They say that monsters do not exist. Who are they? Because they are wrong.

Two teenage girls, dressed in pajama shirts, flush from a successful sleepover, lay on a king-sized snow-white bed, looking at a snow-white laptop, are two such monsters.

“Why do you hate Rose so much?”

“She fucked my boyfriend!”

“Shut up, she didn’t.”

“Well, not fucked fucked, but she screwed him on that last group assignment.”

“What? How?”

“She didn’t do his part. You know Brad fucking sucks at science.”

“Fuck her.”

“Yeah. So help me find something here. I want revenge.”

“You are going to drug her? How, with what?”

“Maybe. Check this site. It has every drug you can imagine.”

“This can’t be legal.”

“Who cares?”

“LSD would be hilarious. Imagine sweet little gumdrop tripping in class.”

“Fuck yeah! Hey, check the list of similar products.”

“Ecstasy would be fun.”

“For us.”

“What about Spanish fly?”

“That never worked.”

“They have something called CockWorm.”

“Where?”

“Under new products.”

“Yeah, let’s give her worms.”

“Read the description. It’s nasty.”

“Descriptions always lie.”

“Did I tell you about the dream I had last week, where little Rose sucked off our teacher?”

“No! And why the fuck not. Your dreams always come true.”

“Not always.”

“The dream about Mark falling off his bike did!”

“Ok, sure, but you did push him.”

“Exactly. You’re like a prophet or something.”

“Whatever, let’s get this.”

“It’s fucking expensive.”

“So what? I have Dad’s credit card.”

“Truth? Then let’s get some Coke.”

“Great idea.”

“What about the CockWorm? Do you still want to fuck up Rose?”

“Do you think we should? Drugs are dangerous.”

“What?”

“I’m just fucking with you. Fucking rights, we’re going to drug that bitch.”

“Do you want to get the CockWorm antidote?”

“Why bother? We’re not taking that shit.”

“Good point.”

“How much coke should we get?”

“All of it.”

“Ha Ha, very funny.”

“How are you going to get little Rose Petal to drink that shit?”

“Fuck if I know. We’ll figure something out.”

“More coke than that.”

“I can only add so much at a time...”

Need Seed

Exhausted, the nightmares finally ended in the harsh morning sun. The mindless monsters, zombie-like creatures, destroyed by the rational words of Einstien, Oppenheimer, and Curie plastered on my walls.

Yesterday, I visited the body of Grandma, my favorite person on the planet. Was my favorite person. The person who knew me better than anyone. The person I learned everything important from. How to dress, how to act. The person who comforted me most when Grandpa passed.

That Grandma was gone.

We used to spend hours playing mind games or doing crossword puzzles. Yesterday, we sat and watched a stupid TV show.

Dementia stole my Grandma.

Her body sat beside me, but she didn’t. I didn’t know that vapid smiling woman.

Mom tried but failed to comfort me. My grandma wouldn’t have failed. She would have known what to say, what to do, how to calm me, and how to explain everything.

Thankfully, Grandma doesn’t remember. She’s lucky that way. She isn’t horrified not remembering me. She isn’t shocked at watching a stupid soap opera instead of talking to me about science.

Yesterday, I hugged a stranger inside my grandma’s body - goodbye.

I stumbled through breakfast, tired and confused.

I managed to stay awake during my first class, but lost to exhaustion and slept in my second.

I woke in horror to the teacher’s voice. I have never slept in class before. I have never been more embarrassed.

Thank goodness for lunch and our school allowing us off-grounds. I could rush to the local coffee shop to get much-needed caffeine.

I pause at the shop door, my two bullies are inside drinking their coffee-flavored sugar drinks. I don’t want to go in, but I need caffeine. I force myself inside. I cannot fall asleep in class again. I need caffeine.

I slip through the other students, avoiding the gaze of the terrible twosome. Since starting in the fall, they have made my life a living hell. Today, I cannot deal with them. I am too distraught and tired.

I order and hide, however, Sarah notices me and walks over wearing an evil grin.

Be brave, be strong. She can only say nasty stuff. The crowd will protect me from any physical violence.

She stands in my personal space while I stare at the empty drink counter, willing the barista to pull my espresso faster.

Somebody bumps me from behind.

“Hey, Little Miss Bitchy, what’cha doin’?”

Marian arrives. Being exhausted, I forgot about her. I’m stuck between the witches.

“Nothing,” I mumble, turning to her, wishing for a forcefield to protect me.

The barista saves me, “Rose.”

Distracted by Marian, Sarah grabs my coffee before I can, “What did you order?”

I turn to her and try to snatch it back, but Sarah easily evades my lunge.

Marian, being bigger and stronger, grabs me and forces me back to face her.

Her cruel lips sneer as she demands,” I asked you a question!”

“Nothing,” I repeat, trying to turn back to Sarah.

Laughing, She lets me.

In my peripheral vision, Sarah looks to put something in my drink. It is certainly suspicious that she just thrusts the drink at me.

Her sneer frightens me, “Here slut, drink up.”

Hot coffee spills over my hand. I clench my lips in pain, afraid to speak.

My hand throbbing, I use my body to protect my open coffee as I weave out the door. I escape the demon’s grasp with my caffeine prize. Tiny drops of liquid black fire splash over my fingers and wrist, but all adventurers take damage when confronting monsters.

As I walk briskly to the safety of my school, I want to turn around for milk, but I quickly banish that idea. I am just lucky to be alive, free, and have caffeine.

Besides, while Grandma insists..., insisted, that coffee needed milk, Grandpa always disagreed. He always said, “I like my coffee like I like my women, Black.” Grandma always replied, “I like my coffee like I like my men, White.” I so miss them.

In grief, I cry as I sit on a bench to drink.

Grandpa’s passing was easier. He just left one day. Grandma’s leaving is more difficult. A stranger keeps moving her body around. Maybe that is where the original idea for zombies came from.

I sip my bitter coffee. On any other day, I would have thrown the coffee away. But I need the caffeine today. Hell, any other day, I wouldn’t have entered an enclosed place with those two monsters.

Do all Mondays suck?

I watch a pack of boys flirt with a gaggle of girls. Horn dogs fill my school. Like every other school, I guess.

I wish someone would flirt with me. But Grandma is..., was right. Boys do not care about the girl. They just want to get in her panties. I sip my harsh caffeine and think how nice it might be for someone to want to get into my panties.

The caffeine is working. I feel warmer and more awake. It’s doing its job, so I can do mine.

I feel alive like my brain is on fire.

I can feel the caffeine moving through me. Right to my bladder. I need to pee.

I rush up the three floors to the safe bathroom.

Feeling a bit lightheaded and dizzy, I sit on the toilet.

My brain feels like electricity is arching across it. It doesn’t exactly hurt. It just feels weird and disorienting, like I am exercising my brain for the first time. My brain feels like my cramping hands during long essay tests.

I finish peeing.

Wiping my pussy feels good, so I keep doing it. It feels so good. Every time I move the tissue up my slit and touch my clit, a jolt of energy travels the length of my body. My brain throbs with excitement.

The world looks brighter and I feel more alive.

I want to masturbate. I need to masturbate.

But it’s wrong. But I desperately want to get off. Each wipe feels amazing. The tissue disintegrates, and my fingers continue to rub my wet juicy slit and little bitty clit.

What is wrong with me? I never do this.

The bell rings in the background. My fingers don’t stop. They aren’t listening to me.

No, I am still in charge. It feels so good, but it’s wrong.

I push against my mind. I fight through the warm pudding of my brain to regain control.

I win. I win? Since when is controlling your own body considered a win?

Like lifting a billion-tonne object, I pull up my panties and skirt. My whole forehead beads with the sweat of the effort.

I must be sick or something.

My image in the mirror looks sick.

An old red-faced lady gazes back at me.

Her skirt extends down past the knees. My fingers roll it up to an inch below the crotch, that’s as high as it will go. My hands remove the ugly, now visible, white granny panties and toss them in the garbage. My pussy hair can be seen just below the skirt’s edge. The bottom half looks much better.

The top half still needs work. I toss the button-up sweater into the garbage, then unbutton the dress shirt at the top and the bottom.

Why am I wearing a bra? My breasts are too small to need a bra. I toss it in the garbage with the panties and sweater.

Better, my erect nipples noticeably poke through the thin material. The shirt should be see-through. I undo another button, leaving only one to hold the shirt together. That’s good. People can see my little breasts bounce as I move.

What? Why am I exposing myself?

This type of exposure is so wrong in so many ways. But it does look sexy. And boys like sexy.

My face looks too plain. What would enhance it?

My eyes need to look more prominent and innocent, but there is nothing I can do.

My lips need to get redder, fuller, and more kissable. Biting works swell and redden them. Better, much better.

What? No, that’s not better. What am I doing?

I just ... need to get to class, yes, I agree.

Who? With me.

That coffee must have been exceptionally potent, or maybe I am sick. While I feel more alive than ever, I have never talked to myself like this.

Just get to class.

Luckily, the hall is empty. I rejoice that no one sees me, but I am also disappointed that no one is looking at my soaking wet pussy or my little budding breasts jiggling as I run.

Thank goodness the classroom door is still open. A locked door would mean a missed class. I cannot miss class after sleeping in one this morning.

I straighten my shirt and walk into the class. Mr. Hanson looks yummy. So tall, so strong, and his pants bulge calls to me.

What? Why am I looking at his cock?

Mr. Hanson looks surprised as he watches me move and sit in the seat closest to him.

I sit staring at his crotch. It looks so big. I wonder how big is it? What would it taste like?

My gaze follows the bulge as he moves around.

I want to suck it, I want to fuck it, I want to feel it shooting its seed into me.

What?

I have never thought like this. Why am I suddenly thinking these thoughts?

I slide down in the seat, opening my legs to flash him my pussy.

Why? What am I doing?

I feel like a passenger in my own body. My hands are spreading my labia while my tongue licks my lips.