The Bends pt.7// Burn The Witch


Note 2: Amogha actually does have a six pack. He’s insecure about it. 


They all sat around their lunch table, unknowing of what was coming.

They thought they were important. A group of popular kids sitting at a lunch table at Fountain Valley High School (to think, a bunch of high school kids think they’re worth a damn) with studs in their earlobes, who smoke weed on the weekends and go to raves where they do more drugs that make them feel important. Here at their lunch table, talking about their day and their week and their month and their life, these people genuinely believe they are important. Because they’re “popular”, and they know people at other schools, and their drugs, and their alcohol, and the AP classes they take, these people think they’re important. These people have The Bends. 

And these people go around, making sure other people know they’re important. They wear expensive clothes (ridiculously expensive; think $600 for a pair of ugly shoes) and excessive makeup to hide their hideous souls and diseased beings. They fake emotional depth by hooking up with random people at those gross raves and pretending to be sad about it for 3 months, tweeting “real simp hours” or something stupid and vague every night of those 3 months.

It’s junior and senior year of high school where these losers tend to peak. Parties are every weekend, the same with their drug and alcohol abuse and their meaningless hook ups. They even attend a key club social every now and then to claim more conformists as their friends. The Bends is in full force. 

It is at this peak in their power that their narcissism is at an all time high. None of these other losers around them, concerned with their futures and concerned with the legacy they leave behind them on this unremarkable speck of dust, none of these losers matter. It’s all about fun.

That is, until He arrives and they all recognize their insignificance. His skin is made of pure chocolate, and he has the calves of a supple Sherpa. His abs are chiseled from Nepali marble. His shins have stress fractures, but he’s still the fastest man alive. Most importantly, he puts these losers to shame.

He arrived by air, floating to their lunch table from an impossible height. As soon as his bare foot touched the pavement, these awful, superficial, manipulative people knew their worth. They knew they were nothing, and that their best days were behind them. Their future was resigned to cleaning their uncle’s mechanic shop floor and vaping behind 7/11. Fountain Valley was flooding, and they lived by the river.

He was Amogha Dahal. Adorned in only torn runners shorts, his awesome power was on display for all of the shallow people to thoughtlessly examine. They were smart enough to know that they had met their end.


As he looked over the cretins, they felt their bodies heat up. Something odd was happening. Amogha focused his pupils a bit more, and a searing laser began to blast from his eyes. He turned The Insignificant Ones into nothing. He threw back his head and let out a scream that was only recognizable on the planet he had dropped down from. His conquering of FVHS had already begun, and he had eliminated the biggest contenders.

No one knew what had happened to The Insignificant Ones. Their parents didn’t care, glad to be rid of the disgusting burdens they had regrettably raised. The lunch table belonged to Amogha.

Now a member of the Cross Country team, Amogha was extremely fast. No one really knew where he came from, but no one really cared. All they knew was that he lived 9 miles away and was super fast. He was immediately popular due to his impossibly good looks, genuine athleticism, intelligence, and the fact that he literally dropped in through the sky. People flocked to be his friend, but he was only close to the cross country guys for the most part. They were the ones whom he shared his lunch table with.

Amogha wasn’t superficial, so this wasn’t success to him. He had eyes on his future. He wants to be a IT tech support mogul, or some Indian stereotype like that. Maybe own his very own 7/11. The possibilities were endless. However, he did enjoy the admiration from the people around him, albeit he knew none of it mattered. Nothing matters really. Time is a flat circle, and everything is destined to end. They say make use of the time you have, but do we truly own time?

As the months went by, Amogha was still really close to the cross country guys. But then, his friends in his grade quit. All of them. So for summer training, he was stuck with all the annoying underclassmen. Plus, practice was basically the only time he had to hang out with the guys, considering his nest was deep in Garden Grove. This was a problem.

Summer passed, and school came. Amogha arrived at the lunch table he had claimed upon landing on Earth, but didn’t see his friends. Instead, he saw the very same creatures he had disposed of upon arriving on this planet.

The Insignificant Ones.

Amogha cleared his throat, catching the attention of these losers he thought he had murdered. Upon raising their heads, Amogha was deeply disturbed.

There was nothing where their eyes should be. Just a window into the flesh within. The flesh around their mouths was torn apart, revealing their bloody gums and rotting teeth. They were still in Supreme clothing, which isn’t a surprise, considering they were always zombies to begin with. They surrounded Amogha, and for the first time since arriving on this blue and green rock, Amogha was scared.

They rushed him and dragged him into the bathroom. On the floor in pig’s blood, was the letters “VN” in the shape of fingers. Amogha was unsure what that hand gesture meant. They dragged him to the center of the symbol, and staked him to the floor, right through his ripped core. A purple stream of light encompassed Amogha, and he floated in the musty bathroom air. A greasy looking Asian, who probably attends La Quinta, phased into reality. He yelled something unintelligible, and struck Amogha with an open hand straight on the chest. Amogha began to scream bloody murder, and felt his body hop between dimensions.

The pain disappeared in an instant, and Amogha found himself at the lunch table. The Insignificant Ones were there as well, but they were kneeling to him. He was their God. Suddenly, Amogha has The Bends.  

Amogha revelled in his new limitless power, instantly forgetting his old cross country friends. He ruled over his new cronies with an iron fast, recieving gratification for every single thing he did. His new friends were much better than his last set. The Bends is in full force. 

But Amogha’s real friends had a plan. One night, Amogha and The Insignificant Ones were having a simp sesh at a penthouse in Costa Mesa. They were really sad about relationships that never existed, nor meant anything. In the midst of this simp session, his real friends crashed in through the windows and stealthily decapitated the Insignificant Ones. Amogha looked around at his former friends and feared the worse. The tension was thick enough to slice with a blunt knife.

So was Amogha’s flesh. They began going at it, working on his fingers one at a time. Once they removed all the fingers and toes off of this mythical beast, they drove the blunt dagger into his chest, crushing the bones and puncturing his heart. They left the dagger in his body and moved on with their lives.

A spaceship came and retrieved the body. Amogha was placed in a revitalization tank. Upon being revitalized, he was brought before the king.

“You have failed your mission, young Amogha.”

“I apologize sir. The earthlings proved too powerful.”

“Nonsense! You are simply useless. 500 years in the schnoobling toober for you.”

And for 500 years, Amogha would schnooble tooble.



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