Son Of A Gun, chapter 1
I sat on the cold hard floor as my cellmate, Larry grumbled something in his sleep. I sat up, and walked over the empty bunk. It always remained empty, possibly because last year a man was beaten to death in it. There were still blood splatters on the wall.
Disturbing? No. I've grown used to it. Besides, I'd be quite a hypocrite if I found that disturbing, and not what I did.
Wondering what I did, are you now? Good.
---
"Back off," I murmured, as the three quite larger teens attacked me verbally.
"Oh, the freak speaks," the tallest one mimicked.
I rolled my eyes; they were not worth my time. Well, not yet, anyway.
The name's Mike. I stand at 4'9, yes I know, quite short. I am in my last year of high school, in Ontario, Canada... Barrie to be exact.
I have very few friends. Wait, that's exaggerating. I have no friends. Why? I don't know. I could care less, actually.
I don't mind having no friends, it's the fact that I am the butt of everyone's jokes, and bullied for no apparent reason, other than fulfilling their boredom.
Another thing. Some people find me quite arrogant. I enjoy it. It as in, being arrogant. And I am positive I am going to be famous for something one day. I guarantee it. Just you wait.
I attended a catholic school. I am forced to wear itchy blazers, dress pants, and ties. Everyone is a clone of the next person. All of the teachers firmly believed in Structure.
"Walk straight, single file," They'd chant to us.
Plaid skirts that hide love
Walk straight, single file.
Ties that restrict blood... to the brain.
"Come back here, you little punk," one of them yelled.
I believed his name was Ryan.
"You're quite narcissistic, aren't you?" I asked.
Ironic, I've been called narcissistic in my lifetime. And now, here I am calling my sworn enemy it.
"What?"
I rolled my eyes; they are dumb as bricks.
As I continued down the hall. I felt a hand clutch onto my shoulder- it was like the jaws of life- and spin me around.
"What'd you call me?" Ryan spat into my face.
I gave him no emotion. But simply said, "Back off. Or else."
"Or else what?"
"You'll see," I said sharply, releasing from his strong grip.
Disturbing? No. I've grown used to it. Besides, I'd be quite a hypocrite if I found that disturbing, and not what I did.
Wondering what I did, are you now? Good.
---
"Back off," I murmured, as the three quite larger teens attacked me verbally.
"Oh, the freak speaks," the tallest one mimicked.
I rolled my eyes; they were not worth my time. Well, not yet, anyway.
The name's Mike. I stand at 4'9, yes I know, quite short. I am in my last year of high school, in Ontario, Canada... Barrie to be exact.
I have very few friends. Wait, that's exaggerating. I have no friends. Why? I don't know. I could care less, actually.
I don't mind having no friends, it's the fact that I am the butt of everyone's jokes, and bullied for no apparent reason, other than fulfilling their boredom.
Another thing. Some people find me quite arrogant. I enjoy it. It as in, being arrogant. And I am positive I am going to be famous for something one day. I guarantee it. Just you wait.
I attended a catholic school. I am forced to wear itchy blazers, dress pants, and ties. Everyone is a clone of the next person. All of the teachers firmly believed in Structure.
"Walk straight, single file," They'd chant to us.
Plaid skirts that hide love
Walk straight, single file.
Ties that restrict blood... to the brain.
"Come back here, you little punk," one of them yelled.
I believed his name was Ryan.
"You're quite narcissistic, aren't you?" I asked.
Ironic, I've been called narcissistic in my lifetime. And now, here I am calling my sworn enemy it.
"What?"
I rolled my eyes; they are dumb as bricks.
As I continued down the hall. I felt a hand clutch onto my shoulder- it was like the jaws of life- and spin me around.
"What'd you call me?" Ryan spat into my face.
I gave him no emotion. But simply said, "Back off. Or else."
"Or else what?"
"You'll see," I said sharply, releasing from his strong grip.
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