Author: Rinna Risque PM
We've all been told the Disney life story. That we would all be famous. We would all be something. And sometimes, that just doesn't add up. Sometimes we all can't be saved.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Suspense - Words: 1,208 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 11-05-08 - id: 2592527
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Every time you remember your life is a sham, take a swig.
It all started when I was encouraged to follow my dreams, reach for the stars. That bullshit started corrupting me from the beginning. Mrs. Green, my biology teacher in ninth grade, one day found me duck taping parts of my acoustic guitar back together. I sure as hell didn't have enough money to repair it, and I didn't have the balls to go steal another guitar off of one of those homeless bums. But Mrs. Green, she was the fucking worst. One of those you can do it if you really try types. One of those real hypocrites, who didn't practice what she preached. She taught me that in evolution, only the strong survive. But outside of the class, anyone who wanted to make something of themselves survived. Can you see the flaw in the logic?
Every time you wake up in a house you don't know, naked, in pain, and robbed – take a swig.
That fucking Mrs. Green. A real bitch, I'll tell you. Blonde hair, blue eyed, petite, bitch from hell. She saw me behind the school, duck tape and all, and handed me 200 dollars on the spot, after of course one of those 'moments in life'. In retrospect, that's a lot for someone who teaches. But in retrospect, survival of the fittest tells me she knew she was putting herself under.
"Ben…" She began, touching her cheek with her impossibly girly hand. She smelled like French vanilla, and was wearing one of those breezy skirts and a button down polo. She could've just stepped out of a Disney movie.
"Whoa, Mrs. Green. Whats up?" I hated dramatic moments. I hated that this was a really nice day, with the sun shining and the birds chirping and every other cliché thing.
"First," she began with one of those looks that said 'don't do that again', "It's Ms. And I've noticed that you've been lacking in your school work."
"Well, Ms. Green, not every kid has what it takes. Maybe some of us really just don't give two shits." That's when I look up and glared. This is the point where girls either start tearing up or start taking off their pants (which I'm totally fine with). But, what this bitch did had never happened.
Ms. Green smiled one of those award winning, motion picture smiles. She had mother fucking dimples, for God's sake. Dimples. Can you understand my pain?
"I think you have what it takes. No, I know you do. Here, hold on." She touched my arm earnestly, and started rifling through her purse. Me, on the other hand, was contemplating taking the scissors I had for cutting the duck tape and shoving them right up her-
"Here Ben, I want you to take this money and fix your guitar. But, there's a catch." She smirked, and bent down to my eye level on the ground, and was close enough to lean in and kiss me. Which I'm totally fine with.
"I want you to perform in the talent show at the end of the semester."
I grinned up at her.
"You're on, Ms. Green." I emphasized green like it was a cuss word, which I don't even bother to emphasize anymore. Ms. Green stuck out her hand, and I shook.
Every time you fuck yourself over beyond the point of no return – take a swig.
I came home that day by 5, with my guitar (well, not really my guitar, but you get the idea) in the shop. Mom was already tipsy on the couch, with boyfriend number 78 in the process of feeling her up. Of course, he stopped it when I walked in the door. They stop this courtesy right around the third week or so though. And by the time they hit the two month mark, they don't even bother to cover up their sex romps. But trust me, nothing is more nauseating than Ms. Queen of Bitches from Hell itself – Ms. green.
"Beeeeeeeeeeeeen! W-What are we having f-for dinnnnnnnner?" Oh good, the slurring has already started. Maybe that means she'll pass out early enough that I can do a bowl without having to hide.
"Mom, I was thinking of making some chicken…or something." Yeah right. Like we had the money for that.
"Thaaaaaanks honey! You're s-such a goooooood boy!" Mom flipped around on the couch, her tangle of platinum blonde hair flopping in her face. It really made me sad, to see her so desperate sometimes. She worked 12 hour shifts to keep us going, but it still wasn't enough. She wouldn't tell me, but I think she was stripping too. It's hard to look at her sometimes, especially with 78 still all over her.
Every time you find your body shaking with another withdrawal from some substance you're more than addicted to – take a swig.
Sometimes, to make myself feel better, I would walk the streets of downtown. At every street corner there was a drug deal, a prostitute, a homeless guy, a guy playing a guitar for money – everyone of those people are the exact same. All of them were the type of people that needed to be saved. They needed the knight in shining armor to come riding in on horseback, or some shit like that. Like a Disney movie.
Every time your conscious gives up on telling you right from wrong – take another swig.
This night, it was just like any other nameless night that I couldn't take it anymore. It just pissed me off, hurt my feelings, made me feel way to much shit to be locked up in our two bedroom apartment. Plus, mom and 78 were really going to town in the other room.
I was walking down the street, the same as always. The porn shops, the lit up stripper joints, the gas stations – everything was so repetitive. It was like this lifestyle was infinite, there was no escape from poverty. Nothing could save you once you hit rock bottom, no matter how hard you wished or dreamed. I looked in a puddle of water dripping from The Pussy Cat's front entrance, and saw how I wasn't looking to great myself. Dirty blonde hair (and I don't mean that in the fashionable sense), a tattered green hoodie that didn't come close to fitting me, a pair of jeans to big for me, and a skinny frame. I looked tired as shit, but that wasn't the part that scared me. The part that scared me is that I blended in so well with my environment, how if some rich kid drove by he'd mistake me for a crack dealer or a homeless bum. It scared the shit out of me -that I wasn't far away from this, from this lifestyle of kill or be killed, this rock bottom. That's when someone put their arm around my shoulder.
Every time you get kicked to the curb for public indecency – take a swig.