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Post by buck keith lagonia on Apr 9, 2011 9:36:11 GMT -5
He was a phony. He looked over at the courtyard, head tilting to the side. Pretending to merge with students. He wasn't a student, the concept itself is laughable when you imagine that a student gives an element of choice to their studying. His mind shifted back to the time he was stabbed, he remembered there was no writhing, no over dramatic scene. He laid there waiting to go. He thought he'd die that day. Or hoped, was perhaps a better way of putting it. He laughed when the doctors explained to him what had happened. As if they'd need to recall it for him. He knew more than they did, yet their arrogant sides caused them to fill in these assumed gaps in his memory. He remembered every second of it, the way he'd mumbled under his breath 'your so hot' - the words that exasperated him. Swooning wasn't his style, a stabbing though was an inadequate response to the sexist pig he was trying to be.
Maybe he should've found his way to a gay bar that night instead and tried the whole homo thing. The squeaking deformed school bell brought him out of his thoughts, onto the people acting like a stampede except with the mentality of getting into class so they could skip it, rather than the other more intellectual form of learning. That never worked anyway. The teachers were lily-livered quislings and never, ever helped anyone. Look at him now, did that mean he'd changed his mind about being at Hawthorne? No. He still preferred it to being treated like a science project that nobody would ever perceive as 'normal; if such thing existed. He felt his own finger touch his lips in a contemplative manner, what should he do today? Well, he did have a thing for the new DVD player he got in his room. Disappear from the world for a little while, maybe?
He still had the South American Super Touring Car Championships on DVD, an ideal grace to give himself when he was feeling somewhat mechanical in his thoughts. He wanted to kill the memories. His mind was already rewinding though. He remembered the photos, the way his mother kissed his baby cheeks, tears still slipping incidentally from her blue eyes. They'd scheduled a c-section for a few weeks from then, when both babies would for sure be developed enough. He could tell from the picture she had been glad both her babies had made it out safe. His father wasn't in the picture; he had a weakness for seafood apparently and found this great new place to try out the day they were born. Other developments had also occurred with his father that messed him up. He'd found out his ex girlfriend was pregnant and didn't know who the father was. The pressure didn't seem right to him, apparently.
Now his twin was in prison for rape and was getting letters from his father constantly, where was his father when Buck was seeing counselors? All those 'that bruise on your cheek looks pretty nasty... can you tell me how it happened?' probes that made him sickeningly terrified. Having family photos taken where Buck was high, or 'stuck on plants' as his mother called it. As they ended their pose Buck couldn’t help but wonder if one of them had been a little reluctant to let go. His mother had been trying to get him and his twin into a normal routine for a while but everything seemed to fail on them. Now it was too late, she had two fucked up sons who never made her proud. Like horses students galloped around the courtyard and Buck was beginning to feel conscious. He stepped slowly down the steps and moved to a perfectly dark corner of the brick building.
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