In the boy’s dormitory, I met a young eleven-year-old delinquent child named Quinn, who had relatively long brown hair and a petite body. Small, fragile, and completely insane, Quinn was a destructive force of nature, a result of parental neglect and human cruelty. Quinn came from a traumatic home. His mother was schizophrenic and most likely bipolar. She regularly scolded Quinn and his three other siblings for asking her questions and expecting her to act motherly towards them. She refused to cook or put in any effort for her little angels and always fed them cheap fast food to get them to stop whining about their growling stomachs. Her husband, Quinn’s father, was a good man who cared about his kids, but he was plagued with his own emotional issues as well. He tried to balance his pressing job, his deranged wife, and his distant sperm as well as he could, but alas, it was not enough. Quinn and I met by chance as I wandered through the hallways after one of my meetings with Lily. He dropped a small gaming device, a PSP, I think, in front of my feet as we passed each other. We stopped at exactly the same time and froze in place with our feet just above the floor. I was this close to accidentally stepping on his PSP before I stopped myself from bringing my foot down. We looked at one another and stared for a good thirty seconds before I bent over to pick up his toy. I grabbed it and held it out to him. He was hesitant to put his hand towards me, most likely from bad experiences with other children in this facility, but I humorously assured him that I wouldn’t bite. Finally, he snatched the PSP from my hands and stared down at his feet. From his lips, I heard a timid squeak.
“T-t-thanks,” he mumbled. “S-sorry for running into you.”
I told him not to worry about it and patted him on the shoulder. For some reason, I felt sorry for him, and I offered to buy him a snack from the vending machines in the cafeteria. I saw his face cringe. He feared social contact as I did, so I opted to be nice to him and show him that I could relate. Personally, I don’t blame him for being reluctant to accept the help of a strange teenager in a facility for borderline-psychotic mental patients, but I figured I’d show him some kindness. He sure as hell looked like he needed it.
After that, you could say that the two of us became very good friends. After a few weeks of hanging out post-therapy sessions and stealing food from the anorexic kids in the cafeteria, we formed some sort of distorted bond and a friendship that transcended our age difference, what with him being eleven and my being seventeen and all. Eventually, we grew close enough that he felt obligated to share his traumatic childhood history, and I learned all about his emotionally abusive mother and about how he ended up in this facility. Quinn’s mother, Sue, became obsessed with an online radio show she did weekly with some guy she met over the Internet named Robbie. She and Robbie were the creators of this radio show, called Getting Paranormal, and it was, obviously, about people who had allegedly been exposed to supernatural phenomena and paranormal entities. As you can probably tell, it was a load of pretentious, psychotic bullshit. As time wore on, she soon became single-minded about everything and dedicated all of her time and energy into a crazy show that nobody listened to. She realized that she could manipulate an equally obsessive and psychotic Robbie into doing anything she wanted, so she had an affair with him and engaged in coitus. She was so mentally broken that she even sent pictures to him. Pictures of her fingering herself. This wouldn’t be so awful if you didn’t know that in the room, while she was doing this, was her one and a half-year-old son, and Quinn’s baby brother, Pierce, who witnessed everything. That says a lot, don’t you think?
After a time, Quinn’s father realized just how far his wife had fallen, and he had her institutionalized. She was shipped off to some psychiatric ward where she was promptly treated and psychoanalyzed, but she, inevitably, fooled the therapist into thinking that she was fine and her husband was the one to blame, when in fact he was not. She moved out of the house, but not before she had effectively traumatized all of her poor young children. Quinn got the worst of it. He soon became deranged, almost sociopathic. He took pleasure in harming small animals, constantly flirted with the neighbors’ nine-year-old daughter, and actually even attempted to gang rape her with some of his friends once. Apparently they didn’t finish, but they had stripped her of her clothing and wiped their genitals all over her body before stopping. Quinn’s father saw his son’s behavior become incredibly violent, and reluctantly shipped him off to this facility for the doctors and psychiatrists to worry about. That’s when I met little Quinn and took him under my wing.
At first I couldn’t believe some of the stories Quinn told me. How could a timid little boy like him commit all of these gruesome acts towards animals? Suddenly, I remembered my older brother Jon, and how normal and sociable he appeared on the outside, while on the inside, he had a lustful urge to maim and destroy. I figured that Quinn was possibly putting on a front, or he could really not be good at talking to people. However, as he opened up to me, his dialect became noticeably less polite and a bit mean spirited. Never to the point where I felt insulted, but some of his comments could potentially sound rude and offend somebody. For example, take this conversation about sex that we had.
“Man, I wish I could fuck a girl with a nice, thick juicy ass, don’t you?” Quinn asks me.
“My, my. A bit vulgar for a child your age, don’t you think?” I say calmly, slowly taking a drag on my cigarette. “You really shouldn’t be thinking about all of that stuff. Besides, it’s best to think of women as more than just big, juicy asses to pounce on.”
He gives me a funny look and sticks his tongue out. He squints his eyes and scrunches his nose, “What are you, a faggot or something? If you look at a girl and don’t think, ‘Man would I like to bang that,’ then you probably like dudes.”
“Interesting logic you have there, Quinny. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” I chuckle and, after putting it out, I flick my cigarette at him.
© Copyright 2016 UN Owen. All rights reserved.
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