Fuckness by Andersen Prunty Read Free Book Online Page A

I’d be able to take.
    I imagined that fatass Swarth going home to his family.
    “ Hello, son,” his mom would say. “How was school?”
    “ School was great , Mom!”
    “ Oh yeah, what’d you guys do ?”
    “ Well, I beat the absolute shit out of this kid named Wally Black.”
    “ Hmmm… I don’t know if that’s so… Wait… Wally Black, he’s that half-wit molester, isn’t he?”
    “ Yeah, he’s a real queer, too.”
    “ Well, that’s just won derful, Bucky. It’s nice to see you’re looking out for your fellow classmates like that. Looky what I bought you… A new pair of pants !”
    I imagined things like that just to amuse myself. There were some days when I imagined things about everybody. It was like I lived this whole other world in my head, where the people I hated were truly despicable people. It depended on the person, I guess, and sometimes these things were quite mundane. That girl had a brother who was dying and she thought it was funny. That kid had sex with his mother. This other kid was a ravenous drug addict. This girl’s parents sold her into white slavery and on the weekends she had to have sex with people of exotic origins, slimy men with huge mustaches. That boy made love to a sheep. That kid had prosthetic legs. His dad was a Nazi. This kid’s gay. That one’s a Satanist. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise no one liked me.
    I got onto our street, Walnut, and my body didn’t want to go any further. I wanted to be home as fast as possible if I had to be there at all, but my battered body forced me to walk kind of slowly. It was work just to focus on the sidewalk. I’d never felt so tired and sore in my life. I wanted to get the beating over with and go to my room. My room was the only place I felt even sort of comfortable in that house. Hell, it was the only place in the world I felt comfortable. That had to be my goal. That tiny room, as sad as it was, became my reason for going back to that house.
    Our street wasn’t the absolute worst street to live on in Milltown but it was definitely a lower rung on the social ladder. There were three houses on the street that were just burnt out shells. The mother said that was from the crackheads. I believed her when she had first told me that but since I had stopped believing anything blobs ever said, I wasn’t so sure. The rest of the houses, like ours, looked like they were sinking into the ground or collapsing or some fuckness like that. Black soot had accumulated on all of the houses, quelling them into a monotonous gray color, the paint peeling away to reveal the weathered wood beneath. Some of the windows were boarded up. In other houses, odd things like shirts, quilts, and Confederate flags were used as blinds. Some people didn’t even have proper front doors. The whole road smelled like gasoline, oil, and sewage.
    I reached our door and figured, what the hell, might as well get it over with. Had to get to my room, you know. And then I opened the door, hoping it wasn’t one of those nights where they decided to fuck around.
    It wasn’t.

 
    Chapter Five
    The Horns
     
    Fucking Racecar. He was waiting right there at the door for me. The combined smell of rotting wood and stale cigarette smoke greeted me as I stood there in front of the door, not having any idea of what was coming.
    I opened the door, swinging it inside and to my left, thinking about how stiff I was from the Swarth beating. About the time I thought that thought, Racecar launched himself out of his wheelchair like a bizarre armed missile, barreling into me. The blow hurt like holy hell. I stayed upright, though, Racecar deflecting off me, thudding to the floor and rolling around. My first reaction was to tear his face off. I was so mad and sad anyway that it didn’t really matter. I could have done it. I could have killed Racecar right then and there. Not only could I have killed him, I wanted to. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to snuff the life