‘Peter the Nihilist’

Editor's Note: "Peter the Nihilist" is an ongoing fiction series presented to Quad News readers on a chapter-by-chapter basis.  As a brief warning, some of the material in the series may be offensive to readers. 

Peter's parents died on the day of his high school graduation.

"Such a terrible sight we have not seen since that tiger escaped the San Diego Zoo and tragically found its way into Mr. Jacobson and his deli section at Albertson's," said the Encinitas Gazette the next day.

"I never got my Big Mac," said Peter.

The whole event shook the stereotypical cliff top town of Encinitas to its overpriced, and frankly all too sensitive, core. Events were held, wakes were attended, and memorial speeches were given, none of which were attended by Peter. Probably the most notable of these events was held by Mrs. Goldstein and Mrs. Sanberg, along with the rest of the D street MADD club, who organized a highly intrusive, and disappointingly low quality, bake sale in memory of Peter's parents the very next day.

This pathetic event took place outside the Coffee Bean on Main Street and would not have sold a solitary snickerdoodle if not for the predatory sales tactics of Mrs. Goldstein and the brand new pair of size thirty-four double-D breasts on Mrs. Rhineheart. The tactic used was not even fair really. Mrs. Rhineheart would wave a more than friendly hello to Mr. Martinez and the poor fellow's subconscious would drive him to the woman much the way a small primal organism is drawn to an angler fish's glowing lure at the bottom of the ocean. Before the drooling oaf could regain full bodily function, the trap was sprung. Mrs. Goldstein would waddle out and inquire in her Hebrew witch-cackle-of-a-voice if Mr. Martinez would like to buy one of her famous cupcakes to support the loved ones of the recently deceased Mr. and Mrs. Beauman. And of course the all-too-quickly-awakened wet (day) dreaming Mexican gentleman could not deny her the blasphemous cost of seven dollars and twenty five cents. This act was repeated with successful results again and again until every one of the cupcakes, cookies and candy-coated hamantashen were sold.

This type of manipulation, of which at the end of the day turned out to be eighty-six percent of the male population, would have be just fine except for the fact that Mrs. Goldstein's famous cupcakes were famous for being inedible, and an epidemic of diarrhea had now befallen the town due to the more than trace amounts of raw egg and egg shell found within the cupcakes.

On top of the unpleasant mess created, all of the proceeds for the event went to the usual cause of the D street MADD club, which was, of course Mothers Against Drunk Driving, although occasionally they do donate to the Women's Zionist League of America. This donation to a worthy cause would have also been just fine except for the well known fact that the Beaumans had not been killed by a drunk driver. In fact the nearest drunk driver to the incident was Mr. Lenny Harbaugh who was not only fifty-seven miles away from the accident but was also driving a 1985 Vespa scooter, which would have would have been applauded had it somehow created the carnage that befell poor Peter's parents.

Now let's slow down and get focused. If you are paying attention some questions are now flickering. What actually happened to Peter's parents? How does the egg in what seems to be a fully baked cupcake stay raw? And why does Peter Beauman care more about a greasy fast food delight than the mortal demise of his generous, caring parents?

The reply to the first inquiry will be answered all too soon as this is where our venture into the pathetic life of Peter Beauman begins.  Instead of attempting to mosey along in numerical order and answer the second question, to which I will say modern science cannot even find logic in the shortfalls of the cooking of the modern housewife, I say we jump right to the third.

Why doesn't Peter care? That is not only a frequently asked question but the germination of our whole story. Why doesn't Peter care? Why doesn't Peter care that Nana Beauman has tried to call him one-hundred-and-seventy-two times since the accident? Why doesn't Peter care that his maid Juanita has not stopped crying for sixty-eight-and-a-half hours? Why doesn't Peter care that the numerous bouquets, and fruit, and nut and cheese baskets piled up outside his door are now rotting to the point where they could be classified as toxic waste? Why do people feel it is appropriate to send fruits, nuts, and cheese to ease the wounds of a mourning child? Getting back to the point, why doesn't Peter care that his parents are dead?

Some would say Peter needs mental help; other would say that Peter is simply a despicable human being.  And still more others, the kind who misuse the word epic and haven't read a book since high school and aren't really sure if they even read while there, would take it too far and say that the child doesn't have a soul.  But I would simply say that the thing about Peter is that Peter is fat. But not only is Peter a bit portly, Peter is a self-proclaimed nihilist.

If you are interested in submitting fiction work or poetry to The Quad News, please email Susi.quadnews@gmail.com.