It was a Tuesday afternoon and Rebecca was sitting on the floor of her shed picking the grime out of her tonenails and feeding any crunchy bits she harvested to the mice that live in there. But it wasn’t just any Tuesday afternoon: oh no. For on this sunny Tuesday afternoon Rebecca had been assigned an art project at school – and art was by far the BEST kind of project there was. Becky often liked to sit in her shed when she wanted to go away and think really hard. But this wasn’t based on clearing her mind so much as it was a rule given by her mother, who knew that when Rebecca thought REALLY hard she would become constipated and suffer with piles, which meant she was BANNED from the cream carpeted floors in the house. Rebecca reached into her secret pocket (which was not part of any item of clothing) because this also helped her think sometimes. She wasn’t sure why it helped, but it did, and she often found that if she did it several times repeatedly she could forget about all her troubles that were bothering her – like her unloving mother or the nasty kids at school that bully her because they do not understand her complex nature. As she reached up she had an epiphany and felt a tingling sensation go through her entire body. She knew exactly what to do for her art project. She couldn’t wait to get started and that very next evening she went out to collect the parts she needed for her project. She dared not tell anyone about her expedition, however – partly because that would spoil the surprise and partly because she didn’t really have any friends apart from the mice in her shed and they couldn’t speak English (only Swedish, as the tool box that they inhabited was bought from Ikea). A mere two weeks later and she had completed her project just in time for the show and tell at school. Several children had painted fruit bowls, others had made sculptures and some had even sewn tapestries. Bah! she thought. Becky knew that none of these amateurish attempts could compare to her work of art. She saw the teachers start to approach her to see what wonderful masterpiece she had created and she bubbled with excitement, forehead sweaty and knickers soaked right through, wet in more ways than one. As the teacher uncovered her project his face turned pale and he stumbled backwards, gasping and trying to cover his eyes, nose and mouth at the same time. Becky stood grinning next to her project. ‘He must really like it!’ she thought. “Aah! Wh-wh-what…H-h-how…” another professor said in great shock and bemusement. Becky’s project was…unconventional to say the least. She had tried so hard to push the boundaries. The teachers just stared at the pile of rotting, mangled children’s corpses in the wheelbarrow by Rebecca’s side. Some bodies were clearly more freshly harvested than others which were crawling with insects, flies and worse to that effect. The stench was repulsive, never mind the blood stains on the classroom floor or the sight of decapitated infants. “It’s modern art.” Rebecca said, beaming. “It signifies how we are all brothers and sisters in this world and how we all deserve love. So, to convey this I gave all of these lovely children love. I gave them love even though they didn’t ask for it.” Rebecca looked at her feet, the smile on her face was fading. “But they didn’t want my love”, she added as tears started to pour down her face. “THEY DIDN’T WANT IT. DIDN’T WANT IT!” she screamed. “AAAAAaaah!” Rebecca then kicked over the wheelbarrow and -still screaming- pounced on one of the female teachers, reached up her skirt and began searching for her secret pocket. Rebecca didn’t return to this school again. She was filed as dangerous and of bad mental state and saw a therapist to help her talk about her problems. But she didn’t like to talk. So in therapy she just sat on the comfy sofa, one hand up her nostril searching for goodies, and the other hand tucked safely in her secret pocket – and she was happy again.
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Once upon a time, Rebecca was very hot.
“I WANT A ICE CREAM,” she suggested.
“Very well,” said her mother, taking the noose from her neck and smiling.
Now, everyone knows that the best place to get an ice cream is from a friendly stranger with a van, preferably in a park or perhaps on the side of the road. Rebecca knew just the place to go.
A few minutes later, Rebecca arrived at her local playground. Due to her practically crippled frame, she had sustained many injuries on her way to the park, but she didn’t mind. Rebecca really liked ice cream.
She spotted a man with a van and approached him on all fours.
“Hello, Rebecca,” said the stranger, grinning. “Would you like an ice cream?”
“YEAH,” she whispered, her eyes wide with excitement.
“Follow me,” the man smiled.
A few metres away, her mother looked on, shaking her head.
“Oh, that Rebecca,” she thought, merrily. “She does get into all sorts of scrapes!” She walked away.
As Rebecca approached the van, she noticed that there were other children sitting inside, their heads drooping to one side and their eyes wide and staring. They looked like they were having fun.
“Oh dear,” said the kind man. “I think I might have run out of ice cream, Rebecca. How about some of this sherbet instead?” He held up a bag containing some white powder.
Rebecca smiled benignly. “No, thank you,” she said, wrenching the steering wheel from the dashboard and beating him across the face with it.
The man fell to the ground.
“Look, Rebecca, look,” said one of the other children. “We can go home now.”
Rebecca gave the child a funny look. “Whatever,” she told him, and went away to play with a bench.
Rebecca’s mother gave her 4 pence for pocket money every month, as that was all that was ever left over after she had spent her cheque from the social. Rebecca loved lollies, and so saved her 4 pence, eagerly anticipating the day that she would have enough to buy a piece of heaven on a stick.
That day had finally arrived!
Rebecca set out to the shops one morning, her assortment of coins clanging happily together in her secret front pocket. This secret pocket was not part of any clothing item, and Rebecca stored her most precious goods there.
Her local super market was a half an hour drive away, and, with no car, Rebecca had to walk! After three and a half hours of happily limping, she finally arrived at the store, and the doors opened, as if by magic, when she approached them.
“WOW.” Screeched Rebecca, wet with excitement.
Rebecca stopped limping when she got into the store, and ran like Road Runner to the confectionery aisle.
She looked up and down the counters, stocked full with brightly coloured treats. Chocolate, popping candy, chewing gum, liqueurs… but no lollies. In fact, they had signs out for lollies, but… no stock.
Rebecca felt a hot tear roll down her silly face.
She felt like an idiot. Her secret pocket had lost most of her coins on the limp to the store anyway, but now there weren’t even any lollies to look at. To be comforted by. She started gasping for air. She could feels her lungs constricting, pushing air out and not letting any back in. Her forehead was sweating, her eyes bulging, and her hands began to tremble.
“WHY IS THERE NO GOOD IN THE WORLD,” she whispered.
“WHY IS THERE NO GOOD IN THE WORLD,” she said.
“WHY IS THERE NO GOOD IN THE WORLD.” she shouted.
Rebecca jumped onto the displays, and started throwing sweets and chocolates all over the floor. She howled like a banshee as she did so, flecks of spittle stained the colourful plastics. She ran down the aisle, with her arms at a ninety degree angle to her body. She dragged her hands through the display, knocking anything and everything onto the floor. Two silent security guards ambled after her. Reaching the end of the counters, Rebecca looked behind her, and screamed.
Screamed for longer than she ever had done before.
She released her secret pocket, and her assortment of pence pieces fell to the floor with a hideous sound of metal on metal, screeching and scratching.
Rebecca screamed some more.
With her dignity now, in her view, returned to her, she silently skipped out of the shop. Bystanders looked on, agape. She skipped, but did not smile. Her face was thunderous as she jovially moved out of the store. She did not stop skipping until she got home, two hours later. Her feet were bloody, and three of her six remaining toes were broken or fractured. Rebecca did not notice, however, and went to sit in the shed.
It was a Tuesday afternoon and Rebecca was sitting on the floor of her shed picking the grime out of her tonenails and feeding any crunchy bits she harvested to the mice that live in there. But it wasn’t just any Tuesday afternoon: oh no. For on this sunny Tuesday afternoon Rebecca had been assigned an art project at school – and art was by far the BEST kind of project there was. Becky often liked to sit in her shed when she wanted to go away and think really hard. But this wasn’t based on clearing her mind so much as it was a rule given by her mother, who knew that when Rebecca thought REALLY hard she would become constipated and suffer with piles, which meant she was BANNED from the cream carpeted floors in the house.
Rebecca reached into her secret pocket (which was not part of any item of clothing) because this also helped her think sometimes. She wasn’t sure why it helped, but it did, and she often found that if she did it several times repeatedly she could forget about all her troubles that were bothering her – like her unloving mother or the nasty kids at school that bully her because they do not understand her complex nature. As she reached up she had an epiphany and felt a tingling sensation go through her entire body. She knew exactly what to do for her art project.
She couldn’t wait to get started and that very next evening she went out to collect the parts she needed for her project. She dared not tell anyone about her expedition, however – partly because that would spoil the surprise and partly because she didn’t really have any friends apart from the mice in her shed and they couldn’t speak English (only Swedish, as the tool box that they inhabited was bought from Ikea).
A mere two weeks later and she had completed her project just in time for the show and tell at school. Several children had painted fruit bowls, others had made sculptures and some had even sewn tapestries. Bah! she thought. Becky knew that none of these amateurish attempts could compare to her work of art. She saw the teachers start to approach her to see what wonderful masterpiece she had created and she bubbled with excitement, forehead sweaty and knickers soaked right through, wet in more ways than one.
As the teacher uncovered her project his face turned pale and he stumbled backwards, gasping and trying to cover his eyes, nose and mouth at the same time. Becky stood grinning next to her project. ‘He must really like it!’ she thought.
“Aah! Wh-wh-what…H-h-how…” another professor said in great shock and bemusement. Becky’s project was…unconventional to say the least. She had tried so hard to push the boundaries. The teachers just stared at the pile of rotting, mangled children’s corpses in the wheelbarrow by Rebecca’s side. Some bodies were clearly more freshly harvested than others which were crawling with insects, flies and worse to that effect. The stench was repulsive, never mind the blood stains on the classroom floor or the sight of decapitated infants.
“It’s modern art.” Rebecca said, beaming. “It signifies how we are all brothers and sisters in this world and how we all deserve love. So, to convey this I gave all of these lovely children love. I gave them love even though they didn’t ask for it.” Rebecca looked at her feet, the smile on her face was fading. “But they didn’t want my love”, she added as tears started to pour down her face. “THEY DIDN’T WANT IT. DIDN’T FUCKING WANT IT!” she screamed. “AAAAAaaah!”
Rebecca then kicked over the wheelbarrow and -still screaming- pounced on one of the female teachers, reached up her skirt and began searching for her secret pocket.
Rebecca didn’t return to this school again. She was filed as dangerous and of bad mental state and saw a therapist to help her talk about her problems. But she didn’t like to talk. So in therapy she just sat on the comfy sofa, one hand up her nostril searching for goodies, and the other hand tucked safely in her secret pocket – and she was happy again.
Filed under rabid rebecca art school toenails story
One day, Rabid Rebecca was bored and on her lonesome, and started to slap herself until her cheeks bled!
Rabid Rebecca sat on the grass. She liked to feel it’s cold, sharp shape against her skin. She quietly fingered the grass, and span it between her fingertips. When no one was looking, she quickly plucked a piece from the ground and shoved it in her mouth, gobble gobble. She munched it and crunched it, her taste buds being drowned with essence of soil and nature.
Rebecca was sat in a small field, far away from her house and mother. Mother had made her angry, so Rebecca stormed out the house, and retreated to her safe place.
In the grass, Rebecca saw a caterpillar.
“Oh look!” she shouted to no one, “A caterpillar!”
and she proceeded to shove the caterpillar into her mouth.
She crushed it’s delicate body with her teeth.
