Author's Note: Hello again.
This is the most depressing thing I have ever written. I'm so sorry.
Disclaimer: I don't own Holes or (I Hate) Everything about you by Three Days Grace.
March 9, 2008: Edited content and errors. Now it's even shinier than before!
Squid fell to the ground, his head smacking the solid wooden floor with an audible thump. He pressed his palms to the ground, ignoring the aching in his arms as he pushed himself far enough up off the floor to spit out the mouthful of blood he had been gagging on. Tiny red droplets dotted his lips, and he brushed his worn grey sleeve across them. Squid regarded the rust coloured stain that resulted with a detached sense of wonder.
"I hate you!" His mother screeched as she reached down and grabbed the front of his shirt. With almost surprising strength she gave an upwards yank and managed to actually lift his upper torso off the ground. "You worthless piece of shit!"
She shoved his chin upwards so that his eyes met hers. She stared into his face, her eyes wild though the strands of messy blonde hair that partially hid them from view. The smell of cheap vodka was strong in Squid's nose, and he tried not to gag again. He glared steadily back at her, willing himself to be stolid, to hide behind the impassiveness like a shield. Defence mechanisms had become his friends at an early age.
"Here I am, working my ass to the bone-" Squid resisted taunting her with the dirty joke that was at the tip of his tongue. She did not need provoking, tempting though it was. "And you still just a lazy fucker. At your age I'd quit school because I was knocked up with your sorry ass. If it hadn't been for you, I'd probably have a fucking six figure salary with a white goddamn picket fence. But no, you had to go fuck up my life!"
She full-out spat in his face and abruptly let go of the front of his shirt. Squid tried to throw his hands out to catch his fall, but the vertigo the sudden loss of support gave him had him hitting the floor heavily yet again. As he tried to gather himself up again he heard the shuffling of a cigarette pack on the table and the sharp click of a lighter being flicked open. A pause, then a thick exhalation.
Squid shifted backwards until his bruised back hit the wall. He brought his knees up to his chest and sat there, his head leant back against the cool wall, watching his mother warily as she stood with her back to him.
"I wish you'd never been born." Whispered so quietly that he almost didn't hear it over the blare of the television in the other room. "Worthless piece of shit."
"Oh for the love of-… Squid, would you just wake the hell up already?"
Squid's eyes snapped open. X-Ray was leaning over him, eyes wide behind his murky glasses. Squid sat up quickly, almost surprised when he felt the slight give of the cot beneath him instead of the wooden floor only canvas at his back. He ran a hand through his short hair in a nervous motion that he hoped looked more collected than he felt. All the boys of D-Tent were sitting up and staring at him from their respective beds, except for X-Ray who just stood there, slightly awkwardly, watching him. Squid realized that his hands were shaking, and as he tucked them under his thin sheets he wished he had wiped the cold sweat from his forehead first.
Every time I lie awake, after every hit I take
"You're really hoping I don't ask you about last night. Or about how you're feeling right now." X-Ray said quietly to him as they waited in line for what passed for breakfast. "I can respect that. I respect your privacy. We all do. But you wake us up crying out like that, and we're going to want to know what scared you so bad. We couldn't wake you up."
Squid said nothing. The many times he had woken up screaming or with his cheeks wet from tears did more than any denying from him could have done. When you sleep in such close quarters, everyone knows when you have a sleepless night or seven.
"None of your business." Squid muttered, his voice tense. "None of your fuckin' business."
"Fine. Don't tell us. We've all been through shit, some more than others, and we could probably help-"
"You don't know shit!" Squid hissed. The boy behind him in line looked up curiously. "You don't know..." He trailed off quietly, his voice hitching a bit at the end.
X-Ray did not know, he could not know. He had never been hit by his mother for crying as a child. He had never had his mother ignore every aspect of his being until she needed a scapegoat or a punching bag.
Squid did not know much about X-Ray's family. But he knew that X-Ray had a mother. And that his mother had done stereotypical mother-like things with him when he was little. Most mothers had.
Not Squid's mother.
He knew that his mother wasn't the norm. He knew that other mothers looked at scribbles their child had done and praised and framed it like it was a priceless masterpiece. He knew other mothers held their children's hands while crossing the street or in the supermarket, or went to parent-teacher interviews hoping for the best and listening with interest at how their child was doing. He knew other mothers kissed scraped knees better or ticked their children until they were out of breath.
Definitely not Squid's mother.
When he had gotten arrested, he hoped that his mother would express her disappointment in him, that she would yell for the police to get out of her goddamn house.
She had looked up from her beer at the police handcuffing him in the kitchen, then looked down again at the dirty and ragged magazine she had swiped from work.
He had not said anything to her, either.
Every feeling that I get, but I haven't missed you yet
"Squiddly." Zigzag said from his cot. "Share with the group."
Squid had never hit his mother back. Ever. He had thought sometimes that she had expected it, hoped for it, needed it, but he had never even given her that much. She could, and had, beaten him until he was senseless and he would never fight back.
It was not because of some old rules of chivalry. He respected girls and shit like that, and would never think of hitting them, either, but he did not hit his mother because of that.
It was more to do with the fact that she was his own flesh and blood. If he hit her, he was just like her. And Squid, more than anything else, was determined to never be like her.
Squid had never called his mother 'Mom', or 'Mommy'. She had never called him Alan. As far back as he could remember, she called him 'kid'. Or 'piece of shit'. Or 'bastard'. Or 'son of a bitch'. Or a multitude of similar names, the last making him wonder if she realized that she called herself a bitch in the process.
Squid was sure that his mother had fed him when he was a baby and a toddler. He was still alive, so that proved she had enough mothering instinct to provide for him that much, at least. Give credit where credit it due. Once he was old enough to know food was important and that it had to be obtained before it was eaten, he was left to provide for himself. Lunches were free at school and dinner was snuck out of the house or stolen from the store for dinner.
When he was eight, he had been unable to find anything to drink in the house. The plumbing for some inexplicable reason was not working, and the fridge was empty. After scouring the house while his mother was at work, he had found only the tall glass bottles that his mother was always drinking out of. He had known that they were off-limits somehow, but he was starving and thirsty and they were all he could find.
He had thought he felt sick from lack of food before, but after drinking that clear liquid that looked like water but burned his throat, he felt immeasurably worse. He puked it all up in the back yard later, anyway. He did not remember much more about that day, but knew that when his mother had come home from work and found lying on the grass with the bottle she had not been impressed. At all.
"Come on, Squid. You can tell us. We're your buddies, remember?" Barf Bag sounded concerned.
"Common man, tell us quick so we can go back to sleep." Armpit mumbled, and got a pillow thrown at him.
Every roommate kept awake, by every silent scream I make
When he was ten, his mother started hiding food and money from him. He could never figure out why his mother did that, but food was so openly displayed and left out in his neighbours' houses. It seemed almost natural and too easy for him to steal food and money from them. He was never caught. It was only years later that he wondered if it was not because he was such a stealthy thief but that he only ever stole loose change and enough food for him to survive. None of his neighbours ever came to his defence or help from his mother, so Squid refrained from holding any outright gratitude for them. Besides, he was eventually turned in.
"Common, Squid, it can't be that bad." X-Ray urged. Squid looked up at him, and X-Ray clearly read the 'yes, it can' that was clearly displayed in his expression.
"Get out of my house! Get out!" His mother threw an empty beer bottle at him. He easily ducked out of the way, far too used to such an act, and it smashed loudly on the wall behind him. "I don't want to see your fucking face. You look just like that shitfaced looser. Just like him!"
The Boyfriend-Of-the-Day, or BOD, as Squid mentally referred to him as, shoved him into the door, the doorknob digging painfully into his already bruised abdomen. Now, BODs Squid had no problem hitting back. Although his punch was fuelled by anger and all the strength his wiry frame could muster, BOD had him in sheer size and weight. The black eye and bruised ribs he got for his efforts did not detract from the pride he felt at making the man wince in pain when he had gotten a good hit in.
Fumbling for the doorknob, he swung the door open, but was pushed roughly out onto the hard pavement. The harsh surface scraped his knees and hands, leaving them red and bloody, but he still pushed himself as quickly as he could to his feet. He hissed in pain, but moved urgently, suspecting what was coming. He stumbled a few steps, then his head jerked almost painfully around over his shoulder as he watched an empty bottle of vodka smash to pieces where he had previously been lying. He walked three feet and sat on the grass, wishing he were somewhere else.
"Squid? Squid!" X-Ray sounded both worried and irritated.
"What?" Squid snapped.
"What's up with you, man?" X-Ray asked, defeated. "I've been trying to get you to answer me for like, five minutes."
"I'm fine." Squid said defensively.
Zigzag got out of his cot and walked over. Squid glared at him. Zigzag narrowed his eyes.
"Squid, cut the crap." Zigzag said brusquely. Squid tried to cut in, but Zigzag sent him a look that had Squid shutting his mouth despite himself.
"We've tried to be nice little boys, and ask you politely. And we've given you space. Which, believe me, was a feat in itself because do you see any space in this tent to give you? Exactly. But that didn't work. And you're still creeping us the hell out. So I have this novel idea. Just tell us what the hell is going on in that round little head of yours. Now."
Squid was speechless. X-Ray nodded at Zigzag, looking pleased.
"Yeah man! You're our buddy, we just wanna help." Magnet said with a smile, gesturing wildly.
"Sleeping the night through would be nice too." Barf Bag added brightly.
"It's like The Godfather. 'You mess wit one of us, you mess wit all of us.' We're a group. Get used to it." X-Ray said with a smirk. "That means you tell us what's wrong. It's supposed to help, you know. I read it somewhere." He almost unconsciously touched his glasses.
Squid just stared at them all. Did they really care? They could not possibly want to know. Nobody ever did. They thought they did, and then they found out and wished they had never known. They could never do anything to help.
All the feelings that I get, but I still don't miss you yet
"It's..." He actually had to open and close his mouth a few times, aware that he looked like a fish and not caring. He was so used to not mentioning it that now that he was trying to, he was automatically hushing himself. "It was..." His voice broke.
Barf Bag eyed him, a cautious look on his face. "Dude, if I pat you on the back or something, will you punch me?" Squid looked up at him, shocked into shaking his head honestly at the unusual request. Barf Bag sat beside him, putting his arm around him. Squid didn't shrug is off.
"Come on man, you can tell us. We ain't gunna judge you." Barf Bag said quietly.
"It was my mom," He choked out, willing the burning behind his eyes to go away. He couldn't cry, show how much this affected him; he had to keep up his tough persona.
The boys were quiet. If they had any surprise, or if they expected this, they didn't show it. They just stood or sat quietly, waiting for Squid to continue.
"She-she was a shitty mom." He said jerkily. "Liked to kick the crap outta me."
"KID! Get your skinny ass down here!" She yelled, her voice rough and slightly slurred.
Squid stood at the window, staring down at the neighbour's yard. A little girl, about four or five years old, was playing on the grass with her father. Her mother stood laughing in the doorway, watching her husband and daughter lovingly. The man would lean down and catch the giggling girl around the waist and swing her around while she laughed hysterically. The man chuckled as his daughter playfully ran away from him, trying not to be caught while hoping that she would be.
"I'm going to get you!" He shouted, grinning, and caught her up and tickled her stomach. He swung her up to his shoulders, and carried her, squirming like a worm, into the house. The smiling woman shook her head as she shut the door behind them. Squid leaned his forehead against the cool glass, tears running down his face.
Only when I stop to think about it I hate everything about you.
"Squid?" Barf Bag asked hesitantly.
"Just give him a minute." X-Ray said quietly. Zigzag's eyes were whipping back and forth between them. Armpit was frowning, his face unreadable.
Squid wondered if he loved his mom. His automatic response was that yes, of course he did, all sons love their mothers, even if they are too tough to admit it. But now, after being away from home, melting in the heat and with thick calluses on his hands, he found himself questioning his unspoken assumption. His mother never wrote to him. No one ever did. He had friends back in his school, of course, but not good ones. More of a gang, than anything else. They did not really care about him. No one did. But everyday he listened carefully when Mr. Pendanski came around with the mail, hoping that this time, maybe, his mother woke up one morning and despite her usual hangover, realized that she missed him.
Did he love his mom? Did she love him?
He had always assumed his mother loved him, even when she screamed at him that she hated him. He never knew why, he just always thought that on a subconscious level she had to love him. Mothers loved their sons. It was just the way things worked. Even if she was a terrible mother, she still loved him, right?
Right?
Why do I love you?
BODs wondered sometimes why Squid had not been kicked out of the house yet. Squid liked to think it was because his mother needed him around, wanted him around, even if she would never admit. When the BODs would ask her about it, she would just shrug, not even looking at him. She never gave a definitive answer.
Squid considered many times just leaving, running away and starting again somewhere. Even if he was not legal yet, he just had to wait a few years and he could get his papers. He never really knew why he stayed as long as he did. Maybe he was hoping that tomorrow would be the day that his mother woke up and realized the mistake she had made in treating her son the way she did.
Once a BOD cornered him against the wall while his mother was passed out on the couch and touched him, groped him. Squid kneed him in the balls and broke his nose with his forehead. The BOD broke his arm. Another time, Squid was walking through the kitchen, heading for a glass of water when a BOD grabbed his arm. Squid tried to pull away, but before he could try again the BOD pressed the end of his burning cigarette against the pale skin of Squid's wrist.
"See, babe? The kid does have a use. As an ashtray." The BOD told Squid's mother, laughed uproariously, then took another swig out of his bottle of tequila. The smell of burning skin sickened Squid, and his wrist burned. Squid did not bother saying anything, just punched him. He got punched back, and was too dizzy to do anything more then go sit outside.
"Squid?" X-Ray asked.
Squid looked up at him, eyes wet but refusing to let them fall.
I hate everything about you. Why do I love you?
"She ignored me. Beat on me..." He trailed off, staring at his clenched fists. "And I never talked or hit back."
Again the boys were silent.
"What kind of creep hits their own mom?" He asked, not expecting an answer. "She was a drunk. And a junkie. She got knocked up in high school, and the guy refused to have anything to do with her at first. Or me." Squid shook his head, tilting it head to the side and squeezing his eyes shut. "He came back after I was born. Stayed for awhile, then left again."
His father left when he was three. Said he was going out for ice cream, and never came back. Squid did not remember much about him. He suspected his father had the same winning hobbies that his mother and her BODs did: booze, ganja, crack, shrooms, smack, speed, acid, E, crank … the list went on. Once though, when Squid's dad was sober, he took Squid to a toy store and randomly picked a toy and bought it for Squid. It was the cheapest toy on the shelf. But it was still the best day of his life until he got arrested. The toy had been the only play thing he had ever received, and Squid had treasured it. To Squid, it could have been a priceless treasure.
"Hey Squid, want your octopus?" Zigzag asked with a grin. His words could have been misconstrued as teasing, but it was with pure kindness that he went and got it from the crates and handed Squid the toy that was his namesake.
"Thanks man." Squid said with a small smile. It may be dorky to hold a stuffed animal with as much care as he did, but he had accepted that as inevitable when he first showed up at Camp Greenlake with a plush Squid. When he had been arrested, he had made sure that the warn toy went with him wherever he went. It was the only personal effect he brought with him along with the clothes he was wearing. It became his 'lifeline' at Camp Greenlake.
"Come on guys. We gotta get back to bed. Holes to dig tomorrow." X-Ray said, not commenting on Squid sitting there holding a toy. Everyone knew Squid loved his rubber octopus. No one ever asked about the toy, or made fun of him for it. They just seemed to know that it was important to him. They did not have to say anything about Squid's revelation to them, either. He talked, they listened. That's all there was to it. Now they knew, and were better for the knowing and Squid was better for the telling.
"Thanks for reminding us," Armpit groaned as he and the rest of the boys all went back to their cots.
As he left Barf Bag, turned to Squid. "You know you can tell me anything, right man?" Squid nodded silently.
"Sweet. Nighty night everyone." Barf Bag said the last part louder, to the group, and was rewarded with a dirty sock to the face.
Every time I lie awake, after every hit I take
Little Squid sat on the floor, hugging his plush octopus. His arms wrapped around the toy as he stared with wide eyes up at his parents at the kitchen table.
Needles lay on the table, blood drying on the tips from recent injections. Some burnt tinfoil still let a small puff of smoke trail up towards the ceiling. Small baggies of white powder and small pills were scattered around, the contents spilling out onto the counter. Empty bottles lay on the floor, some broken with glittering shards on the carpet. His mother sat with his father, on the couch, laughing and murmuring meaningless phrases. His father touched his mother and murmured things in return, their voices to quiet for him to hear.
A piece of glass shone in the light from the single light bulb hanging overhead. Squid crawled towards it, and holding his octopus in one arm reached out a small hand to the glimmering shard. It was pretty, and glinting at him in welcome.
He picked it up in tiny fingers and cried out when the sharp edges sliced into his hand. His parents did not notice. He knew better than to make a fuss. Blood squeezed out the cut in his fingers and dribbled down his hand. Tears streamed down his face, but he made no sound as he watched, entranced, as blood dripped from his hand to the carpet.
Every feeling that I get, But I haven't missed you yet
Squid stared at the ceiling of the tent. It was not very interesting. The grey canvas didn't have any exciting properties that sparked his attention. He was not really watching the canvas, anyway. Memories played through his head, almost seeming to project themselves on the blank canvas for his viewing pleasure, kind of like a drive-in movie.
He had always known that someday he would get arrested. He had always known. He had made that realization long ago that it was almost unavoidable with the life he lived, and almost looked forward to getting arrested as opposed to getting taken away by social services. Foster families did not appeal to him at all.
Little Squid sat at the kitchen table. There was white powder sprinkled on the table in front of him. His mother had previously been sitting here. Now she lay on the couch staring at the television screen with an open bottle held in her hands. Three-year-old Squid had climbed up after his mother left and played with the tiny white particles. It seemed like a big-boy thing to do. He found he could trace patterns in the powder with the tip of his finger. He drew a happy face, and then changed the smile to a frown. He did not feel like smiling, and his friend the happy face responded accordingly. He was hungry and cold, but could not find any food so just hugged his stuffed octopus to his chest and played in the dusty powder. Next he drew a little line with a bunch of squiggly lines coming off of it. To him, it was an octopus. Tired of his drawing, he brushed his hand through the powder.
Accidentally, some of the powder fell off the table and sprinkled like falling snowflakes to the floor. He watched, and then remembered what his mother had been doing earlier. He gathered as much of the forgotten powder into a little pile as he could, and copied his mother's earlier position: he pressed his fingers to one side of his nose and leaned down towards the powder. Then, remembering vividly what his mother and father had done so many times before, he inhaled some of the powder.
Immediately, he balked at the fierce burning sensation, and tears came to his eyes. He hugged his octopus hard with one arm, and with the other rubbed his nose as tears streamed down his face.
Laughing came from the doorway. Squid immediately looked up, and saw his father standing there, chuckling to himself. He had the car keys in his hands.
"Don't worry kid, you get used to it." He told Squid, and then yelled back to Squid's mother on the couch.
"Hey broad! I'm going out for some ice cream." He shouted.
"Shut up." Squid's mother muttered from the couch.
The door slammed as Squid's father left the house. He never came back. Squid never touched the white powder again.
Only when I stop to think about it, I hate everything about you
Squid had taken a lot of hits throughout his life. From kids at school, kids in the neighbourhood, his mom, his dad, BODs… Squid was no stranger to getting beat on. He could hold his own, for the most part, especially when his assailant was his own size. When his opponent was bigger, like one of the BODs, he knew how to fight back while keeping up a strong defence, to use his smaller size and quickness to his advantage. When it was his mom hitting him, that was the hardest, but he still knew how to protect himself without fighting back.
Squid had other skills, too. He was pretty good at being ignored when he wanted to be, and how to stand out quickly when he wanted to do that. He could act tough with the best of them. He had a pretty high pain tolerance, from years of avoiding anything in pill form. He could also lie faster and sharper then most adults, which could throw off even the most intrusive teachers, social services workers or cops.
Squid showed up on the first day of school alone. His mother had told him the day before where to go. The secretary did not know what to do with him, since there was a form his mother needed to sign. Squid asked very politely if he could take it home for her to sign, since she was currently at work. The secretary immediately assured him that would be fine, and his education began while his mother was at home passed out on the couch.
Squid had been at Camp Greenlake for quite awhile, and had heard nothing from the outside world. Oh, he heard about important current events and whatnot, the other boys got such news in their letters and shared it with everyone. It all seemed to be happening very far away. It was hard to believe that Camp Greenlake was still in America, and not off on Mars, separated from all humanity. But Squid heard nothing about his mother. Sometimes he wondered if she was still alive. He had long since stopped wondering what his father was doing, or whether he was still alive or not, and did not care at all about the BODs. It was his mother he worried about. If she overdosed, or got alcohol poisoning, or just ended it all purposefully, no one would know. No one would check in on her until her impersonal coworkers noticed her absence, which they had never done before. Or, even worse, it would be the smell of her corpse that would drive the neighbours to call the cops. Squid had heard of that happening once, and it had chilled him to the bone and made him feel ill.
Squid almost expected a letter to come for him one day, not from his mother but from the police informing him of his mother's demise. Surely they would not be bothered to drive all the way out to the Camp just to tell him. Maybe one of the guards coming on the bus with a new arrival would pass on the message.
Why do I love you? I hate everything about you.
He was not going to get any sleep. The snores from Armpit and even breathing from all the other boys told him that they were all asleep, and Squid was tiredly jealous of them.
Getting up, Squid left his cot and went outside. He sat down in the dirt and stared up at the black sky with its multitude of shining stars.
Suddenly, he was angry. Angry at the world. Angry at how shitty his life had been so far. Angry that he had been cheated of the kind of perfect childhood that he knew existed from television and neighbours. Angry how his mother was probably drunk and high somewhere, and his father was probably in jail. Angry how screwed up his life was that he was at a detention camp where he had to dig holes everyday. What the fuck was that about, anyway?
Then he was up and yelling at the sky, a wordless shout of rage. He kicked at one of the tent's support ropes where it was pegged into the ground. He threw a handful of dirt with all his strength as hard and far as he could, but did not see where it landed as it was lost to the darkness.
Squid wanted to punch something. Preferably someone. Someone that could fight him back. Not his mother, never his mother. Squid clenched his fists and stared at the glimmering stars above him, almost quivering with fury. The stars twinkled and flashed as if they were taunting him. They weren't on the earth; they didn't have his problems.
Squid felt like if he did not do something he would explode.
"I HATE YOU!" He yelled into the sky, his fists shaking with effort.
Why do I love you?
His mother shoved him harshly, her face livid, causing him to trip over an empty vodka bottle and go crashing to the ground, smacking his head against the solid wooden floor with an audible thump. He pressed his palms to the ground, and he pushed himself far enough up off the floor to spit out the mouthful of blood he had been gagging on.
"I hate you!" His mother screamed at him.
Only when I stop to think about you I know
"I'm going to get you!" The man next door shouted, grinning, and caught his small daughter up and tickled her stomach. He swung her up to his shoulders, and carried her into the house. The smiling woman shook her head as she shut the door behind them. Squid leaned his forehead against the cool glass, tears running down his face.
Only when you stop to think about me, do you know?
Fumbling for the doorknob, he swung the door open, but was pushed roughly out onto the hard pavement. The harsh surface scraped his knees and hands red and bloody, barely stumbling out of the way before watching an empty bottle of vodka smash to pieces where he had previously been lying.
I hate everything about you
A man's hand grabbed his arm, holding it in a painfully hard grip. Squid tried to pull away, but before he could try again the man pressed the end of his burning cigarette against the pale skin of Squid's wrist.
"See, babe? The kid does have a use. As an ashtray." The man told Squid's mother, laughed uproariously, then took another swig out of his bottle of tequila.
Why do I love you?
He picked up a shard of glass in small, thick toddler fingers and cried out when the sharp edges sliced into his hand. His parents did not notice. He knew better than to make a fuss. Blood squeezed out the cut in his fingers and dribbled down his hand. Tears streamed down his face, but he made no sound as he watched, entranced, as blood dripped from his hand to the carpet.
You hate everything about me
Needles lay on the table, blood drying on the tips from recent injections. Some burnt tinfoil still let a small puff of smoke trail up towards the ceiling. Small baggies of white powder and small pills were scattered around, the contents spilling out onto the counter. Empty bottles lay on the floor, some broken with glittering shards on the carpet.
Why don't you love me?
Squid fell to his knees outside the tents, tears streaming down his face.
Falling to the ground and spitting blood from his mouth, his mother standing over him.
The laughs and shrieks of the girl next-door playing with her loving and attentive parents.
The empty bottle smashing where his head had been a few moments earlier, the door slamming shut and locking him out in the cold.
His parents high and uncaring as the he cut himself on glass from empty bottles of alcohol.
The smell of burning flesh as a hole was burned into his arm, his mother standing silent a few feet away.
I hate, you hate
"I hate you!"
"You worthless piece of shit!"
"Just a lazy fucker."
"If it hadn't been for you... "
"You had to go fuck up my life!"
"Get your skinny ass down here!"
"Get out of my house!"
"You look just like that shitfaced looser."
"KID!"
"Just like him!"
"I don't want to see your fucking face."
"Get out!"
"The kid does have a use. As an ashtray."
"Don't worry kid, you get used to it."
"I'm going out for some ice cream."
"I hate you!"
"I HATE YOU!"
I hate, you love me
Squid looked up, staring at the sky. Tears glistened on his cheeks, but no more fell.
"I won't turn out like her. I won't!" He insisted to himself vehemently. "I will make something of myself." He wouldn't turn out like the pathetic parents his own were. He could do better, and he would. He had to.
Squid leaned over and wrote in the dirt. So he was abused. So were a load of other people. It did not matter, he could still be someone. It did not define him. He stood up, and kicked the dirt once more. He looked up and gazed once more at the stars above, still shining brightly, but in a lot less aggravating manner. They almost seemed to calm him, comfort him now.
He turned and walked back into the tent. If the D-Tent boys had heard him shouting and kicking and screaming, they did not say anything. They did not need to.
I hate everything about you.
Why do I love you?
Author's Note: Please review. You don't know how much it would mean to me.
Your faithful writer,
Eh, Man