Boy Kicked in Crotch
Earlier today, a girl kicked a boy in the pants with her "Crotch-kicking boots". When asked whether she had planned on wearing the boots in order specifically to kick him in the groin, she replied, "These are the only shoes I own."
The girl, Ruth, is not the first person you would think of as a crotch-pummeler. Sixteen, young for her grade, and not much taller than five feet, she has skin the color of Ikea wood, and long crepuscular hair. She keeps about her person something borrowed and something blue, a backpack, filled with books and various nicknacks, and her "Crotch-kicking boots" are black. Her carriage is slouching, and she gives off the air of one who took dancing lessons once, long ago, but has since violently bleached them from her memory. Except for occasional moments of clumsiness, she has that certain grace that is affiliated only with people who wear obscenely heavy shoes.
She enjoys long walks on the beach, hanging out with her friends, and watching good movies, of which her favorites are artsy indie pieces. She usually brings a tent from Walmart for her long walks, which will sometimes stretch as long as forty-three hours, but will sometimes use the one from Target if she is polite enough company. She describes herself as an indie-snob, almost too fed up with the hipsters who had joined the scene, but not quite fed up to leave the scene, and a hater of West Coast culture. She owns at least one "Threadless Tee", and feels nostalgia for the social networking sites of old, even though she was never really party to them. Her claim to fame is enjoying last.fm before it was popular, and her extensive knowledge of Chinese medicine.
Ruth, described by friends as, "The coolest person I know," and "insatiably hungry," likes to laugh, and does so sheepishly as she recounts her experience. Her laugh is like the call of a seagull, boisterous, deep, and surprising. "Well, I've known John Doe for a while, and I've, to be frank, fancied him for a pretty decent time, too. I, uh, sort of revealed that I had a crush on him, and he had the gall to say, 'Well, I'm not surprised.' So I decided to kick him in the pants."
After the boy's surprising lack of tact, she managed to go for a while without bruising his gonads. "I was like a completely different person," she remembers. "I was like, 'Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck' all the way to my friend's house." She sighs, and after brushing her hair to the side, she continues, "I didn't actually decide to injure his manhood until after I got home, and had gotten all of the fucks out. I got a good night's sleep, thought about it for a day, and kicked him soundly in the pants on that Monday."
When asked about her methods in obtaining such impressive self-control, and whether she used meditation, yoga or tai-chi, she smiled a small smile, as if she knew something that the rest of the world did not know at all, and she simply replied, "Revenge is a dish best served cold. That and I was too embarrassed to show my face outside. But he got his."
And he certainly did. He enjoyed a safe first three classes, but in between third and fourth class, he found a heavy combat boot comfortably situated between his thighs. Reports from eye-witnesses who requested not to be identified say that he quickly found himself rolling about on the floor, and cried for a few minutes. He did not attend any classes for the rest of the day, and instead stayed with the school nurse. The assailant quickly left the scene to attend photography class.
The school nurse reported that although John Doe had impressive swelling, it did not seem like his yolk was punctured. John Doe declined to comment.