J̶.D̶.

First sentence:

‘Mr Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.1).

On life:

‘ “Now, comrades, what is the nature of this life of ours? Let us face it, our lives are miserable, laborious and short.” ‘ (Orwell, 2000, p.3).

‘ “I am twelve years old and have had over four hundred children. Such is the natural life of a pig.” ‘ (Orwell, 2000, p.5).

‘And yet the animals never gave up hope.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.94).

‘None of the old dreams had been abandoned … Some day it was coming: it might not be soon, it might not be within the lifetime of any animal now living, but still it was coming.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.95).

On the Seven Commandments:

‘1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.

2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.

3. No animal shall wear clothes.

4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.

5. No animal shall drink alcohol.

6. No animal shall kill any other animal.

7. All animals are equal.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.17).

‘ “No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets.” ‘ (Orwell, 2000, p.50).

‘ “No animal shall kill any other animal without cause.” ‘ (Orwell, 2000, p.66).

‘ “No animal shall drink alcohol to excess.” ‘ (Orwell, 2000, p.79).

‘ “ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS.” ’ (Orwell, 2000, p.97).

On pigs:

‘The pigs did not actually work, but directed and supervised the others. With their superior knowledge it was natural that they should assume the leadership.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.19).

‘It was always the pigs who put forward the resolutions. The other animals understood how to vote, but could never think of any resolutions of their own.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.22).

‘As for the pigs, they could already read and write perfectly.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.23).

On literacy:

‘The reading and writing classes, however, were a great success. By the autumn almost every animal on the farm was literate in some degree.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.23).

‘The dogs learned to read fairly well, but were not interested in reading anything except the Seven Commandments … Benjamin could read as well as any pig but never exercised his faculty. So far as he knew, he said, there was nothing worth reading. Clover learnt the whole alphabet, but could not put words together. Boxer could not get beyond the letter D. He would trace out A, B, C, D in the dust with his great hoof, and then would stand staring at the letters with his ears back, sometimes shaking his forelock, trying with all his might to remember what came next and never succeeding. On several occasions, indeed, he did learn E, F, G, H, but by the time he knew them it was always discovered that he had forgotten A, B, C and D. Finally he decided to be content with the first four letters, and used to write them out once or twice every day to refresh his memory. Mollie refused to learn any but the five letters which spelt her own name. She would form theses very neatly out of pieces of twig, and would then decorate them with a flower or two and walk around them admitting them,.’ (Orwell, 2000, pp.23-4).

‘Much of this work was of a kind that the other animals were too ignorant to understand. For example, Squealer told them that the pigs had to expend enormous labours every day upon mysterious things called “files”, “reports”, “minutes” and “memoranda”. These were large sheets of paper which had to be closely covered with writing, and as soon as they were covered they were burnt in a furnace.’ (Orwell, 2000, p.94).

REFERENCE

You know how people love to pretend they're the main character of something bigger? Like they're poets or fucking masterminds or whatever aesthetic they saw on Pinterest at 2 a.m.? It's embarrassing. Truly. They walk around like they're profound, like their thoughts are gold, when in reality, they're just loud. Clowns, honestly. Jesters in a kingdom that doesn't even exist.

And the worst part? They don't even realize it. They think they're so clever when they're predictable. They think they're deep when they're shallow enough to drown in a teaspoon. It's pitiful. I mean, how can they be so blind? Are they really that vain they don't see they're insignificant? That they could be gone with a single spark? It's so many of them too. Like a disease. It baffles me, makes me nauseous. Clearly, they don't get it. They aren't even close.

But then again, I guess someone has to observe the bullshit. Someone has to understand it all, watching, keeping it together, not falling into the same pathetic patterns. Someone who knows when to play along and when to remind everyone exactly where they stand. And to show you how foolish some people can get, I'll tell you what happened last April 1st.

So, the prom committee, led by the ever-so-perfect Cheryl Duncan, decided to host this fundraiser. An April Fools event. The idea was simple: you prank someone, record it, post it on Instagram with #WestermorlandFools2018, and then people vote. Winner gets their prom idea approved. Honestly? I didn't care. Not really. It sounded like one of those painfully normal teenage things people pretend matter. But Ashley and Ashley were immidiately obsessed with it. They begged me to join, saying it would be "fun", "good for memories", and "we're the only ones with good ideas in all of Westermorland anyway."

And I thought... maybe. Maybe I could do something normal for once. It's been a pretty hectic few months, why not have some dumb fun? That was my first mistake.

Because then the committee announced a rule change: pairs only. No groups. Apparently, three people was an "ambush," "too unfair to have that many people humiliating a single one." Which is ironic, and it makes no sense, but what else could I expect of Westermorland High? Whatever.

Anyway. The Ashleys looked at each other, then at me, and I already knew. I knew before they even opened their mouths. They gave me that fake-sympathetic smile. The kind that's supposed to soften the blow but actually just makes you want to peel your skin off. "We're really sorry, Vaani," Ashley C. said.

"But you get it, right?" Ashley D. added. "We have a better chance together."

And then, my favorite part:

"You're kind of... the nobody of the group. No hard feelings!"

No hard feelings.

I could've protested. Tell them they're both two cold hearted bitches, and tell them to go to hell. But no, I smiled. Of course I did. I always smile when people underestimate me. I give them what they want. It makes it easier later. But inside? I was already deciding how I was going to ruin them. Not just beat them, that would be too kind. I would ruin them. Make it so their stupid little video wouldn't even matter. If they wanted to treat me like I was invisible, I'd give them something they couldn't ignore.

So I went to Jacques.

By now you know Jacques. He has this way of talking like everything is beneath him. Like the world is some kind of failed experiment he's too intelligent to participate in. It's as hot as it is infuriating. When I told him about April Fools, he literally scoffed. "It's just another futile holiday," he said. "Capitalism thrives on it. People desperate for attention, manufacturing relevance for one day."

I almost rolled my eyes, but I knew I'd change his mind. So I told him my idea.

"Cheryl Duncan," I said. "We prank her. But not like everyone else. Something anonymous. Something that spreads." And suddenly, he was interested. Of course he was.

"That's not a prank," he said with a huskiness to his voice, this little smirk forming like he'd just discovered fire. "That's a statement."

Exactly. He got it. He's the only one that ever does.

After that, I did what I do best: I went unnoticed and pay attention. Cheryl had tweeted (very publicly, because she's not exactly brilliant) that she was expecting a package. Expensive "vintage-style" hot rollers. The kind she'd probably make her whole personality for a week. She also tweeted, on the same day, that she wouldn't even be home when they arrived because she had a date.

I mean... you can't make this stuff up.

So on April 1st, Jacques and I parked outside her house. And we waited. It wasn't boring, we always know how to entertain ourselves. It must've been an hour when the mailman came, ringing the Duncan's doorbell.

We walked up like we belonged there, like we just so happened to come back home. "Perfect timing," I told the mailman. I pretended to be Cheryl. Signed for it. Easy. People believe what they expect to see. And just like that, we had it.

The plan was simple. We knew she wasn't home, so we went in through her bedroom window. Jacques handled most of it, he's good with things like that, taking them apart, putting them back together... differently.

Now, don't we make the perfect team?

The goal was to make the rollers heat up. Not just warm, hot. Hot enough that when Cheryl inevitably rushed to use them, she'd burn her hair. Ruin that perfect little image she clings to.

And we'd be there. Watching. Recording. Letting the world see it. It was going perfectly. Well, almost.

At one point, I noticed a smell. Like something burning. I asked him about it, obviously. "It's fine," Jacques said, not even looking up. "I know what I'm doing."

I believed him. Because that's what a good girlfriend does. We should trust each other.

And then— We heard the front door. Giggles. Whispering. Shushing.

Cheryl. And someone else. We didn't think she'd be back that soon. Naturally, we left. Fast. Out the window, no hesitation. We didn't even turn anything off. There wasn't time. From outside, hidden just enough, we watched. She came in, still giggling, dragging who we assumed was her date along. But then she stopped. Another voice was heard inside the house and she grunted. Said something about her grandmother being home. Apparently she was staying for the weekend. She rushed out of the room, to send her somewhere else in the house, and told her date to wait in her bedroom. Which he did.

For a moment, everything was still. Then he noticed it, the smell. He walked further into the room, looking around with his natural dumb look, confused. And then he saw the rollers. Smoke was starting to come off them. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to be noticeable.

He reached out.

Like an idiot.

And the second his hand made contact...

Everything snapped.

A sharp, awful sound. Then his body jerked.

And then—

Nothing.

Sincere apologies for interrupting the story that looks to be half finished. Mmm it’s such a shame. I want to know what happens next you know “Vaani” and “Jacques” are really formative characters for me and you can’t get to “after happily ever after” without the “after”. They say “A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.” Now can we get to the good part if you don’t mind me stepping in? What this story needs is another perspective. Take a look at Jacques as a case study and wonder what’s going on in his head during all of this? How he gets his darling Vaani out of trouble before Cheryl knows and goes to the police? I know I would want to read that:

Chapter 12 Part 2: Fools

“Shit.”

When I was asked by Vaani to help in her prank I originally rejected the odd job. “April Fools” is just another futile holiday marked on the calendar by bored kids. People desperate for attention manufacturing relevance for one day a year like they don’t do that enough already. And Capitalism thrives on it too. More money poured into the pockets of the bleeding rich spent on stuff that ends up in a landfill by April 2nd polluting the miserable, suffocating air.

I could’ve scoffed.

Come on. We both know Vaani is above the teen trends she chases like a puppy to stay relevant. I bet I could’ve beat the prank parade. So why’d she ask me then?

I would have normally blown off the conversation if she didn’t kick it up a notch for my interest. “Cheryl Duncan. We prank her. But not like everyone else. Something anonymous. Something that spreads."

Cheryl was one of Westermorland’s most influential teens. A self-obsessed trust fund kid running the prom committee. Setting her sights on consensual enslavement of the Westermorland’s students to partake in celebratory masturbation of her own ego into absolution. A prank like that like Cheryl being torn down a couple of pegs before the keggers come and get her wasn’t just a prank.

No, it was a statement. The perfect example of the high school has-been who peaked before her breasts could fall getting burned for all of our empty pathetic rotting carcass of a generation to see

Well, Cheryl wasn’t the one who got burned…

We had a plan. We sneak in, I fixed the hot rollers to burn those oh so luscious locks she can’t go five minutes without posting on Snapchat about, she burns her hair, we record everything and wolla! Statement made, the prank is ours, Vaani wins the prom…thing…and Cheryl learns a valuable lesson.

Yeah, see that’s the thing with hot rollers where there’s smoke there’s fire and where there’s fire there’s usually death in its wake…

“I must’ve made the rollers too hot.” I said with my eyes wide and mouth agape before turning my head to gauge her reaction.

“You think?!” Vaani responded in equal horror but frustration too. I can never gauge what her reaction will be.

How a statement was made. In fire. In death. One nobody would know besides us. Bonded in our sick and twisted crime.

Now there was no plan. Only chaos.

“Oh my god!” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Jacques we gotta abort the prank! I mean…look at him he’s already toast! Literally!”

Like I’m signing my own suicide note I crawl back inside Cheryl’s room to see what we’re dealing with.

“Jacques what are you doing?!” Vaani crawled back in after me.

“We don’t have much time.”

I pace around the room looking for our avenue of alibi and a way out of this when I remember we left the cardboard box the rollers came in under her bed and quickly put it on the vanity next to the rollers.

“We’ll make it look like an accident.”

I walk over to the bed and see Cheryl’s mystery date of the day had left his phone on. I exit the browser tab open Twitter and begin typing:

surprising my girl by setting up her hot rollers for her

A little creative liberty. No caps. No punctuation. You see that’s how you know he feels it in his soul.

Excited emoji 😆

Celebratory “I’m such a good boyfriend” with a boner emoji 🥳

Andddd

Post.

“Now we sit back and watch.”

“Ok, well Cheryl’s not just going to believe this ‘cause you set it up right.” She nodded her head with a condescending smile before her face took a turn for the serious. “Don’t you get that?”

“Babe, come on this is Cheryl Duncan she’ll believe anything that helps her rack up popularity points and sympathy likes.”

Vaani nodded begrudgingly, still not looking at me when I was right. “Ok, you’re right.” She pouted.

I smile. “That’s my girl. Of course I’m right.”

It seemed we timed everything perfectly since we had just enough time to get back out of the window before Cheryl comes back up to find her date as fresh bacon right on queue for the show. Today’s episode of “Westermorland’s New Favorite Shitshow” was showing and we had a front row seat to the chaos. Yeah, we got stuck waiting outside for a bit but not too long all things considered before Vaani gets back in my car and I drive her home.

On Monday when the results come in the whole school consumed by pity for the prom committee president’s loss of her date she barely knew decides to award all the prom fundraising proceeds to Cheryl. Another typical day at Westermorland where someone else’s tragedy is just another plot twist in their own grief opera. Cheryl’s more popular than ever now as the school spins round and round on the unending carousel of self-made sorrow. You kill one weed and then an even bigger weed pops up in its place. It was never about the death of that kid. Just what it gets the rest of them. All pity’s the dead.

I guess that means the Ashleys lost.

Such a shame. Try again next year.

Vaani lost too. Still don’t know why she wanted to win in the first place.

But there’s no winning in life. No trophy at the end of the tunnel. No crown that’ll ever satiate the hunger. It’s just loss after loss. There’s no fucking point.

As for what I got out of this oh dear reader? Well, the police not getting involved was good enough for me. I saw all I needed to see. Knew all I needed to know.

When you don’t play their game you never lose.

Look, every moment of every day I’m with Vaani makes me a winner. More than a fundraiser, more than a trophy, more than a crown.