The Stupids and the Idiots

Prompt: Two characters are in an accident and end up sharing a hospital room – tell their story. What a perfect prompt because it gave me an excuse to explore an idea I’ve wanted to tinker with for a while! Here’s hoping you like this one because I think this is something I’d like to expand on in the future. 🙂

“My grandma says there are two kinds of people in the world: the stupids and the idiots. You? You’re an idiot.”

I can’t place the voice. Literally. I can’t tell what direction it’s coming from or who it belongs to. My head feels like an elephant is sitting on it while I’m underwater and someone is kicking it over and over again. And it’s not just my head. My whole body feels completely wrecked, like I’ve been hit by a bus.

The thought strikes me along with a flash of memory, propelling my eyes open.

Big mistake. Huge.

All Mad Here

Just a warning that this story is a long one. After several days of not having much luck with my novel and starting a different short story, I was feeling incredibly frustrated. A pep-talk from Sarah helped and I decided to dive into something completely different. This poured out of me over the course of two days and I’m actually really happy with it. I hope you like it, too.

What do you call it if the advice columnist is the one in need of advice? Seriously, high school has failed me and my peers in this way. I mean, sure here my roommate has mastered her ability move things with her mind. Thanks to our teachers, my best friend can now go back and relive up to the past 19 and a half hours of his life. There are people here who can literally remember everything they read, recreate anything they’ve ever seen, speak languages fluently only after hearing others speak it once. They can erase your memories or implant new ones.

Yup, once you master whatever you’ve been cursed with, you get a diploma from Enigma Academy for the (Supernaturally) Gifted along with a clean bill of health with the school promising the NSA, the CIA, the FBI, and Homeland Security that we are officially not crazy, just enlightened. Even though crazy is the reason we all ended up here in the first place.

I was scrolling through the Dear Victoria Lucas inbox, trying to find something interesting for my final column ever that could also distract me from my current predicament. It wasn’t easy being the unofficial and anonymous voice of reason which doled out pearls of wisdom. I inherited the job from a fellow freak, a senior girl last year who was also shy. We didn’t know each other well, but she said I fit the traditional profile just fine: I flew under the radar and I knew how to keep my mouth shut so the school administrators would never figure out who Victoria Lucas really was.

Unfortunately for a bunch of weirdos, my peers’ problems even in the last week of school were so ordinary. If only there were someone to advise me on which uninspired query deserved a response.