Tale #105: Solve the Problem:

Tale #105: Solve the Problem: (Part 3 to 'Don't Strain Yourself') (Content Tags: Braindrain, humiliation, messy diapers, supernatural, brother as an antagonist, genius into moron, first person perspective, fraternal twins, ongoing storyline) The days continued to pass and I felt increasingly powerless to stop what was in motion. It was a slow and humiliating destruction that I had no way of defending myself against; the curse wouldn't even allow me to make a proper accusation against my brother. It was as if I was unable to form the words, even when my mind hadn't succumbed to the fog of stupidity. It was miserable to realize every time that I soiled myself, that I'd be losing IQ points at the same time. It put me in a rough spot too, because the points were permanently gone once I was changed, but by avoiding a change, the smell would put me into a temporarily retarded state, which would in turn make me more likely to poop myself. Then of course there was the prime mover of the affliction, which had me helplessly defecate on myself whenever I strained my brain even the slightest bit. Needless to say, my grades had completely tanked in the last couple of weeks, and things weren't looking very good for my academic future. The worsening grades, the poopy diapers, the temporary bouts of being mushbrained; all of these things were becoming too difficult to ignore by my school. They weren't keen on needlessly moving students around, since the process had a lot of paperwork and the SPED rooms were more difficult to manage, as well as more expensive. That's why the school had been so accommodating thus far, especially because my record before this was impeccable. Still, it was becoming untenable to keep the charade going. I was failing all my assignments because I wasn't even attempting to do them correctly; I just put random answers without reading the questions, so that there would be no chance of messing my diaper from mental strain. It was sometimes inevitable though, if someone were to ask me a question, then I'd have a harder time not 'thinking' about it. I'd at least managed to slow my pantspooping, which made my mental descent less steep, but it still boiled down to being a matter of time. Even slowing the accidents didn't do a lot to retain my status either, as pooping my pants 'less often' wasn't exactly as impressive as just not pooping my pants at all. Ultimately, the result was that I was skating on thin ice here at school. The semester still had enough time left for my troubling behavior to need addressing; if it'd been closer to Summer, then perhaps they would have just pushed me along and worried about it in a few months, when there could be a fresh start to the year. The first step had been my trip to the counselor's office. That's where the counselor had tried to peer inside my head to figure out why I'd started acting in such a way, but that hadn't been very fruitful. As I said before, it was impossible for me to explain the nature of my problen to others, so I couldn't share the truth, no matter how hard I wished I could. Being grilled by the counselor hadn't helped things either. I had already suspected that might be the case before I'd even come in the room. The curse primarily punished me for straining my brain in an academic way, but sometimes that included thinking through questions that only vaguely incorporated such elements. "You're a smart kid and we're just worried that something is bothering you, for you to be acting like this. It says here that you won the science fair last year, but now I have these notes from your science teacher, that you're not taking his class seriously. What's the change?" Thoughts were funny in how they worked. Just hearing my science fair project being mentioned had been enough for my brain to go on a tangent; instead of considering the real question, I thought about the physics that I'd had to learn about to win first prize. **Ffffrrrrrttttt...** The muffled gas spewed uncontrollably into the puffy confines of my diaper, and I could feel a solid log caught between my cheeks; the mental strain had been subtle enough to avoid a full load from escaping, but now I was prairie-dogging a lump of intellect. The counselor frowned as the flatulence and adjusted his glasses. "...Yes, and then there's the *other* thing." The 'other' thing was actually the thing that was far more troubling to deal with. The grade situation wasn't all that uncommon with students who lost their motivation to try, but to have a student begin to soil himself nearly daily, that was where the school had a harder time with turning a blind eye. "Ray, can you at least tell me why you've been... *soiling*, yourself?" "I can't help it." Was the only thing I could mutter back, fidgeting awkwardly in my chair as I could feel the firm turd at risk of slithering all the way out. The counselor sighed quietly and scribbled down a note. The school had already contacted my parents about this issue, and I had already been to a doctor that hadn't found any physical abnormalities that could be blamed. That'd been before I'd even found out about what my brother had done to me, and before I'd indulged the curse further by telling my parents that I was 'a retard now'. "According to your doctor's note, there shouldn't be any health issue that's causing this. Are you stressed? Or being bullied? Are there issues at home?" The answer to all of those was absolutely 'yes', but I couldn't say that. Instead, I just quietly sat there with a frustrated look on my face. "Your math teacher asked you to answer a question at the board yesterday and you refused. When she finally got you up to the board, you didn't even try to solve the equation; you just wrote a random number. Do you remember this?" Yeah, I certainly remembered it. I'd been adamant about not unnecessarily losing any IQ points, so I'd simply refused to engage in anything that required brainpower; math seemed to be something that affected me the most easily, as even looking at an equation being set up was enough to trigger my mind to try to solve it. "Yeah, I remember..." "Then she gave you a new problem to solve, to prove a point, didn't she? Something a little kid could solve. Something that you're obviously more than capable of. You didn't solve it though; what did you do instead?" The counselor pointedly asked. I had crapped in my diaper, right in front of the whole math class. Chalk in hand, eyes on the board and butt facing all those desks. The former question has been erased and in its stead was '3 + 5'. Something so easy that a kid barely out of diapers could solve. My teacher hadn't let me just put a random number to answer it either; she'd told me to look at the problem and wait ten seconds before I answered it. Just looking at it had been enough to throw my bowels into a frenzy. When she told me to solve it, I instead let loose a massive fart and bent my knees; with my padded butt presented to my classmates, I helplessly pushed a big mushy snake into my diaper. It'd crackled and popped, my diaper rustling and crinkling as it expanded to accommodate my heavy loaf. My fellow 'gifted students' had enjoyed the show, but my math teached had been a lot less impressed by the grotesque display. I'd been sent to the principal's office over that one, after a trip to the nurse of course. "Ray? Are you listening?" "I pooped my pants." The counselor nodded, "Yes, instead of answering the question, you used the toilet in your pants. Maybe you think it's funny or you're sending a message, but the school has to seriously reevaluate your needs as a student, if you're going to keep going down this road. You do understand that, right?" He flipped a page on his clipboard and wrote something out in a large font. He then turned the clipboard toward me, "Answer the question, Ray. I know you're a smart boy." It was three plus five, just like what had been my downfall in class yesterday. Internally, I was groaning in dismay at what I knew would come next; just a glance at the equation was making my brain hyperfocus on what the answer should be. "It's a Kindergarten level math question, Ray. You can do it." "N-no, I can't, I..." I bit my lip, feeling my bowels suddenly getting very full. Another fart blasted into my diaper and I noticed that the turd that'd been lodged between my cheeks was now once again moving and at full speed. In the secluded silence of the small office, the sound of my large log crackling out and filling out the back of my diaper was very audible. I'd started to drool on myself as well, and my body did a small shudder as I crapped my pants. It didn't matter if it was Kindergarten academia or even preschool level, it was all too 'advanced' to escape the consequences of the curse put on me. "Nnnghhh...!" I gritted my teeth, my face twisting up as I helplessly pooed myself like a stupid infant. The counselor looked taken aback and was quick to grimace when he realized what I was doing. Disgust and aggravation shared a spotlight on his face, but his explicit disapproval meant nothing to my active bowels. "Ray, did you just soil yourself in my office?" It was a question hardly worth answering, especially as the smell of my dump began to waft up and into both of our noses. He wrinkled his nose and sighed again, "I think we might need to reevaluate your placement in the honors classes." Squirming in my chair, I could feel the greasy load smearing underneath me, and I could already sense that the smell was bringing the fog back over my mind like a a sheet. Worse than the shame of crapping my diaper in front of the counselor, was the knowledge that I was sitting upon expelled knowledge. Some fragments of my intelligence were simmering beneath my buttocks, and once I was rid of this dirty diaper, I'd be rid of that knowledge forever. It was by fortune that I wasn't in that chair long enough to show the counselor how hopeless I could become; an extended stay in my own stink would betray a devolution that could paint me in no other way than intellectually challenged. It wasn't a surprise that the counselor was cutting our meeting short though, seeing as I'd just taken a dump in his office, and it was beginning to reek like a daycare. I would again waddle off to the nurse's office, now knowing that my time in the gifted classes was coming to a close. With my own steamer pressed against my backside, I was without an argument as to why I should be allowed to stay in them. What would follow, later in the week, was a meeting with the principal again. Having done nothing to defend my honor with the counselor, things were now moving up the chain of command, and my future was looking more precarious. I wasn't yet at the point of being explicitly demoted, but my chances weren't looking very promising. "Hello again, Mr. Kohler. I take it you know why you're in here today?" The principal was an older, steely-eyed man that had little patience for nonsense. Before this debacle, I'd never had to grace his office with my presence, and now I'd been here three times in a week and a half. "Your teachers are tired of playing your childish little games, and so am I. The gifted classes are a privilege for students who have proven themselves both capable and worthy; while your past grades would suggest that you're very capable, your present behavior would suggest that you're far from worthy. Would you disagree with that?" My eyes drifted down, unable to meet his intense gaze. "...No sir." "You're refusing to do your schoolwork and you're using your pants like a toilet, neither of which are acceptable behaviors for a gifted student. You wouldn't even do a simple math problem for your teacher. Is that because you didn't want to, or because you're not capable?" It didn't sound like a question that demanded a real answer. It was more of a rhetorical that acted as a way to shame me for my noncompliance; nobody but my parents thought that I was actually stupid, at least not yet. "As of today, you won't be in the gifted program anymore. Frankly, I'm tired of hearing complaints from your teachers; besides, your presence in those classes act to devalue their importance. The real question is where your new placement should be. If you're done playing games, then you'll be in the standard classes; if you want to keep acting a fool, then I'm sure we can get a spot set up for you in the special ed class." The gruff man's threat didn't fall on deaf ears; I was genuinely mortified at the idea of being put in the retard room, especially since I knew how permanent it may come to be if things didn't change for me. "N-no, sir, I really don't...I don't want to be in there..." I stammered, cheeks growing pink before the man. "Oh? Are you sure about that? That's the placement that your behavior would fit in the most. You can be around the other students that can't do their schoolwork or keep their trousers tidy. If you really mean it, then here..." He slid a piece of paper across the desk and I realized it was the same one that the counselor had written that math problem on. "Solve it. No games." This was about obedience more than anything else. This was something that I'd twice refused to answer, so it would be a symbolic victory for the principal to make me finally submit to doing my work. I knew what would really happen though; I was more than aware that I was between a rock and a hard place. The principal was going to be angry no matter what I did. I squeezed the pencil between my fingers and thought that maybe I could accomplish this unscathed if I was just fast enough, or if I somehow did it differently. As soon as I committed to answering it though, I felt my brain lock up and my gut gurgling. An immense, insurmountable pressure was bearing down on my bowels. After mere seconds of staring at the simplistic addition, I leaned forward and uncontrollably exploded into the back of my diaper. Soft, hot poop blasted into the white padding and flooded the backside, like a tidal surge of muck. The noise was disgusting as it was loud; it was like spraying a hose full of heavy pudding into a plastic grocery bag. "...Disgraceful. Sounds to me that you're not ready to take this seriously. Fine. You get two more strikes, young man, and then we'll be having a meeting with your parents about how you no longer meet the standard for general education." The man spat, looking at me with repulsed disdain. "You're dismissed. Go get your filthy diaper changed." Two strikes would go fast if the standard was what I thought. Early next week, I very may well find myself already being demoted to a place where my pantsfilling was better tolerated. By that point, I could be dumb enough to deserve it.