Outsiders

When I'd get angry, a majority of the people around me would think I was about to go kill someone, maybe plan a terrorist attack, push a lady down a well, or beat my friends or rape a horse, or anything similar to the above really. But the people who knew me truly - who were even less than a minority as not even I should be considered one of them - knew I didn't function that way. I wouldn't beat my friends. I kept friends close and enemies closer, or whatever they called it, and that meant there was no way on earth I could get away with beating the shit out of them with the stupid excuse of "oh, I just fucking felt like it". And murder was just plain damn stupid; you get in jail and get ass raped for that shit. Same with the rest of the things. Except maybe the horse raping, because then it's more the other way 'round.

But then, what is there left to do? I still had the urge, the craving, the red hot pumping through my body, a demon I put under my skin, walking day out and day in with an enemy inside. Now, why was that? Well as a child I was not protected from all these things you should be protected from; hate, sex, drugs, violence, swearing, late night partying, waking up to a stranger peeing on me, or my dad throwing a pot of boiling water after me and my mother. It showed me that the world is filthy and filled with wrath. Violence, anger and anarchy. Very truly I fucking tell you, no matter how much people will try to deny it, no matter how many fucking idiot hippies will try to preach their bullshit down your so willingly open throats, the world is reliable on the seven deadly sins. It's the standards we live by. That, in turn, was what made me angry. It made me angry how the world was wrong and against me, it made me angry when people tried to make me change my opinion on that. It made me use people like people had used me. Made me wake up sick to my stomach. Made me hate the world that hated me. Made me steal. Made me abuse. Made me manipulate. Made me lie and decieve. Made me search mass destruction. Made me add fluel to the fire. Made me into the little boy who most of all wanted to grow up to destroy this ugly fucking world. The ticking bomb. The can of gasoline. The great destroyer. Tim fucking Skold.

It wasn't my fault. That's my point with telling all this. It wasn't my fucking fault. None of it! I didn't want to turn into this. I could have been anyone else. I could have been the president of the United fucking States, one to ban nuclear weapons worldwide and build schools in Africa. But I didn't. But at least I could believe in it now. I also believed that just as much as I could have been so much better off if I would have grown up with a different family in a different city, I could yet also make my life take a turn right now, forget the past by starting to look at ads for rooms for rent far from this hell hole, and move on by starting to plan my education and what I wanted to be in the future. I had tried to cut down on smoking, stopped being out late on weekdays, and ditched my so called friends; Pogo, that bastard, was dating the hot vampire chick Ann from school anyway, and Jeordie and Brian had each other for all I cared. Problem was, I did care. I hadn't cared this much about things before. Well, maybe it wasn't a problem. But I still couldn't even believe I was doing all this. Me! Who would have to stay home from school half of the term at ten years old because of hangovers, me who had no future except from in the garbage bin, doing shit like an actual mature grown up! If I told anyone this, they'd either beat the living shit out of me, tell me "say that again, and this time listen to yourself" - which are in fact my parents favourite replies. I didn't care! I did whatever the fuck I wanted and my day was whatever the hell I wanted it to be. And it felt so fucking good too. Because for once in my life, I understood. And it was one and only one person who had made me understand this.

Lately I'd been going out with Erin, formerly known as "the grudge" or "the horse girl". It had turned out she wasn't too shabby after all. And, believe it or not, we still were dating, after five damn weeks. Considering I was only used to touching a girl for a night or less, and then 15 seconds later not remembering each other's names, it was pretty much a brand new experience for me. I think I... liked it. Her house was a place I could escape to when my dad came home furious and drunk out of his screwed up mind, or when I couldn't sleep for my mom sulking from the other side of the wall. Then Erin was there. She'd always talk to me. Even if I had fire in my eyes, frost in my heart, she'd always make me feel better. She'd calm me when I was angry and she'd simply always be there when I needed someone. And I hadn't realized how much I needed that before she tagged along. She made me feel needed. She made me feel real. I think I... liked... her, too. The others would call me a pussy for acting like this, I knew that. I didn't give a shit. Frankly I couldn't care less. I did whatever the fuck I wanted, right? And this was sure as hell what I wanted. I wanted to be with her. And I was actually... happy. I was happy to have her, and I was happy the frea- eh, Kenneth, yeah him, and that Lowery kid, John, had hooked me up with her. I had never known what happiness was before all this. Yeah, I was a pussy. But I was tired of the thug scene. I was tired of this bloody life I supposedly had. I needed something else. I had gotten it. Cautiously lied down in my lap, sleeping silently as the movie flickered upon the TV screen in front of us. Her black hair gleaming in the weak lightening, her face beautifully peaceful, a faint smile on her lips from when I had told her "sweet dreams" by the time the action roll started. Then I guess it was true what people said. Happiness comes to the one who waits. In different shapes and ways, it'll always get better. Essentially, it always was there in my case. I just needed someone to get me to see it, and, most important, believe it. But I didn't think more about that. I fell asleep with the most beautiful thing in the world held my arms, and I couldn't ever have pictured a more perfect scene.