so I think Dillon's character should give the order to attack now."
"I had a different idea, actually," I say. All four eyes turn to me, and I'm put on the spot. I get a little nervous when I'm the center of attention, but I also like it. I'm not vain, I just like the feeling of being accepted because it's not something I'm totally used to. "Since we're all out of sight, I was thinking that Michael's character and Ryan's character just keep hiding and eavesdrop for a little to give some information about the enemy to the audience." I don't know how the decision was made, but my character was the leader of the "Black Wolf Squad" and the other two with me were also in that squad underneath me.
"Dillon," calls Mrs. Kelly, the CA teacher, "your mom's here." CA stands for Curriculum Assistance, which is a special ed class where we all pretty much do our homework or makeup work and talk to each other when we're done. The reason my mom came to get me early was because I had a neurologist appointment that day. (Yes! No Spanish today!) I thought.
"How was your day?" asks my mother the way she does every day. "Good enough," I reply the way I do every day. It's almost always a lie. "I took care of all that missing geometry work, and even wrote a whole song, though I think I'll just toss it." This time, however it was true. Oh well, you can't lose 'em all.
The neurologist appointments are always boring. All I really do is talk about my anxiety levels and how my life is in general. Then, Doctor Milowick and my mom discuss which medication to shove down my throat. "If the Prozac is making him sleepy, then maybe we should try..." I was off daydreaming in my own little world until I was addressed by the doctor.
"Dillon, I found a study going on about how autistic teens socially interact with others in large groups. Do you think you'd like to participate?"
"No way!" was my immediate answer. It was a little too harsh, but that's because of one effect Autism has on me: I'll accidentally say things in a tone of voice or with body language that conveys a meaning different from what I was going for. Sometimes I won't even know that I do it, like right now. Anybody else's parents would tell them off, but she knows it was hard for me to help. Another thing is that I'll misinterpret something that somebody else says. I'll also get anxious over little things like being late or being told that I have to make a change in my morning routine. Not "oh, I don't know about this" anxious, but bursting into tears anxious. And when an environment is loud and wild, I'll get overstimulated and cry then, too.
"Well, goodbye."
The first thing I normally do when I get home is tune my guitar and start rocking out, but a cardboard box in my driveway catches my attention as I step off of the school bus. It was huge, too, bigger than a casket for an average man. My father was above the garage in his home office while my mother was getting my little sister because she missed the bus, as I was later told, so I snuck the box in without anybody knowing. It wasn't a secret really, but there was nobody home to see me bring it in
After dropping the box in the corner of my room, I was finally able to fulfill my urge to play my guitar. After an hour or so, though, I snapped a string while playing. I was about to put on a new one when my dad called me down. (Ah great, he's gonna make me do something now.) I'm not against doing something nice for somebody else, but I'm very lazy and don't like to get up unexpectedly. I shoved the scissors I use for cutting my strings into my pocket and head downstairs.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"Could you and Nicole please cover up the pool? And feed the dogs when you come in." Nicole is my 13-year-old sister and I usually don't hate her despite her abilities to be a selfish and vain brat. Don't be fooled, though, it's pretty rare that it happens.
"I did it yesterday!" This was one of those rare times.
"So did I. Now let's go," is my witty response.
I also have a big sister, but she's married and lives on the opposite coast so I play the role of the eldest sibling around here. Besides us four, there's five dogs and an African Grey parrot who likes to pick up her food bowl with her beak and throw it at my father to communicate "Refill my food and this time put a peanut in it!" No African Grey can resist peanuts.
Feeding the dogs after covering the pool is always tedious; they aren't exactly well behaved despite the fact that most of them were trained for agility. One of the two border collies, in fact, has won a few titles. The other three dogs are two Australian shepherds and one who looks like a border collie but sure doesn't act like one. We really don't know what he is. "OK, Keele, Patch, Shelby, Brady, Chester- no! Sit! OK, Chet." Chester was just a pup and was the worst behaved of them all. It was usually him who led the sessions in the back yard, which involve barking at absolutely nothing.
As soon as I finish feeding them, Chet, as we call him, ran outside to bark and the other four followed suit. Around here it was my job to shut them up when they go barking, so I went back outside to tell them to be quiet. I never did say it though, because something else caught my attention. A large, blue figure ran through the hole in our fence and looked like it wanted to be anywhere but there.
I set off in pursuit, naturally. Now understand that my physical strength and endurance is just plain laughable. I'm not fat, I'm actually pretty scrawny, but as I've already stated, I'm lazy. My only athletic skill is that I can run fast. Very fast. I sprinted after the thing as it ran behind my backyard and into the vast wooded area behind it.
I didn't really need to move too quickly, though, because I found it just sitting down in some fallen autumnal leaves after two or three minutes, panting and clutching it's right leg just behind the shin. I tried to creep up on it, but the rustle of the leaves revealed my presence. The thing stood as quickly as it could, which wasn't very quickly, and knocked me out with one blow.
I guess I was only out for a second or two, because when I came to it was pinning my arms to the ground and looming over me, baring its teeth and growling. (A swampert?! What the hell?!) I thought now having a good look at it. A second growl brings me back to reality.
I had three options: play dead and look like I'm not a threat as if it was a bear, struggle to get away as fast as I could like it was a shark, or try to show my dominance by maintaining eye contact and charging it the way you should if attacked by a wolf.
I looked into its, or should I say his because I could see he was a male, eyes for a split-second to see what I could find. His pupils were dilated, which meant he was either angry, excited anxious, scared, sad, or surprised. (Well, I think I can rule out surprised, excited and sad, which leaves angry, fearful, and anxious. Anxiety's definitely a factor, but is it backing fear or anger? There's nothing I can do if he's hell bent on ripping me apart, but if he's just afraid...)
Something told me that this was the case. If so, then appearing non-threatening seemed like the best way to go. However, I couldn't just lie there pretending to have suddenly died in case I was wrong.
I relaxed all of my many tense muscles and tried to breathe slowly to appear calm, even though I was screaming like a little girl who just saw a man chopped in half by a psycho with a chainsaw on the inside. After looking completely relaxed for about thirty seconds, I shifted my gaze to the swampert's eyes. He was no longer baring his teeth, but his eyes were still suspiciously narrowed and his pupils were still larger than normal. I was completely powerless and in his mercy, so all I could do was maintain our contact.
After keeping absolutely focused on his eyes for a couple of minutes, I calmed down internally too, as if HE was trying to get ME to relax. There was something about him, something about his face, something about his dark gray eyes that had a soothing effect on me. I couldn't understand it, particularly because I was at HIS mercy, and yet I was the one who was more relaxed. Something about him, though...
We must have stayed like this for ten whole minutes, but I suppose that there was something about my eyes, too. He cautiously released my arms, but remained on top of me. I thought that it was in my best interest to remain still for a while longer, as a nonverbal way of saying, "I surrender." After a few moments, I slowly raised my head enough to see all of him, but no more. Now that I could get a decent look at all of him, I saw why he was holding his leg: it was cut and bleeding.
Chapter End Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, and is applicable for all consecutive chapters that follow.