Breakfast Cereal by Jon Kelley (free e reader txt) 📖

“Man, I’m starving, let’s get something to eat.” Doug declared, stretching from my sofa yawning.
“No more fast-food, how about something like, real, you know, that you buy at a store, cereal, it’s the cure for the munchies. Plus I wanna be more healthy, cereal is the only way I ever drink milk.” I said. “Are you straight to drive? I don’t want to back into a car, and be like ‘Damn, I just backed into a car’ I’m too high.”
“You’re such a pussy. I’ll have to take your car, my gas is low and I got plans later.” Doug replied looking for my keys near the door. I handed them to him. We headed out to my jet black 1998 Gran Am.
“Fucking rain…Why? I hate the rain, almost as much as that bitch. I can’t believe that she did that to me. After five years, another guy and now she’s gonna marry this douche?” Doug complained. I had to say something, but he gave me the don’t-even-think-about-starting-a-conversation-about-this eyes. So I hopped in the passenger seat of my car. We pulled out of the apartment complex.
The view is so strange from this side of the car. Maybe I’m driving and Doug’s sitting here. Maybe I’m Doug?
“Hey fuckface, do you have any good music in this car? I mean, at all. Why do you listen to classical Beethoven shit? What’s so appealing? What do you listen to when you’re pissed off? Mozart?”
“I just appreciate the work and like to get lost in the symphony sound. These guys were like real. They put everything into each song. How long do you think it took Beethoven to write “Ode to Joy”, a day, a month two years? I don’t know. But it has heart and it’s real. I listen to the wind when my window is down when I’m pissed. What’s the big deal? I like to be with my thoughts when I’m mad.” I can’t stand it when he brings up my music. “Just listen to the radio.”
We pulled into the grocery store shortly after Doug listened to the Metal station at full volume the rest of the ride.
He’s been my only friend for about five years. I was the new kid in school and was walking home after my sophomore exams when he picked me up and gave me a ride. Well, he didn’t really give me a ride, I lived two blocks away from the school. He basically got me high and we had talked about life and school. I hung out with him ever since that day, his other friends called me a freak. I don’t even know why he picked me up that day. He was a pretty popular guy, he had the prettiest girl in school, Margot. She just left him for some guy that sells car insurance. He’s really been a different person since she left. He’s been doing a lot of drugs that he would give me shit for doing. Meth, Cocaine, Oxy Contin, he kicked my ass once when he found some of those in my room. He’s always been like a big brother to me.
Maybe we should go to the strip-club. Yeah, that’ll make him feel better. Maybe.
Maybe it will just blow up in my face and I’ll go back to feeling like I always do. Have to get some painkillers or booze. Smoke a joint outside and walk around in the rain kicking other people’s trashcans over. Maybe I’ll spray-paint some cars. I’ll put “wash me” or “I suck cock” or something like that on them.
Fact: There has been a serial sprayer hitting up cars, houses, and commiting many other acts of vandalism to various community areas. This sprayer likes to write various explicit words and vulgar pictures. I only spray on the other end of town. Tonight I think I’ll get the new YMCA that was just put up. I didn’t see any security cameras up yet.
“What are you doing?” Doug asked. “Why do you stand there and stare off in a distance like that? You’re a friggin weirdo. You scare people, that’s why you’re still a virgin.”
“Look I just got caught up in my thoughts. I don’t know why you have to say shit like that.” I defended. I’m guessing he’s acting like this because of his personal problems with Margot, but it still hurts. He hasn’t even been acting like he wants to hang out with me anymore.
“Here we go cereal. What do you feel like? Cap’n Berry, Toaster Treat Pieces, Cookie Bits?” Doug asked. Doug inspected each box as if he had never eaten cereal before.
“I like the Berry Blasted Rings. Or maybe the Bran Clusters, load them up with sugar, Oh yeah.” I couldn’t make up my mind.
“Bran Clusters? No one eats them, you put sugar on them so they taste almost like a real cereal, you know like Count Fruiticula. Hey, do you think the gay community takes offense to this one? I’d be pissed. Even the Dracula on the box looks like a poof. Let’s get these two.” Doug put a box of Bunny Marshmallow Rings and a bag of Chocolate Chruchies. God, I should’ve gotten the Bran Clusters.
“Do you ever wonder who draws the pictures of these animals on the covers? Why are their eyes so big? Why are they so excited? Why don’t they just take a picture of a turtle, doing nothing?” I thought out loud.
“Well, I guess because no one would buy the cereal if the things on the box weren’t excited or interesting. C’mon man I got stuff to do.” Doug urged.
We left the store and Doug drove back to my apartment. On the way we listened to more metal and I asked what he had planned. He yelled at me to mind my own business and got into his car to leave. I hope he isn’t trying to talk to Margot. I could see him stalking her. I could see him waiting in the rain behind a tree, watching the love of his life making wedding plans for a guy that isn’t Doug. A guy that sells insurance.
I sat alone in my apartment. I cooked up the rest of the heroin I had left and after I shot up, I wondered where to go. What would the serial sprayer get next? I listened to Beethoven’s symphony number 5 in C minor. Thoughts raced through my head. For some reason I thought of my mother. Was she watching over me, her only child? I wish I could thank her for the money she left me after her death. It’s paid for everything I own. Do I have any more pills? Maybe I still have something laying around somewhere, maybe some Percocet or Oxymorphone? I wonder where Doug gets his.
After an hour of searching I found half a bottle of Vicodin, I washed it down with Seagram’s Seven. Hopefully this will take me where I need to be. The heroin didn’t.
I grabbed my backpack with the supplies: two ShamWows one to wipe off the rain in order for the paint to stick one to go around the can to keep the sound low, three cans spray paint, red, black, and white. Mp3 with classics, crowbar, I’ve been wanting to break into a house and paint something like “You know what you did” in someone’s house I don’t know.
The rain wasn’t as heavy and the moon had lit the sky by the time I had left my house. I played Beethoven’s Seventh in A Major. I started at my local drycleaner, thanks for fucking up my suit two months ago. Brick is so hard to dry for the paint to stick. I had to go over the lines four times and they still leaked. Next was the insurance company were Frances works. His name is Frances. Why did Margot leave Doug for an insurance salesmen named Frances. I wrote “Frank, you said you’d call.” Your welcome Doug.
I moved on to the YMCA. I wrote “Home of the neighborhood’s pederast.” I wonder what the parents will think. I love this feeling, exposing all these truths that don’t exist. I show these people what no one else want to show them. This feeling is great. I tilt my head back and let the rain fall in my mouth and on my face. My buzz was still here, but I wasn’t tired. It is as if my adrenaline was keeping me going.
I had decided that it was time to break into a house. I found this little blue one-story shack that I had seen people packing up like they were about to go on a vacation. I turned off my Mp3 and scoped the area. No lights on, no cars with anyone in them. Ghost town. I looked around the house for a way in. The back door was unlocked. I made my way into the kitchen, the fridge, I was thirsty. No soda, just peach juice. I grabbed the bottle and downed the remaining liquid. I made my way to the bedroom and searched the drawers porn, underwear, dildo. Ohh, a gun, it’s loaded too. It was a S&W six shooter. I stashed it in my coat.
This isn’t right, I should spray a house that’s nice. Someone that’s rich. I went to the Harrison’s house. They were the rich people on the block three-story white house with a red door. It looked like they were gone, probably at some benefit or group orgy. I checked the doors, the basement door wasn’t locked. I headed in there, my heart pounding. There was a faint smell of cheese in the air. Old cheese. I looked around for a light switch, then gave up and used my cell phone. Light illuminated the basement, I found a door leading to a locked door. I kicked it in and found a sex room of sorts. A weird hammock hung from the ceiling, like the ones you see in the pornos. Dildos and lube, Wine and candles, towels strewn about littered this room. There was a lot of ball-gags and roach-clip like things for tits or balls or what have you.
I looked upstairs. Grabbed a beer out of the fridge, it was clear that these people were gone and haven’t been here in a while. All the food had expired. Dishes collected flies and a thicker, more putrid smell took over the faint cheese smell. I wondered what cereal they had, Coco’s Choco Chunks. I looked around for the bedrooms. I found the master bedroom. I looked in the drawers for something useful. I found an ounce of pot and a nice bowl. I checked the bathroom for pharmies. They had some painkillers: Vicodin and Darvocet.
Making my way to the living room, I started shaking the can. Began writing “You know what you did.” I had a weird feeling like maybe I should leave. I hurried up and finished it. I finished the beer and left. On my way out, I sprayed their 50 inch LCD so they could never use it again. These people are guilty of something.
While walking to my house, I noticed the rain had subsided. I started spraying little pictures of cocks and balls on every other car. On one of them I drew a smiley face asking “How much will this cost to get out?”
I made it home a little after four in the morning, I ate some more Vicodin and lie silent in my bed looking at the gun I had. I thought of my life. Where was I going?