Reflections Of A Nobody(Jimmie L. Sherman) Reflections Of A Nobody
Created by Jimmie L. Sherman
Copyright 1993


Though I don't expect you to believe this fantastic account of my death, which I'm about to reveal, I do hope that you will at least listen with an open mind. For I swear that every word of this tragic tale is the honest-to-God's truth. And the same misfortune that befell me could just as easily happen to you - if you're not careful and aware of this that I am about to reveal.

It was strange and unfair how I died that day and passed on to this cold, lonely, scary place in Limbo: this dark, pitch dark place with no white light, no tunnel, and no flying or floating sensations like the mystics always claimed; a place with just a dim, rectangular figure several feet to my immediate front emitting voices from the other side - from your side of life. It was even stranger how it all began in the first place.

There I was, sitting in my living room one damp and gloomy evening, sipping on a glass of brandy while watching a horror movie on my giant screen color TV, and waiting for the delivery men to bring a mirror I had just bought the day before at an auction. I was very excited about this mirror, mainly because of its unusual wooden frame, with mystical carvings resembling an antique doorway. It was identical to the family heirloom I already owned upstairs in the hallway. Also I was a bit impatient and suspicious because it had gotten dark outside and the deliverymen were late. I was worried, wondering if they were still on the way. "Are they going to be unethical and keep my mirror?" I angrily asked myself when the clock struck eight. But a second later, to my relief, the doorbell rang, blending in with the evening's first flash and roar of lightning and thunder. It was them. I knew for certain that it was, because in my self-imposed solitude, I seldom received visitors, or phone calls, or peddlers, or any of the like. So without even asking who it was, I rushed to the door, quickly opened it and gestured with my head for them to come in.

The two deliverymen, dressed in gray overall uniforms and resembling Abbot and Costello, stepped awkwardly through the doorway; each was struggling with an end of the large, heavy rectangular mirror. Upon entering they sat the mirror down on the living room rug to catch their breaths.
The taller of the two men spoke with a Brooklyn accent. "Where you want it?"
"Upstairs," I replied impatiently to show my dissatisfaction with their inexcusable lateness. Closing the door, I pointed toward the stairwell and coldly continued the instructions. "Hang it in the hallway opposite the other one. You'll see the other one once you reach the top of the stairs. I'll be in the kitchen and will join you shortly."

So they lifted the mirror and proceeded toward the stairs. I lifted my glass, guzzled down the last drop of brandy and went into the kitchen. As I placed my glass in the kitchen sink, I began to hear some things I didn't like being whispered from the top of the stairs. See, after living alone for so long, I had developed a keener ear for hearing even the slightest noises in my house, and that enabled me to hear clearly from the kitchen. The two deliverymen were whispering things about me behind my back.
"This house is spooky, yuh know - and for more reasons than one - if you know what I mean," chuckled the short, fat one in a nervous, sarcastic whisper.
"I hope that's not a racist remark 'cause I'm not a racist, buddy," replied his partner.
"No, I'm talking about ghosts, real ghosts." He was now more serious, for his chuckle had died down to a fearful tremble in his voice, as the thunder roared again, and he continued, "Don't you know what's been said about this house?"
"No, I don't. And I don't ca.…." the taller man began, expressing no interest.
"It's haunted," the shorter man interrupted. "Spooky! And that guy who let us in, Jonathan Little, I don't trust him. He's a real strange one. And I ain't saying it 'cause he's Black."

Insulted, I rushed to the foot of the stairs, tiptoed quietly up each step until I reached the top and stood there unnoticed, with contempt, only a few feet away from them. The little fat one was bending over and wiping the erected mirror. He was still gossiping while his partner was squatting and tightening the screws. I was so quiet that neither of them even suspected I would be standing there frowning angrily down at them, as the fat one slyly whispered, "Plus he's just a nobody, a nobody who thinks he's better than others. I heard that, years ago, right after Little's father died, he kicked everybody out of the house - uncles, cousins, even the servants. Now what do you make of that?"
"Well, some people just like to be by themselves," replied the taller man while tightening the last screw, which pressed and fastened the mirror snugly to the wall.
"That's right!" I roared and startled them with my coldest tone of voice. "Away from petty nonsense!"
The taller man was apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir. We were just..."
Gossiping?" I accused.
"No, sir. We were..."
"If you gentlemen are finished," I said, pointing toward the downstairs exit, "your services are no longer needed, thank you. So please close the door behind you on your way out."

Just then lightning flashed and thunder roared again and, in the brief flash of light, I saw a confused, embarrassed look appear on their guilt-reddened faces while they pocketed their screwdrivers, rags and extra screws. Saying no words, they then moved away from the mirror and turned to leave. As they were passing me at the top of the stairs, I reached in my pocket, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the taller of the two men. But he didn't glance my way or even say "Thank you." He just bowed his head shamefully and hurried down the steps. I watched from the top of the stairs as they exited into the stormy night and, with a sigh of relief, thought aloud when the door closed behind them. "Alone at last!" I felt a deep sense of being at one with myself again. Yet my vanishing anger still lingered while I turned and walked toward the mirrors. "Petty, pesky people," I mumbled my disgust. "They bother me. Why don't they mind their own..."

Now only a couple of steps away, I gave the mirrors a critical look and immediately my emotions shifted. "Identical! A perfect match!" I bragged aloud to myself, and enthusiastically stepped between the mirrors for a better view of myself in the new one. And that's when this awful, horrifying nightmare suddenly began to take shape. For, though my first glance into the new mirror was flattering, my feeling of contentment quickly changed to one of fear and disbelief. "This can't be...this is impossible," I mumbled, almost deliriously, while trying to figure how this mirror could show a me who was at least ten years younger than I really am. It was reflecting my same tall, slim, upright posture, my same Negroid features and complexion, but with fewer wrinkles and less gray in its hair and mustache - much as I had looked when I was about forty or forty-one years old. But it was more like a stranger than like me, or maybe even a zombie or something from the dead realm here to haunt me - an evil product of someone's voodoo, maybe even here to kill me! This I thought as the thunder cracked and roared again like a bomb exploding on my roof, and tons of rain began to pour. For it was weird - really scary and weird. Even weirder was what I noticed a moment later. Believe it or not, but behind the forty-one-year-old reflection of me, there stood another reflection of an even younger me - a me of about thirty-four or thirty-five years old. And behind that one, there was still a younger one of maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. They were all standing there like zombies in a long column getting smaller and younger into the distance - almost to infinity, it seemed! I know that what I'm saying seems impossible. However, in order for you to better understand what I mean, you should simply get two mirrors and place them face to face opposite each other. Then stand between them and you'll see a tunnel of reflections of yourself. Well, that's what I saw - a tunnel of mirrors that looked like doorways - doorways to my past. It was frightening - very haunting and unnatural - to see my reflection getting younger and younger; yet, I felt amazed and even privileged to have stumbled over this 'Very rare and unusual phenomenon,' I thought. Though the fear of 'What could possibly happen next?' still dominated. My heart began to beat faster again and I quickly focused back on the forty-one-year-old reflection, because when I raised my hand, it raised its hand, too. "But that's what reflections are supposed to do," I reasoned and touched my face with my raised hand, and the reflection touched its face simultaneously.

Then my curiosity began to mount. Influenced by the night's stormy ambience, my mind raced through a series of scary thoughts. "What if the reflection wouldn't have touched its face when I touched mine? What if it doesn't move when I stop touching my face now?" I lowered my hand from my face, and to my relief, it lowered its hand. But still, something in the back of my mind was telling me to remain cautious and to guard my back. "What's going on in the mirror behind me?" I exclaimed. Alarmed by the thought of maybe being grabbed by something from the rear, I spun myself quickly around to face the rear mirror.

"Oh! God, no!" was my immediate reaction to the shocking reality of what I saw. The mirror was reflecting a wrinkled old wicked looking, menacing man who didn't even look like me. His eyebrows, forehead and mouth creased tensely into permanent scars of agony and hate. His beady eyes were sunken like those of an addicted hype. He looked more like a skeleton from a horror movie. He had a hunched back and was almost completely bald - probably in his late nineties or maybe even into his hundreds. And beyond that oldest reflection, there were no more. There were just empty mirrors - empty, reflectionless mirrors that seemed to stretch to no end. So, naturally, it occurred to me that death was there - there in that chain of empty mirrors staring me straight in the face. It scared me to see my ending so near. I didn't want to be bothered with the idea of death or old age. That's why I turned away from the unbearable view and faced the mirror of younger reflections again - though I still glanced over my shoulder to make sure my back was still safe. I stood there for at least an hour - or maybe only a few minutes that seemed like an hour - glancing back and forth from mirror to mirror until my fear slowly diminished.

Now, a bit more confident and still amazed at the strange new phenomenon, I raised my hand slowly and cautiously moved it forward, intending to touch the mirror. The forty-one-year-old reflection's hand also raised and moved simultaneously toward mine. My trembling fingers
hesitated momentarily, and then reluctantly touched the reflection's fingertips at the mirror's surface. And when they touched, to my most frightening surprise, they sank into the mirror! Through to the other side! – Through into the reflection's hallway, while the reflection's fingers were sinking through into my hallway!

"Help!" I shrieked at the thought of being grabbed and killed by it! I almost had a heart attack while jumping back and away from the reflection's menacing fingers coming toward me! And though the reflection moved away from me simultaneously, I still felt suspicious and confused. "What is this? Who are...what are...what's going on?" was all I could think of saying at the moment while I tried to slow my speeding heart back to a normal pace. "What's going on?"

But as I inquired, the reflection's mouth moved in perfect sync with mine - which seemed to have a somewhat calming effect (reassurance that it was nothing more than just a mere reflection). Nevertheless, I tested it again to be absolutely sure. I made a series of wild, unexpected movements with my arms and legs to try to trick it, but the reflection could not be tricked. Finally, I opened my mouth so it would open its mouth simultaneously. With my mouth opened widely, I carefully examined its teeth - both top and bottom rows - meticulously to make sure it had no fangs or overgrown canines with which to bite me. And, thank God, it didn't! - which naturally made me feel temporarily relieved again.

"It's me. It's me, all right," I mumbled reassuringly. "But how on earth could..." I touched the mirror again with a bit more confidence, this time putting my whole hand through while tensely watching the reflection's hand come through again into my hallway. At this point I was more amazed than scared. "Well, I'll be damned," I uttered with delight and stuck my head through to peek down the reflection's hallway. And immediately the first thing I noticed was the weather. It was fine! No thundering, no lightning, no sound of wind or rain, or cars rolling down wet streets - but still it was nighttime. The air was kind of stuffy - like in an attic - and the sounds of television dialogue, with creepy organ background music, were coming from the living room.

"Somebody's here...downstairs," I whispered softly, almost sub vocally, to myself while stepping carefully into the reflection's hallway, and glancing briefly over my shoulder at the oldest reflection stepping simultaneously into the opposite direction through an empty mirror. "Good," I thought. "Good riddance!"

Now, back-to-back with my forty-one-year-old reflection, I faced the thirty-five-year-old one. I tiptoed three quick steps forward toward its mirror to see if I could pass through it. And, as expected, my fingers did sink through. So, without reservation I stepped through the mirror and
met face to face with my twenty-five-year-old reflection. I inspected it briefly from head to toe, then turned my attention momentarily to assess the new surroundings. I glanced from side to side, down each end of the dimly lit hallway, smelled for any strange odors, listened closely for any approaching footsteps, and noticed that the hallway's atmosphere hadn't changed a bit!

Chills ran up and down my spine again to hear, in this new time period, that same scary organ music playing downstairs. But though I was again somewhat consumed by the thought of terror, my curiosity nudged me to take a chance and peek. I took a deep breath, turned from the mirrors, and tiptoed quietly down the hallway to the stairs. From the top of the stairs I looked down into the living room and instantly responded, "Yes, I remember. I remember now!"

The living room was arranged differently with different furniture. The shiny hardwood floor and polar bear rug were in the place of the wall-to-wall carpet, and in the place of my giant color TV there sat our old sixteen-inch black and white set. It was on and showing a murder mystery while my father lay sleeping peacefully on the couch. I was happy to see my father alive again, and almost tempted to go downstairs and awaken him. However, that would've been foolish. For he would've thought I was a burglar or some fiend there to get him, because I was a few years too old to be his son. Realizing that fact, I was ready to return to the mirrors.

But then the sound of a key, the turn of a knob, and the front door opened and in came those loud, gossipy relatives of mine - all ten of them, young and old, hugging shopping bags full of groceries, with mouths popping chewing gum and crunching on snacks and junk food, making irritating noises, and awakening my father to tell him negative things they had heard about me in the streets today.

Old burly Aunt Candy and her fat little henpecked husband, stupid Uncle Willie, were the main ones gabbing. Though their punk-assed son, Junebug, was the real instigator. He was my age and the only one who could've known that I had smoked marijuana at the party the night before (because he was there). But from the way they were sounding, he must've exaggerated and told them I had smoked crack cocaine.

"Yall ought to quit it," Junebug said jokingly to Aunt Candy and Uncle Willie, then bit hoggishly into his steaming hot burrito, slurped the dripping juice, and continued with mouth greasy, full and burning. "Yall go' git th' po' boy in trouble," he laughed, smacking loudly with his mouth wide and wagging up and down.
"Smokin' dope, he neeeds to be in trouble," replied Aunt Candy sternly and harshly, placing evangelical emphasis on the word "needs" while popping her chewing gum repeatedly as loudly as she could and shaking my father - although he was already in the process of waking from the sudden burst of noise. "Wake up, dear brother, 'cause I got some heartbreakin' news fo' you..."
"What's this I hear about dope?" My father was still a bit groggy, but nevertheless, still quite concerned.
"Jonathan was smokin' dope last night at a party," blurted Uncle Willie, with mouth wide open, crunching loudly on a mouth full of corn chips. "We know because..."
"That's beside the point," Junebug spoke quickly and seriously, with jaws still full and smacking, blending with the loud chorus of gum popping, shopping bags rattling, corn chips crunching, and the racket made by mischievous unsupervised kids. "It don't make no difference how we know; we know!"
"That's right," insisted Aunt Candy. "That's neither here nor there. The real question is: What's go' be done about it?"

Yes, it was because of them that dad put me out of the house that same night. Aunt Candy, Uncle Willie, and all those dirty, lowdown fair-weather leeches were frowning at me with their mouths poked out as I was leaving, and that lousy, no-good Junebug was grinning! They all seemed pleased to hear dad tell me, "You're no son of mine, and I wish you had never been born!"

And that's why, when dad died a few years later, I felt no guilt when I told them all to leave - to get their backbiting asses out!" - pardon my emotionalism, but I still feel the same way about them even now! And even as I stood there, as an older man, looking down at them stabbing me in the back again, my boiling rage growled hateful mental urges that almost came to pass. "I ought to rush down those stairs and knock the shit out of all of those dirty, no good..." But my wiser self told me, "No. I'd better leave now before I lose my temper and mess up! Yes, I'll leave now - leave and go back to a time before they had ever moved in, and I'll be rid of them at last!"

So back to the mirrors I went. I didn't want to see those detestable people ever again. I stepped through a series of hallways, changed places with many more of the younger reflections and arrived at a time before those dirty, gossipy leeches had ever moved into my house. I was now facing a reflection of me at about four or five years old, and standing back-to-back with an eight or nine year old. I was about to step through another mirror when I heard my father talking to someone downstairs in the living room. So, instead, I tiptoed to the stairs to take a look. It was Mr. Winters, the insurance man, jotting notes while my father sadly spoke.
"No, Mr. Winters, my wife died in this house nine years ago giving birth to our son, Jonathan."
"I'm sorry," replied Mr. Winters. "You have my deepest sympathy..."
"Thank you. But that's not necessary, it was nine years ago...though I wish, at times, it would've been the baby and not my wife who had to die."
"So your son is nine? When will he be ten?"

'Nine years old,' I thought while trying to evade the invasion of guilt and the downstairs conversation faded into indiscernible chatter. I unsuccessfully tried to think back to the specifics of what I was doing at nine. "Those were my football playing days...Or was it still baseball?" I wondered deeply, then turned and tiptoed quietly down the hallway to my childhood bedroom. I was about one step away from the door when it began to squeak slowly open.
The fear of being caught and mistaken for a burglar caused me to freeze in my tracks. I remained there, standing as still as a corpse for at least thirty seconds, waiting for someone to exit and find me. But no one did. So I moved my head slowly to the crack and peeked in, not knowing what in the world to expect. And, immediately, the view of dancing curtains caught my eye and made me sigh, "Thank God, an open window!" I was so relieved by the sight of the wind blowing through it - relieved to the point of semi-boldness - I entered the room hastily without much caution, tiptoed quickly to the window and peeked out. Two teenaged lovers were standing boldly beneath the street lamp in the starry, moonlit night, embracing and kissing to the melody of a whippoorwill serenading from the front yard sycamore, blending in with the smell of the night's perfume: The lilacs', roses', and sweet gardenias' mists were floating in the gentle autumn breeze! "Oh, how I wish to be young again!" I sighed. Then the horrifying vision of that wrinkled old reflection flashed into my mind as I turned my head away to view my childhood bedroom.

My bed was unmade, clothes, shoes and toys were scattered on the floor. Baseball and football banners hung on all four walls. My favorite baseball mitt was sitting on the bed beside a metaphysics magazine. Ironically, the magazine was opened to an article titled "Reflections Of A Nobody". I had forgotten how much I liked to read in those days. And on my dresser was my most treasured item: a gold-framed photo of my mom.

I tiptoed to the dresser, lifted the picture and reflected on the sadness in my father's grieving voice. I was feeling guilty recalling the times when dad would remind me that I was the cause of mom's death. But I, too, felt cheated. "To never know his mom, a child is lost," I quietly expressed my own self-pity and regret while staring for a long moment into her picture. "Life's cold...too cold." I was about to put the picture back on the dresser when the idea sparked, "Ah! Now I can see her! Yes, I can see my mom, my mom, my mom!"

I rushed out the door and down the hallway, clutching the picture to my chest. Hurriedly, I stepped through a few more mirrors, exchanging places with younger and younger reflections. "Looks like four more mirrors to go," I remember rejoicing while stepping through one of the last few mirrors. Three more...two more...one more...and now I face the blank one...this must be the time before I was born."

Suddenly I began to tremble. Though I was still excited about the opportunity to see mom, my joy melted rapidly away into teeth-chattering fear. And though my knees were weakening at the thought of being in a time before my birth, I was far more frightened by the eerie sight of that reflectionless mirror to my immediate front. I was totally overwhelmed by it. I stood there frozen in a semi-trance for a long moment speculating about it, and feeling the deepest apprehension ever. (It was like lying in bed halfway between sleep and waking, and not being able to move a muscle in your entire body, but still being aware of everything happening around you; and no matter how hard you struggle to move your body to wake completely up, you can't at that particular moment; so you start thinking of all kinds of scary things that could possibly happen to you, because you realize how vulnerable you are.)

"What exists beyond its empty veil?" I wondered. "Heaven's on the other side - probably...probably not...or maybe the great white light and angels' wings...but maybe not - it could be hell and the devil and his evil demons...I hope not...or maybe it's just a blank, the end, and forever nothingness...but matter is like the faces on a set of dice: always repeating the same combinations again and again. Therefore, there's no such thing as nothingness forever...because if matter can't be created or destroyed, and if it's always in motion uniting and reuniting always with other combinations of matter, then if I die, my matter will eventually reunite with this combination which now forms me. And like a reassembled machine, I'll again be in proper working order...maybe, but maybe not...I'd bet it's a former consciousness that's on the other side of that mirror...but it might be worse - it might be my subconscious, with id waiting for me to enter so it could wage a final battle with me and my morals, and cause (in the process) eternal agonizing guilt...or maybe an ocean of sperms is on the other side waiting to drown me...or maybe an evil, brutally cruel, long-fanged, bloodsucking fiend is there waiting to torment me, bite me, and kill me if I enter - Yes! And.…."

Then the sound of someone coughing startled me out of the trance. It made my swiftly beating heart jump and shift to an even higher gear. I could hear it pounding faster, faster!

"Who coughed?" I nervously mumbled an automatic response. "It came from the room nearest the stairs. It was a woman's voice...probably mom's," I quietly reasoned – though still terrified, with my heart still pounding, still speeding faster. I turned from the blank mirror and tiptoed quietly down the hallway to her room door. The door was cracked partly open - just wide enough for me to stick my head inside to view her. She was lying in bed noticeably pregnant with me inside her belly about to be born in probably a few more days. I withdrew my head from the door and was about to lift the picture from my chest to compare the likeness, but it accidentally slipped from my hand and fell to the rug. I thought, at first, that maybe she didn't hear it. But as I gazed again into the room she was raising her head from her pillow and asking, "Who's there… Who's there?" she enquired again, now sitting up, alarmed and rising quickly from her bed. And as she started walking toward the door, I immediately turned and dashed back to the mirrors.

There was not enough time to change places with the many reflections, in an attempt to return to my own time period. So, without further thought, I decided to take a chance and step through the blank mirror to hide..."So when mom looks out of her room, the hallway will be clear," I figured. But while I was moving into the blank mirror, she probably saw my last leg and foot going through, because suddenly I heard terror in her screaming voice crying, "Help! Ghost!"
And standing here in this dreaded darkness, with my back to the mirror, paralyzed and trembling with insurmountable fear, viewing a faint rectangular sound-producing figure straight ahead, I clearly heard and visualized my mom rush to the stairs, stumble over her picture, and tumble to the bottom to her death. I heard my father call the paramedics, "Operator, operator! This is an emergency! Please send an ambulance to..." I heard him later talking to the doctor in the living room. "Is she going to be all right?"
"I'm sorry," the doctor answered regretfully, "but your wife has passed on."
"And the baby?" Dad was struggling to keep from crying.
"I'm sorry. The baby died, too," the doctor sadly sighed and dad burst into tears.

But I was alarmed! Suddenly I couldn't believe my ears! I was sad about mom being pronounced dead, but (God forgive me) I was shocked and doubly concerned about the doctor's last statement - about me! "No!" I worriedly tried to reason. "The baby didn't die because the baby is me and I ain't dead! ...The doctor's made a mistake...he'd better check again." I was moving deeper and deeper into panic as my mind echoed, "...and if the baby is dead, then who am I?"…
Each thought of being dead and trapped inside this horrifying darkness caused my heart to pound faster, faster, 'til my feet felt glued to the ground - like in the scariest of all bloodcurdling nightmares - and my mind was now full of terror screaming at me, scolding me, telling me, "Get the hell out now! Go back through the mirror into the lighted hallway where it's safer!"

So quickly I spun myself around. "No mirror! Help!" I shouted impulsively, shocked, reacting to the frightening horror of sudden smothering darkness all around! "My mirror...where'd it go? Who else is in here?" I extended my hand forward to feel for the missing mirror. But it was so dark I couldn't even see my hand, my arm, or the rest of my body, as I still can't see them even now while my eyes pan the darkness, and the fear of being grabbed by an evil, unseen, hidden fiend grows scarier by the second.

And now as I turn again to face the dim rectangular figure, I feel a strange attraction to it - like a moth to a flame - though I still fear the uncertain consequences that wait within the pitch-dark path between it and me. "What is it?" I'm wondering, and now beginning to move toward it. With each reluctant inch that I advance, my fear grows greater. "Hello...is anybody there?" I ask so very softly, with the greatest measure of respect and humility, in my most polite and gentle tone. "Is anybody there?" Cautiously, and oh, so slowly, I'm still moving closer and closer to it. And with each inch closer, the rectangular figure grows brighter and larger until...until I see it! I see it's another mirror. And I believe there's a reflection moving toward me as I continue moving toward it...Yes, and people talking in its living room. Hurray! Hurray, I'm saved! So now I'm rushing to it - rushing because I've got to get there quickly to exchange places before this mirror disappears, too!

Now, finally, I'm upon the mirror - close enough to see...Huh? No! This can't be! That old wrinkled, wicked-looking reflection stands there in it looking shocked, and it's mocking me!

And now, in vain, I press myself against this cold, impenetrable mirror, face to face and body to body with the oldest me. Still trapped, still lost inside this lonely, frightful darkness, fearfully waiting for the devil or some vicious hidden fiend to strike at any moment, I hear (through my oldest reflection's ears and mind) the evil, maddening irritating sounds that make it frown with such agony and hate! Louder and louder they grow and grow! Is that Aunt Candy's voice? Oh, no! She's popping that gum too loud! And old stupid, big-mouthed Uncle Willie... still smacking and gabbing with his mouth wide open - crunching on those noisy-assed corn chips! ...And that dirty, no good, punk-assed Junebug, who I hate so much! He's still instigating, still backbiting and laughing so loud with that whole damned crowd of noisy, gossipy leeches! They're all here to haunt me forever! Haunt me forever? ...Forever, and ever, making irritating noises, raising hell, popping gum, crunching and smacking and slurping on snacks and junk food! - And gossip, gossip, gossip?

"Help! I repent! Please bite me hidden fiend! …And end this madness now!"

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