I Wonder What the X-Men Do in a Heat Wave

I wonder what the X-Men do in a heat wave.

I realise this as I realise the lock on my bedroom door in my college dorm has swollen shut as the metal has expanded. And the windows are barred because of the time Tina from Humanities got slightly inebriated after drinking her stomach’s capacity of tequila and tried to jump out the window.

I’ve been sitting on my floor, as heat rises. I remember that from physics in high school.

I then think of Tina. We went out once or twice. I can’t remember. No. I can... no probs. JT lying to myself. It was just once. Okay. No one is going to read this transcript or see this video anyway, as my Wi-Fi and data stopped working.

The temperature is only 25, but it’s like 11am and the weather forecast said we should expect at least 35.

So I’m already thinking I might spend a bit of time with my balls and cock getting an airing.

I’ve tried knocking on the door and yelling, but I think everyone else has melted or has gone to the zombie parade that was planned.

My zombie mask stares at me from the hook it hangs on from the door.

Tina and I weren’t meant to be. Neither were Lena and me. Mina and me.

I just noticed that.

A pattern.

All my girlfriends.

Were.

Brunettes.

Well, maybe I should go for blondes next.

Terri, Toni or Nikki?

I’ll decide later. It’s far too hot and I forgot to get naked.

I only have a litre of water left. Someone will come back soon, no doubt, from the zombie parade.

Who schedules a zombie parade for summer?

Morons. That’s who.

I slowly click my knees as I stand and look in the mirror. I look like shit.

“You should see the other guy,” laughs my reflection.

Did I hear that or imagine it?

“Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?”

A scream in the distance shakes me back to reality a little as I look at the water and take a sip.

It’s a very nice lemon-flavoured hot water drink.

It feels so refreshing.

Not.

I can feel sweat slowly trickling down my back, acting like adhesive between my Cattle Decapitation tee and my hairy skin.

The sweat falls, pools at my coccyx and down my ass crack to lubricate... everything.

Blessed lubrication. Ironically. The one thing that makes tight and unpleasant restrictive areas and devices deliciously bearable, or even pleasurable.

It’s not helping my boxers.

My ballsack and dick are being overpowered into a sleeper hold by the polyester gusset of my Cookie Monster underwear.

Time to get my trouser snake released into the wilds of my low-quality student accommodation.

Slowly, I peel down my soft cotton trousers. Why I got fitted, I’ll never know.

Slowly is often how I do it when I want to woo a lady.

Ada loved it, or claimed she loved it.

And now I remember Ada.

She was my favourite A girl.

She didn’t complain as much as the others and enjoyed spending time with me until she didn’t.

Wonder what happened to her.

Oh... did she die or have a mental issue?

To be honest, whoever is watching this, I may have smoked a lot of weed yesterday or last night.

May have... I don’t have a problem.

Not now my trousers are finally off.

Now to carefully—

Untangle

My wretched bollocks and dick.

Unwrap that and unwrap this and—

Oh fuck, that hurts.

The chafing has left all kinds of marks along my groin.

And the smell is...

Well, it’s not attractive.

You know how fresh sweat is sweet and tasty.

Especially sweet groin sweat.

“Looking good, sexy boy,” sings my reflection, who has misted up my mirror and drawn a love heart in the condensation.

I try to ignore him and hear another scream that acts as a very good distraction.

They really are taking that zombie parade seriously.

I wonder if there are any hot zombies.

I was a hot zombie once.

Last Christmas.

For the Christmas ball.

My arm was bent backwards.

Wait. I’ll show you.

I snapped it backwards and then let it dangle like a flaccid elephant cock.

Wait. I used prosthetics.

Oh well.

Say hello to my stinky little friend, imaginary me.

“Stop waving that thing at me. It reminds me of Ada.”

Oh yeah. Ada. I wonder what happened to her.

I’m pretty sure she owes me some wings and an hour of blanket snuggle time.

Wolverine didn’t have this kind of trouble with women.

He had Jean Grey and Rogue wanting to cause him an internal drought.

Did I say who?

“Yes.”

I meant what.

Do you know?

“Oh, I know, of course I do. We had fun with poor Ada.”

Mmm, okay.

I need to take my T-shirt off.

Could you help me?

“Anything for you, tiger,” said my reflection seductively.

Hands on hair. The tee. Thank you very much.

Standing with my back to the mirror, I feel glass-like cool hands peel my T-shirt off my wretched, hairy, flaking body and over my head, and then feel the familiar cold touch against my skin and that sharp, euphoric sting of nails on a chalkboard or glass on a hairboard.

Pulling away, now fully naked, I look in the broken mirror this time.

Ada smiles back at me.

Oh hi, Ada.

Did you die?

She doesn’t respond.

Then screaming and running up the hallway is all I can hear.

Fun times.

“Just you stay in there, psycho. We will kill them all, then let you free.”

“What. Is that you, Randall?”

“Uhm, yes, Millie.”

“How’s you, Randall? Your mum doing all right and is Fiona still at teacher training?”

“Uhm, yes. Thank you. All good here. How are you?”

“I’ve been better. What with boiling in my own furnace. Could you get a locksmith, please?”

Some growling, screams and munching, slurping noises tell me Randall is too busy to help.

Oh well.

I hope it was quick for Randall. He never likes the idea of a painful, long death.

#deathgoals

The sweat is still pouring from my head pores, but at least it’s not clinging to me as much.

I try looking out of the peephole to see what is happening, but some asshole has smeared tomato ketchup or kebab sauce over it.

Selfish.

Fuckers.

I guess I better try and free myself from this misery.

Where is my little stabber shiv?

“Under the bed, bathed in the blood of thine enemy.”

Don’t be so fucking melodramatic, Mirror Me.

“Okay then. The Uber driver’s blood.”

Ah, there it is.

Nice and stabby.

Standing, I attack the light wood of the door, the shiv making a hole, and then push my fingers into it, almost over-friendly, breaking the boundary between man and door and loving it until my thumb catches on something sharp on the other side of the door and some of that kebab sauce drips onto it.

Pulling it back through and remembering my other arm is gammied up, my arm is all fucked up with splinters in the skin.

Fucking great.

Oh, kebab sauce.

Looking at my finger like a cheap hooker, it takes me way too long to realise that it’s not kebab sauce at all.

“It’s the blood of thine enemies!”

Oh.

Well, I think I definitely need to get out of here.

Twisting my hand and arm and body, I try to find the handle and realise that the door is locked from the outside and they’ve left the key in the door.

Yes!

Eureka!

Turning the switch, I push the door open slowly and feel something against it.

And more kebab sauce.

So I keep pushing until I see beautiful Randall lying there.

Presumed dead or just really baked.

As I look around the empty hallway, I notice Mirror Me laughing in the reflection from the window of a door.

There is no screaming or growling.

Walking down the hallway towards the front door of the dorms, I can’t see anyone anywhere.

I’m sure the zombie parade was today.

Where is everyone?

“They’re thine enemies.”

As I approach the outside world, all I see is fire... fire and pestilence.

And Ada, with no clothes on, beckoning me.

But the heat is making me hazy as I approach her, fall into her arms, face against her breasts, and she puts a gas mask on my face.

Turns out she was blonde all along.

“Inhale another hit, babe. We were worried about you.”

“That’s some good shit,” I whisper, drowsy, before kissing her deeply.

*

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