(continued)
My failure to relieve the spasmodic girl had incidentally caught the attention of a notorious bitter bully (again I have to give this one a name – let’s call him Maximum Shitter) who, unknowing to me then, had recently lost a favorite uncle residing in the local state prison. The grim facets of his face were intently stuck to our droll scene.
“What’s all this? Why’s she crying?” Although frighteningly direct, the menace from MS’ attained reputation softened before me and I felt stupid to think that another harm was on its way. I did the well-known gesture of giving the situation a shot as I backed away from TB, providing him space to operate his help on the destitute girl.
“Brother… cancer.” TacoBell’s face was flushed with arid tears and liquidly excesses streaming down from her nostrils.
“What’s that?” Maximum Shitter demanded further.
I stood up. “Her brother’s got cancer.”
“The fuck she’s crying for then? It’s not like she’s the one who's gonna die.”
I saw TB’s red eyes grew wide and erratic, as her chest heaved for a rupturing explosion. Her mouth drew continuous gulps of air, the back of her shoulders swelling with every breath, after of which were all bawled out by a shriller, more sorrowful cry than before, striking my reverberated frame with heartbreaking press.
“Dude just go away,” The girl’s had enough. I wanted to be a hero. “Just go.”
“You better shut the fuck up.” The perfectly pronounced plosives from his obscenity remained pristine up to this day.
“Get out of here.”
Before I knew it, we were in a scuffle. It wasn’t much; a one-sided deal for MS had my wriggly neck seized in his sweaty, ridged pits all through the fight. I tried to pathetically reach for his gooseberry in hopes of balance but he was too experienced of a street pugilist to let his jewel guards down. He let my rosy head go soon after a crowd had gathered copiously around the entire sight and before leaving, swiped my still jangled legs as a parting reward, making me and ground acquainted. Though I was the one beaten and softly bruised, lying with prone patches of blood, face up to glimpse the wondrous blue T_____ skies, I felt triumphant. I have driven away the oppressor, and in this naïve (I never quite got rid of that trait completely – naiveté, evermore) wits of mine I, by some means construed that I also got rid of TacoBell’s hurt. I got up, eager to take my accolades and show the world how adept I am to take all of its dares. But when I inspected the poor TB her drowned face showed a different story. It was the upper lip, grinded by the creases of flesh that primarily pointed to me her disgust. How could you do this? Eyes welling up again, she promptly darted off to where on earth I did not know, and still don’t for after that hectic short-lived event I never once saw her again. This permanently left a hole in my heart [See once more: title] and made me not care about the afflicted for a long time. I think it was this that made me a /b/tard even before there was a /b/. Drowning babies in my pool? Not a single eyelash batted. Kitties in certain, Hemi-truck doom? No beat skipped here. It wasn’t until recently that another mar would plug this indifferent gap of mine.
-Oh and before I forget, endless heartbreak from the following:
Cracky
Cracky-chan
scarecrowmaiden
scm
Lisa Anne
Lianne
Liann
Lisa
Lia
L (I now realize the more amputated your name gets, my dear, the lovelier you appear in my mind. Hello L, wherever you are.)
Now that I sullied myself before my only true love, I suggest you people (yes, all three of you) follow suit. God knows how much we have divulged from L’s life and it is only proper that we provide some sort of parity.