Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

There he is. The target. The prey. Damn, I feel like a creepy lil stalker, but I swear, this is what I’ve been planning for months, and I need this. I need this to feel normal. To get what I want. See, I got a brother. A sexy, studly, badass big brother named Josiah. And as his little sister, of only a year I might add, I have always looked up to him. Josiah and I were always close. He would go out onto the driveway and show me his super cool skateboarding tricks, and i’d sit out on the front steps cheering him on. That was the way it was.  That is until Eddie came along. I mean, yeah. He was super nice to me, and we could be classified as “friends,’ I guess. But here’s the catch: he stole Josiah. Instead of me cheering him from the porch, Josiah was at the skatepark with Eddie. Instead of coming and playing N64 in the living room, he was at Eddie’s place smoking the weeds. And all the entire time, I was never allowed to come with! I mean, he’s 23 and I’m 22. So it’s not like I’m t...

  “Hey boys, look who we got here!” Those words strike fear into every insecure man in a locker room, and for Franklin, this was no exception. Late night workout, 2 AM, no one there. The tubby gent slowly turned, and to his chagrin, three beefcake soldiers stood there, flexing and showing off their physiques. He had seen these three douchebags for the past week or so, taking up all the free weights and just being an all around noisy nuisance. But who’s going to tell three American Army soldiers to fuck off? Certainly not unassuming Franklin. “Hey guys, I’m really in a rush, so I’m gonna get in the showers and head home.” The three smugly exchanged glances, muttering whispers under their breath. Franklin meagerly tried to pass the three mountains, but to no avail. Every move he made to get to the showers was mirrored by the “heroic” bullies.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why in such a rush, man! We’re shipping off in a few days, and we want some fun.” The color in Franklin’s cheeks flush...

  “Who the fuck are you!” You stared at the half naked man lying on your sofa, playing GTA V, the room reeking of weed and… some unidentified scent. “Get the hell out of my house!” You were shrieking like a banshee, yet this studly stranger took no notice of your rage.  “Yo, bruh. Why you screamin’? Calm down.” As if a Valium hit you like a brick, waves of relief washed over you.  “I… I don’t know.” You stood there, dumbfounded. Wondering why it was you were so surprised this dude was in your apartment. You calmly place your stuff down at the door, kicking off your uncomfortable work shoes. “Man, that fuckin’ job has got you stressed out as fuck.” He sits upright, patting the leather cushion next to him. Your head still fuzzy, you idly find yourself waddling over to him, and plopping down next to him on the couch. He tosses his arm around your shoulder, and hands you the second controller, which you gladly accept. There is nothing like Grand Theft Auto to let out all that...

  Yeah, he’s pretty. Studly, sexy, the ultimate adonis. Would you be absolutely shocked to learn he was a High School History teacher? This is Mr. Rappaport. He taught AP European History at Marva Collins High School for 4 years. In that time, he won teacher of the year, brought the school basketball team to the state title, and touched the lives of hundreds of students that walked in and out of his classroom. Now, you may be thinking, this is not exactly a picture that’s appropriate for a schoolteacher. Mr. Rappaport would have vehemently agreed. It was meant as a teaser for his husband, Danny, on Valentine’s Day. Little did he know that hitting the send button his Facebook Messenger would cause his life to turn upside down. In hindsight, he should have known that Collin would have pulled something like this, especially after how pissed he was for being kicked off the team. But Mr. Rappaport never would have guessed that Collin would have snooped through his laptop during practice...

  Timothy stared from across the quad, furiously undressing him with his eyes. Lance Lockhart. For years now he had loved this boy from afar, his every thought, dream, and desire was shrouded in his powerful shadow. And as he innocently studied the silverwood sapling, jotting down whatever measurements he needed for ‘Intro to Botany,’ Timothy did what he always did from afar: daydream. Lance’s favourite grey bro tank and white cap, his silky white wrestling shorts, the gigantic and well worn white and gold Roshes gracing his feet… Every ounce of him was soaked in masculinity, oozed cockiness, and radiated sexual desire. For one solitary moment, the pair’s eyes met. A sideward glance meeting a deep, invasive stare. Timothy buried his face in his Organic Chemistry textbook, pleading with whatever essence dictated luck that Lance’s gaze had passed him over. For a moment, he thought his childish tactic had succeeded. Yet, as he peeked over the top of the textbook, he saw Lance saunteri...

  “Tyrone, what the hell did you bring me?” Dion looked the reporter over, examining every observable ounce of him. He was average. In every way. Not exactly the type of guy he usually would dream of using. Yet, there was something deep down that was intriguing. Maybe it was the uphill battle that he knew would ensue? Perhaps it was the challenge? The potential? So, as Tyrone held his tight grip on Manuel’s shoulder, Dion slowly changed his tune. “Fine, man. Just leave him here” Tyrone released his grip on Manuel, and left the two alone in Dion’s kitchen. He leaned against the counter, still to all outside appearance to be thoroughly unconvinced. Manuel, understandably shaken, pulled out his small notepad and pen, sitting down at the cheap birchwood table. “I trust Tyrone told you why I’m here, right? The piece on gang violence here in East New Orleans? The Times-Picayune is really interested in it.” Dion’s eyebrow raised, giving Manuel a much needed respite from his worry. “All so...

  Tyler had it all. A nice, loving, Christian family; straight A’s; a cute girlfriend; and so much money he didn’t know what to do with it. He was popular, cute, and had any girl he flashed his big, pretty boy eyes at. A tumblr king and drama queen, this boy had it all. So, it may come as a shock to you that he has gone missing.  The last anyone heard of him, he was leaving his girlfriend’s house on Laurel Street at 3 PM on February 2nd, enroute to the nearby bakery for his weekly baguette and butter. He never arrived. His parents, immediately worried that their son never came home, notified the New Orleans Police Department, declaring him missing. The following is an account from the only eyewitness to his disappearance; a 62 year old man walking down the street. “Well, I was on my way back from an extended lunch. I had a meeting with another accountant and was heading back to my office, when that missing kid bumped into me. He dropped his phone, and the screen cracked on the...