A Loaded God Complex.

Small town, America. You know, the kind where everybody knows everybody and teenagers die to get out of. Not much changes day to day, month to month or even year to year. That was until he moved here, it was the summer of 2006. It had been seven years since we'd gotten a new family in town. Most that moved in left promptly to go to bigger and better things. Every few years when someone would come into town they'd bring something with them. Like, the Stumps opened up a music shop and the Walkers introduced Chicago style pizza to town. And when my great-great-grandparents moved here with their "extended family" not only did the towns population double from 15 to 30, but they started the town's second largest church. That's probably why no one has lynched me, because of the whole Mormon, 'we're all family' deal. Still, I was barely looked upon unless to be cursed at our spit on by the elderly and unattended children at that point. It goes without saying they dealt with me but were no where close to accepting me.

Now, the town is also surrounded by wildlife, the kind that usually wakes up one up on a mating spring day. I resembled this wildlife in a few ways. I like flowers and like to eat salads… I also grace a pair of giant antlers on my head. They weren't always there, my parents started noticing a growth on my head at the age of two. The town doctor said it was nothing to be worried about, and then they spouted rapidly that same year. Whispers went around town, saying I was some sort of Satan child, with hooves and horns and all that shit. For the record they're like a bucks antlers, and I wouldn't ever try to harm anything. It just led to a exorcism, which as you may guess would scare and scar any three year old. After that people just let it go and remained content with whispers. Life went on for me. I went to public school, was a straight A student, had two best friends and had never been out of my little closed shutter town.

Fucked up? It only gets worse.
As it always does, things must get worse before they get better.

"Freak!" Shouted a boy as I walked past the yard of his house one Saturday afternoon.

"Justin!" Mrs. Bieber scolded as she pulled down clothes from the line hanging between two, formerly white poles.

She acted as if she was scolding him for throwing a baseball at a window, and paid no attention to me. The middle aged mother walked inside with a hamper under her arm, Justin looked around just to make sure she wasn't watching. I heard the swish of something flying by my head, and then a pair of tighty whities caught on myhead horns. Being used to it and keeping my dignity I kept going not removing the underclothes, and not glancing back to see him giving me the bird. Yet, I still couldn't help but flinch and feel a sigh of defeat slip out. After I was out of sight I clumsily reached up to try and get it off, then threw them leaving the wadded pile on the ground. All throughout I knew his mom was watching…

"That wouldn't have been as bad if Nicole or Pete were with me," I thought to myself.

Later I'd think to myself, "Maybe that day wouldn't have felt so bad if Nicole or Pete had came with me, and maybe if I wouldn't have felt so down, meeting him wouldn't have lifted me so much."

In actuality it most likely would not have changed a thing. No matter how many times you are put down it still hurts, I of all people know this. It would took a few times, and a few hard lessons for me to learn this. The sun blazed on, its bright warmth hidden by the breeze of fall coming in. I smelled the silent, lonely air as I sat down on the slightly damp grass by the river. The headstones behind me usually guarded me, keeping company away. Eating my lunch, I finally was calmed down, which is why I perhaps didn't find it strange to find a bright yellow kite fly in the air. In fact, I found it quite amusing. Dumbfounded, I watched it dance in the perfectly blue sky, even as I sputtered down towards my face.

The screaming rip of fabric caught on my antlers. I, again, without trying to make a scene tried to awkwardly attempt to get the strings and skeleton of the kite off my head. A body with a squinted face to top it ran over.

"Here, let me help." A shaky voice and shaky hands fumbled. The boy knelt down beside me managing the rocky and uneven terrain.

"Th-thanks." My voice matched the boy's hands. I avoided eye contact for a very different reason this time: I was completely in awe that this face I didn't recognize was just readily helping me.

"No problem," The kite carcass was lifted off and as if my head were on a weighted spring I glanced at the boy.

He was my age, maybe younger, I couldn't tell since he had kind of a baby face. His brown eyes watched me curiously, still he kept a shy smile on his face. It made me feel that there was no menacing thoughts or malice behind the curiosity in his eyes. There was bound to be a question or two, I knew it as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm Ryan."

"Sorry about the kite… I'm, I'm Brendon." I mumbled the last part and took a bite of the leftover crust of my sandwich.

"It's ok, are you new here too?" He asked tucking a lock of hair over and out of his eyes, "I've met everybody in town already."

"No, but that's not hard to do." My confidence grew a little as a laugh fell almost lazily out of his cherry lips. I was still waiting for something rotten to happen, like a finger point to go with his laugh.

"Fair enough."

His laughter died down to chuckles, and he shifted to a sitting position in the grass. A moment passed and then he looked at me nibbling the crust of my sandwich.

"You actually like crust?" Ryan didn't turn his head instead he just peered at me through the same lock of hair he had just fixed.

"No!" I answered quickly nearly spitting out my bite. We both chuckled, I wasn't sure if he was a nervous one like mine. A buzzing noise came from Ryan's direction and he fidgeted around in his pocket until he pulled out a cell phone. He would happen to be one of the few in our town that had one.

"Oh shit!" I jumped a little, "I have to get home. I'll see you around." He smiled one more time at me, showing his teeth, I plainly shrugged and nodded.

Ryan left and I sat staring at the water with my hands resting on my knees. I was dazed, and amazed while I watched the shallow water ripple.

"Hey, do you want to walk home with me?" A bike wheeled up in front of me and I fixed my eyes to see Ryan holding the handle bars of the maroon eighties racing bike. "I'll probably get lost if you don't." The corner of my mouth twitched and immediately started to get up.

The conversation was light. We talked about things like where he used to live and what school was like here. That day I didn't notice that he led the way to his house. When we stopped at his driveway I realized it was the old Siska's house, before they moved to their grandparents farm to take care of it for them. The house was freshly painted a mauve color with hunter green and black accents. It looked newly pleasant, but still in place for town.

"Ryan!" A husky voice called from up the driveway. He noticed his son's acknowledgement and turned back to his truck to shut the tailgate.

"Bye," Ryan accompanied the phrase with a small wave and started walking his bike, watching me a while longer.

I on the other hand gave a big wordless wave and then heavily slapped down my hand on my hip. His father was about to call his name again, but as he twisted he saw me and stopped. His lips pursed in and he grabbed Ryan's arm. I was physically stuck, watching as a few punishments were whispered in his ear. Ryan tugged his arm away and trudged into the garage. His father glared at me and this time shook his head. Before his hand was fully up in the air to shoo me off I was stumbling down the driveway, hands in my pockets and sun rays warming my black hair.