Yellow Eyes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 33 (v.1) - bad motherfucker

Submitted: May 12, 2008

Reads: 163

Comments: 2

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Submitted: May 12, 2008

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Bad Motherfucker.
I’m six years old.
I’m six years old and my face is in the gravel off to the edge of the playground where the grass peters out toward the blacktop.Every playground has its bullies and I’ve just met my first. He’s on my back, twisting my arm up behind me and kneeling in the small of my back while he presses my face into the ground with his other hand.I’m crying.
I’ve never been in a fight before in my life.I don’t have siblings and I never will so my first fight came on the playground.It isn’t much of a fight really, not a t first.It starts out with it just being my turn.That’s it.No more reason than that I simply had not been made to eat dirt yet by Johnny McCallum.
He’s a full three grades above me and it started when I had displayed the audacity to catch his eye.Of course he had made some excuse for the aggression, at that early age he had not progressed past the ideal that he needs some semblance of reason to inflict pain on those smaller than him.
I was simply standing by the merry-go-round waiting for it to slow enough so that I could jump on.He went past me once and there was a startled expression on his face as he happened to look over his shoulder and notice me.It said Who’s this?Why haven’t I made him eat dirt before?
Next pass around he gives a half ass attempt to dislocate my jaw with a lazy kick.I ducked and scrambled back, confused.Next pass and he jumped down, scrambling to maintain his feet and then he stopped, oriented himself and turned his head and found me.I backed up, not knowing what he wanted but certain that it was malice I saw in his eyes. Of course I didn’t know that word back then, I just had the inking that something unpleasant was about to occur.
“Whaddaya lookin’ at faggot?” he demands.I shake my head, I have no idea what a faggot is.
“You scared?”
He comes on fast, shoving me in the chest.I sprawl backwards and land on the ground and before I can get to my feet he’s on me, a growing crowd of school kids circling around us.He jerks me to my feet, grips my wrist and swings me around as he tugs my arm up behind my back.I struggle and he kicks me in the back of the knee and down we go, him riding my back as my face smashes into the gravel.
I’m scared and hurt and crying and he laughs.“Say uncle!”
“Uncle!”
“Now say I’m a dipshit baby!”He’s laughing louder, probably swinging his head around to survey the crowd gathered around.Somebody laughs and drives him to higher humor.
“Now say I eat dirt!”
“I eat dirt!”
He reaches around my face and jams dirt into my mouth.It tastes horrible, bitter and disgusting and I never forget the flavor of dirt that one is forced to eat.One of the teachers comes along and he gets up.The kids disperse, him among them and then the playground monitor is helping me to my feet.She asks me who did this and I just shake my head.I tell her I don’t know the kid and after a while, she sends me off to play, scowling at the few older boys that had remained to witness the interrogation.
Johnny was watching me from across the playground, his face drawn into tight lines of threat.Better not squeal.Oh, I wouldn’t squeal.I rolled my shoulder (the arm he had twisted) and spat dirt from my mouth.I watched as the playground monitor walked away, flicked a quick glance at Johnny and then looked to the ground.I started to walk away from him, toward the school building itself.I was confused and hurt and humiliated but something else.I was pissed.
There were bushes against the building, they ran its length and came to the bottom of the classroom windows large shaggy junipers that grew waxy red berried.I sulked near them and walked wearily down their length, remembering something I had seen earlier.I heard footsteps behind me, several kids.Maybe they were coming to taunt me, maybe to see how I was feeling.I didn’t care.I reached the bush I remembered and slid in between it and another.
“Look!The little baby’s hiding!”It was Johnny’s voice and I didn’t look up.
I knelt behind the bush, lowered my head and found what I was looking for.
“You gonna hide and cry?”Johnny taunted.
I reached out and closed my hand over a broken brick and tugged it from the ground.
“Wah wah wah!”And then he was laughing, looking to his companions for approval.
I brought the brick up, held it low, where only I could see it, and turned my eyes to his face.He narrowed his eyes at me and stopped laughing.
“You want some more?” he demanded.
I stood to my full height, turned sideways and sidled between the bushes.Johnny was coning in at me, careless and cocky.I slipped the hand with the brick behind me as I came out and he walked over and stood in front of me, grinning down at me.When he reached out to shove me, I swung the brick around and caught him in the arm.He screamed and backpedaled.
I didn’t wait for him to react.I didn’t want to scare him.Instead, as he was backing away, clutching his forearm, I swung the brick again, brought it around and drilled him in the mouth.His lip split and blood spurted from his nose and he fell down with a strangled sob of pain and surprise.
I fell on top of him, hoisted the brick and laid it upside his ear and he screamed again, the kind of scream only a kid can make when in the kind of pain he never even knew existed.I smelled his blood, felt it hot on my hands and dropped the brick.Balling up my fists, I let my punches fall on his face until his screams were whimpers and his face was a pretty decent ruin (considering my age) and the playground monitor pulled me off.
“Now who’s a baby?” I screamed at him as I twisted and struggled against the monitor’s grasp.She jerked me back and I managed to land a final shot with my size seven Nike, connecting with his ribs.
“Say Uncle!”
That’s right.I’m a bad motherfucker.
Ten years old and who cares what the reason.
I’m outside at the park and it’s summer time.Some of the older boys were playing full contact football and they agreed to let me play.One of the kids is older, maybe thirteen and he never liked me.He made it a point to be my personal shadow, knocking me down on every play, tackling me when I didn’t get the ball.
I was pissed.I’d suffered some bruises and a bloody lip so far but had managed to keep my temper under control. One of my friend’s older brothers had been playing and admonished me to keep it in the play.I had nodded.Across the line of scrimmage was the older kid, glaring at me, threatening me with the look on his face.
The ball was snapped, he took off (it was his turn for offense) and shoved me as he went past.I staggered back and he lashed out a foot and drilled me in the shin.It hurt like a son of a bitch and I snapped.
He got past me.I watched as the ball arced toward him and he stretched his arms out and caught it easily, sailing in past the old picnic table for the touchdown.I was on my feet and sprinting while he spiked the ball and high fived his team-mates.
Somebody said something to him and he turned around, saw me when I was five yards away and started to drop into a defensive crouch.I ran into him and instead of bowling him over, I was lifted into the air.He laughed as he hoisted me above his head, maybe to throw me, maybe to slam me.I kicked out and caught him in the shoulder.His face went from amusement to seriously pissed and he started to hoist me back, definitely planning to throw me.
I reached down and grabbed his ear with my right and tugged at it.He staggered underneath me and I brought a knee smashing into his face.He grunted, spit blood and went to his knees.I collapsed on top of him and he bowled over backwards, holding his nose with his hands.I was on top of him, my knees straddling his throat, so I punched him once in the mouth, gathered my left foot under me and hopped up, bringing my knees crashing down on his face.The other kids managed to pull me off before I did some more serious damage.
“I’m a bad motherfucker!” I screamed at him.“Don’t you ever fuck with me!”
Nate Crawford, my roommate and best friend was dead.We had moved in together after graduating high school and got by slinging dope and working shit jobs.One of the bigger pushers in the area had braced us one night about cutting in on his area and I left him with a broken nose and smashed lips.He found Nate at a bar later that week and pumped four rounds into him.I took Nate’s stuff and put it in the dumpster the next day.I stayed in our place for two more years.
I’m a bad motherfucker.
I did my first bit in MANCI when I was twenty three for felonious assault and earned seven extra months when I broke my cell mate’s jaw when he decided to find uot how tough I was.
I’m a bad motherfucker.
In the first year of my marriage to Genie her brother lost three teeth when he braced me over her going to stay with her parent’s for a few weeks with a black eye.
I’m a bad motherfucker.
Genie was dead at my feet, no longer Genie, and I stared down into the split in her skull with little more feeling than that of triumph and bloodlust.
I’m a bad motherfucker.
Somewhere, probably in his crib still, Dale has flies crawling out of his mouth and maggots squirming in his nostrils.
I’m a bad motherfucker.
On my own street there’s a woman most likely dead after I pistol-whipped her while the yellow-eyes were rampaging in their first bloodthirsty hour of existence.
I’m a bad motherfucker.
Motion,Darkness.The sound of the van’s engine and vaguely, the muted voices of conversation.I shifted in my seat, feeling the pain stir in my sides and the pressure in my lungs.I moaned and Dale was leaning forward, whispering consolation. I reached up and gripped the side of her face, drew it forward and spoke into her ear without opening my eyes.
“What?” she asked.
I cleared my throat, ran my tongue over my lips and mumbled into her ear again.
“I’m a bad motherfucker.”


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