Reperations for Junior
William Rosser
I was taking my normal walk to the gas station when I saw the clearly homeless child on the brink of death. He reminded me of myself when I was younger. I spit on him as I step over him. I have more important things to do today. To begin with, I need to get to the gas station to have my Monster, which will simultaneously complete my fasted cardio for the day. So, I continue my walk. I pass my old therapist’s office, the one I went to before I realized that everyone else was wrong, and that in reality, those telling me are the ones who need therapy.
I’m two blocks away, and this block is even more ghetto than the last one. It has more The smell of the feral dogs is extra bad this morning because it rained pretty hard last night, and compounded a wet dog smell with the smell of their various open wounds and diseases. I see several junkies passed out in ditches with needles on the ground surrounding them on all sides, as if they were attacked. These poor people disgust me; their hedonism, their idleness, it makes me cringe. The only reason I expose myself to these pieces of shit is because it prolongs my walk, which will aid in my fasted cardio. I’m tempted to step on a few of them, maybe pick an easy fight, but I’m behind schedule due to the time I spent journaling.
I pass my old house. The building looks as if it had gotten hit by a wrecking ball and a tornado. There was wood and brick all over the yard. I savor my handsome reflection in a puddle in front of the hovel I used to call home. The scars on my face are ugly, but I am don’t regret getting them. They symbolize how I escaped the life I used to live. I look at the long, jagged scars on my arms with pride, and remember how I got away. Then, I look on the inside of my arm. My eyes gravitate towards my elbow. I feel ashamed. I catch myself, and continue my walk.
A block away I see another junkie. It’s a dude, probably around my fathers age, and he’s asleep.
“Wake up, wake the fuck up!” I yell at him as I shake him.
“Hey, mann, whats going on?”
“Hello, I’m George. You realize you smell like shit, don’t you?”
“What’re you talking about man?”
I realize I recognize who this person is. I had planned on just shit talking him for his way of life, but now he was going to pay. I check the fresh needle marks on his arm, I see that they’re there. I start kicking him, curb stomping him, and spitting on him. I lose my temper for a few moments, but I quickly get it back once I see his is a damaged enough state. I grab a syringe of the ground that he probably used a few hours ago. It was empty. I unzip my pants. I get what little piss I can fit into the syringe, and let the rest drizzle onto him, and make sure to splash some into his eyes. I can hear him breathing, it disgusts me.
“Shut up!” I tell him.
“Heh, heh,” he breathes out, as his eyes close and the blood dribbles down his face and onto the curb .
I grab his arm, and inject the needle into his skin. He doesn’t have enough life to make any noise, which bothers me a bit. It doesn’t allow me to savor this moment. I think it’s so funny that this motherfucker thought I was gonna let it go and let him walk. I will finally get my revenge on the one who made me suffer and grow up in such a neglected state so many years ago.
As I am holding his arm, injecting the urine, I see several junkies, running up, and screaming “GEORGE!” The old man opens his eyes.
Fuck. I get up and start sprinting back to my home. These people are ruining my morning routine I have going, as well as my state of mind. I am about to start losing my cool.
I pass my old house, and hear the junkies running away from the guy I just fucked up, and towards me. There are more. Fuck, this is getting bad. I start to run faster. I see my therapist’s office, and get inspired with anger, and run even faster.
“AAGGGHHHH.”
I feel a sudden heaviness and dampness in my legs. I fall to the ground. I look down, and see the little shit from earlier start to bite into my leg. I hear the junkies footsteps. I see needles in their hands.
“I don’t have anything. Please, STOPP!” I cry.
I can feel the same feeling I felt so often when I was younger. I feel the scratches. I feel the bites. I feel the stabs and pricks of the needle. However, I never felt the high that would accompany those stabs and pricks like when I was younger. I waited, and waited, but at some point I stopped. I layed there, and saw the feral beings flee to their holes of idleness and hedonism. I am the one who escaped, they are still trapped. I remark at how stupid they are. I escaped not only once, but twice, and now I am finally free forever. Most importantly,I have obtained retribution upon the villain who made my childhood so miserable.
William Rosser is a third year cadet at NMMI. He enjoys lifting weights, listening to phonk music, and reading Russian literature. He plans on graduating from NMMI, and attending a service academy.