Mikayla Black's Last Cup of Sorrow

By C M Hopkinson

Life in a small town in the late 90's can be crushing for anyone who doesn't fit in. 17 year old Mikayla Black is as her surname suggests; a dark horse different from all those around her without her even knowing why. Seeking peace she speaks to the reader in her inward feelings honest and raw, yet what transpires is even beyond her most darkest thoughts... Something else is out there and manifesting from her depression. It's starting to talk, and it wants out to reek havoc on the world...

• Language: English
• Publisher: C M Hopkinson
• Release date: Apr 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224675500

C M Hopkinson

Father of four from Australia's sunny Gold Coast. Originally from New Zealand I have been writing since I was 8 and writing seriously for a year. My main goal here in Smashwords is to gain feedback from readers and have other writers share their ideas. I'm not here to make a living, just to enjoy the craft.

Book preview

Mikayla Blacks

Last Cup

of

Sorrow

By C M Hopkinson

Copyright © 2022 by Chris Hopkinson

Cover Image: ID 176118350 © Aleksandr Korchagin Dreamstime.com

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"You; Stupid shit and small. Snuffling to the ground and pouting an empty hole mind. Welcome to derision.

If only there was a cull of the mindless. Of those that are devoid of existing as contributable to anything."

Excerpts from The Dark Bastard Chronicles.

One foot after the other…

I tell myself this all the time.

All I must do is put one foot in front of the other.

It seems I have to do this mantra every miserable damn day.

To where exactly? Just the punch-clock factory of my own depression.

Let us face it; it is just the usual factory line of pretty much all teenage depression of modern times. A non-descript generic western world school full of blank strangers and vicious enemies. The enemies are my bane, the needling stings of grudges born, blah blah blah…

In my head, I call them all sorts of dark insults. In their pretty mouths the just call me: Black, as well as that is my name – my last name that is. My parents were not that much of a couple of ass wipes to name me after blank, nothingness. But I am very definitely black. Perhaps better described as just dark. Oh yes dark, deep, and distant like a moonless night sky, devoid of mellowing streetlight glow. Cold and hollow…

Shit; Melodramatic much?

Definitely…

Have you gathered yet what sort of what teenage ‘chick’ category I fit into yet?

Well, I am that shy, morose, skinny little freckle in the back or in the corner. The easily forgettable school name that you feign sadness over when at age 30 you hear I suicided on prescription meds. I am the nothing, I am the loser. The footy jocks despise me as fugly. The slutty princesses taunt me as a freak. All the rest shift a stare out of the corner of their eyes like I am a walking virus they wish to not contract. I probably am to be feared though. Well, that’s what I must tell myself.

This thing called Black. How could this be a choice?

No choice really.

If I think enough about it started long ago. But it has always been something internal and without a prose to define. I am simply different. A genetic abortion.

You have never seen me but no doubt you know my type. That dorky girl lurking unwanted in the class photo. The unwilling accomplice in physical ‘education.’ Quiet and unassuming yet scary to approach because you cannot find the right way to say, ‘Hi how are you’ because I might just not reply and sulk away.

Which I will almost certainly do because you do nothing but burn me even more. I survived lord of the flies’ primary school and grew from that strange little girl into an even stranger young woman. After all these years unable to carve a home in higher school I decided to embrace the crushing persona that all around me cloaked me in. There is only so many twisted taunts, spitballs and hair pulling one girl can take.

And now I am this.

Long dark hair, huge brown goldfish eyes, a skinny frame that still manages a miniature potbelly beneath my maximum amount of multiple dirty clothing. Always dark because it hides. Stripes distract you enough before I leave you presence because after all this bullshit you have inflicted on me. Mikayla Black. I am Mikayla fucking Black...

Theatrical? Yes, I am.

It kinda worked…

People now steer now away from me first and I like it that way. Mainly just the girls though, the boys still have to tear into something every so often.

Uhh, fucking boys…

In year 9 some guy said my legs were nice and I had a good rack, but it was a shame about my face. Yeah, really smooth chump. It was so nice to know I am the greatest reject those horny finger-fucking bi-sexual jocks never fapped too.

I’m an all-round reject.

I am 17… And I am resigned to this type of life. Truly I haven’t given a fuck for since I was 13. You are not going to change me. But perhaps before I reach the magical transcendence of adulthood proper, I might give this one part of me to you.

Adulthood = 18… An age where a boy can kill a man if he is uniform, and a girl can fuck any man she wants on camera and be proud of it – they both proudly wear badges of shame…

I am rambling because I ramble.

What was my point? Oh yes, before all that I might just change you with this little sordid tale…

Strap yourself in, it can be incredibly angry.

1.

It is Monday. I am sitting in a cold, beige-concrete bunker on a pale grey morning.

A lanky, stinky breath cretin is trying to teach a room of 29 teenagers calculus. Or Physics. Or reptilian buttfuckery for all I care. I swear to God I can see my breath in this icy classroom air.

Swear to God?

Too bad I cannot believe in such nonsense to swear too. Yes, I’m a young pessimistic Atheist but to be fair that’s your label, not mine. I don’t give myself such a title. Just don’t tell me my options are a Jewish Zombie carpenter, a desert-dwelling despot, a self-loathing rich Indian or whatever else you can pull out of your arse. When it comes to spiritual cynicism, I am an egalitarian.

Lanky Mc’Stink Breath is droning on in his weekday monotone as he does every damn lesson.

Yeah, buddy… That is really inspiring for us young minds. Way to empower us with valuable knowledge.

I am so fucking cold… What exactly do you expect us to wear inside these giant ice boxes? How can anyone ‘work’ in these conditions let alone retain any valuable knowledge.

But let’s be honest Mr. Teacher; Your pessimism for education is as obvious as your fecal smelling breath. You have not given a flying toss for years. Did you even care once I wonder? I can understand if you do not, because who could aspire to teach a pathetic horde of hormonal babies like us. Hell only knows that I couldn’t imagine anything worse.

Just evaluate the class you attempt to educate:

I’m at the back of the class (refuge of the loner and deviant) and several rows ahead to the left is Sarah and Marley.

They’re two popular princesses feigning learning but really exchanging gossip in short low-frequency blubbers of idiom. Fucking dolts… Word around school this morning is Marley got fingered separately by two random boys at a party in the weekend and that, of course, is somehow hilarious in a gratifying sort of way for her. Sarah on the other hand still flaunts her own sexual conquest of the new Brazilian exchange student as if it makes her somehow mature and empowered. What’s the bet she just drunkenly star-fished it while Juan engaged in 45 seconds of glorified hands-free masturbation.

They don’t fool me. They sit with a top tier of ‘coolness’ on me. There’s Kyle whose arrogance stems from his ability to kick a ball extremely far. He is barely awake at this point in class but still on the way to primo marks. Next to him is a bigger fuck-stick called James. A dry blonde headed freckled tosspot whose prowess also with a stupid ball is apparently legendary to the multitude that cares. I saw him throw a tub of coleslaw at a girl with down syndrome years ago when we all first started high school. His personal actions have declined steadily since then. He’s such a piece of shit worthy of suffering but he is loved beyond reason.

Such a Dick…

He’s not nodding off now. But his fake attentiveness is interrupted every so often by his cheeky smirk towards one of his other boofhead mates. What’s so amusing is anyone’s guess, but I bet it is at someone else’s detriment. He never looks my way, at least not often. I caught him a couple of times and I always try to respond with a black-eyed glare of indifference. I bet such emotional angst is wasted on jerks like him.

There’s a plump-slut beyond him. Trinity is her name, a feral attempt at sophistication obviously. Her skills are bereft from the netball court or debate team. This behemoth just sucks dicks on a Saturday night, comes from a rich family and therefore earns her badge as one of the ‘hot chicks.’ That bitch is always laughing like a choking hyena…gross.

Okay. Behind that lot is three more girls of ill repute. Not popular bitches but a counterculture of popular. The nearest to me is this ugmo called Carly, she has a mop of steel wool blonde hair to distract from her obnoxious overbite. She typifies this bunch. They smoke weed a lot and don’t make a song and dance about it because that is ‘tru gangsta’. They’re pale pasty and only listen to early 90‘s hip hop. I can see their life story like a screenplay. They’ll all slide unsuccessfully through school, stay in this shitty town and whinge about living in a shitty town, work mediocre jobs then finally pop out some bogan spawn and buy a shitty house in the shitty town that they loathe, repeating the