A/N: Hey. People who click on this may have seen this story under a different account. I will tell you right now, I DID NOT STEAL IT. The other account was me, because I was afraid to put this under my usual name out of fear for what my friends and family would think of my mental and emotional health. Just so everybody knows, I am fine. Pieces of my depressed and angry side are in my characters, yes, but in no way do their actions reflect my own. So anybody used to my other writing, this may surprise you. You may hate it, you may love it. Truth is, I don't care. I have to write this, because unlike some of my other stuff, it means something. Pages of Nightmare, Tainted, Tiles and Revolver are all well and good, but this is trying to make a point, and a fucking big one. Anyways, read on, folks.


Scum Of The Earth

Forward by Mick Russian


Hey. My name is Mick Russian, and I have a story to tell. It's not a great one. God knows that. (Bad as in disturbing and depressing, not terribly written, I'd hope I have a bit more skill than that) I'm not sure if I would pay to read it. I might pay to see it on some crime show or something, but I doubt it. I have seen crime-shows with similar circumstances, but I'm not sure if any of them really played out like this one. Kids get in shit, kids go to court, kids get tossed in juvey or the slammer, depending on what they did. Sometimes the kids the protagonist. Sometimes they're the opposite. It's always one or the other.

You almost never see both sides of the story. You either see the side of the victim they have wronged against, or the side of the poor unfortunate student convict. In this story, you're probably going to see both. You're going to see the damage caused by four angry, stupid teenagers with nothing to lose. You're also going to see the Hell that these four went through in order to feel like that.

Nobody is innocent, and nobody is guilty, regardless of what the courts decided. I was one of those four. The only one left, actually. I'm not going to tell you much more than that. What the fuck would be the point of telling the rest of the story if I did that? I will bore you with a little bit more about me now though. That won't give away much, and plus it'll allow me to stroke my ego a bit. I live in Regina, Saskatchewan, and I work at the Kids Help Phone there. It's only natural, considering what happened. I have a wife, Charlene, and a beautiful girl, Daria. My life is good, I guess. I'm living the good ol' Canadian Dream. I have a decent house, and a pretty snazzy car (2007 Corvette if you must know). On my spare time I build model cars and planes and occasionally I draw.

I'm an average looking guy, unfortunately. Unlike my wife, who is pretty much the exact opposite. A gorgeous woman. I'm on the short and stocky side. I have short brown hair and yes, I wear glasses, my eyesight started going when I was about four. People tell me I have interesting eyes. If you ask me, I'll tell you I have pretty crappy eyes. They're a dark hazel that leans more towards brown. I dunno. I guess they're piercing or something. I'm writing this in my study right now, where I supposedly file paperwork. Charlene doesn't know anything about this. Hell, I didn't even know I was going to write it down until I started. I guess it was because of Darius. Good old Ace. I dreamt about him a couple nights ago.

We were out by the tracks in Darkhurst, the shitty town where I used to live. We were shooting cans with a pellet gun, as the tracks were right by the junkyard and there were plenty of cans accessible. This never happened to me, me and Ace were rarely alone together. If we were hanging out, then Alex and Brody where there too. No, I think this dream was symbolic, that, or a message from Darius 'Ace' Walker himself, from the Great Beyond. It was pleasant, for one. Our days back then were always tense. We were so packed full of hate and regret, we were never relaxed. This was different. It was just the two of us, shooting cans like normal kids. Well, he was a kid. I was Mick Russian, Anonymous Children's Psychologist. I was even in a suit. Ace was still a kid, though. Dressed in a suit as well, the very one he wore to the trial.

We didn't say much, just took turns shooting at a grape soda can. When we finally knocked it off the fence, Darius turned to me. "You gotta do it Mick." He smiled.

"Do what?" I asked uneasily. Whenever Ace asked me to do something, I usually regretted it. Ace laughed, as if he had read my thoughts.

"Nothing to worry about, just somethin' you've gotta do." He put a hand on my shoulder. "For me."

"Okay." I said. He was different, I saw. The hate was gone. He looked as normal as anybody. "Anything, Darius."

He laughed. "You gotta write it, man."

"Write what?" I asked, confused. "Ace, I don't know-"

"Yeah, you do." Ace insisted. "You have to tell them. Everybody. You have to write about us."

I was at a loss. "And dig all that up? Why, Ace? It hurts me to think about it! It hurts me to see you!"

"I know." He said, and turned away. "But thats why you have to do it. To make it go away. And people gotta know, Mick. We weren't monsters. I wasn't a monster. But we were stupid, man. You have to tell them everything."

"Ace, you were the writer, not me." I continued to protest.

"I know that, but you'll be able to write this. Everyone's got a story in 'em. Especially someone who saw the hell you did." He turned back, and there were tears in his eyes, but he smiled. "Besides, I'll help you." He started to walk away then, and now I was crying, because Ace was my friend. He was my leader, was all I had back then. He showed me how to live, and now he was leaving again. He turned back one more time. "The boys say hi."

I woke up then, tears in my eyes for real. Charlene slept on beside me, and I sat up silently, so not to disturb her. I went downstairs to get myself a glass of water. The dream had to have been something else, because I still remember every detail to this day. As I walked back upstairs, I noticed I'd left the study door open and the light on. I poked my head in and saw my stationary set neatly out on the table, with a pencil laying atop it diagonally. It was then I sat down and wrote the title to our story. 'Scum Of The Earth.' There's no getting around it. Thats what we were. That's what people thought of us. God, if I could take back those days...

But in a way I'm glad I can't. I've been able to help so many kids with nowhere to turn, (Or at least I tell myself that) I've become the man I am because of being the scum of the earth. There was no hope then, but in a way that made actual happiness all the sweeter when it came. So here's to you, Ace. Here's to Alex, to Brody, and to me. Hope you can be happy too now, guys. Wait for me, okay? I miss you.


A/N: Well, I hope that was a decent intro to this. Personally, that depressed the shit out of me just writing it. Especially that end bit. Anyways, I hope you guys are intrigued, and make sure to drop your thoughts at the door. This guy would certainly appreciate it, good or bad.