SOC

All my life, I’ve been a bitch. It’s been, yeah, kinda of a policy. It’s not because I’m ‘afraid of getting hurt’, or whatever. I just kind of like it.
That’s not saying I get my rocks off treating my fellow man like shit. I don’t go around, calling people catty names and planting lard ass-related items inside a girl’s locker. In fact, one the outside, I’m relatively pleasant. It’s…huh. It’s in my head, the bitchiness.
Like, there was this one time. I was, what, seventeen (a few years ago). Me and these people who might’ve been good friends of mine, I think, but now I can’t really remember their names. We were hanging out around the movie theatre. There was nothing playing, it was some art house thing, the closest to my house, you had to drive a while for a real theatre. So, we were just hanging, fighting over a bag of chips somebody brought, texting, whatever. And so, this one girl, I remember I knew her well enough, and that she was kinda faux-punk, y’know the type? The Hot Topic kind, the ones wearing My Chemical Romance shirts and artfully torn jeans and converse sneakers, with maybe doodled hearts and skulls on the white parts, and pink streaks in perfectly conditioned and cut hair, and I don’t know who she was foolin’, y’know, cause she looked so upper-middle it was hilarious. Anyway, she was listening to her iPod, scrolling around the songs--her finger nails were painted black, and you could tell she had a rash or something because the black stuff had rubbed onto her chin and she didn’t realize it--and chomping on some gum, not really talking, because nobody really talks to the person they’re with, I guess, when suddenly, she’s screaming about how she fucking loves this song. Her headphones are in, and the iPod is facing her, not us, so we don’t really know what the fuck she’s talking. But she’s jumping around like a maniac now, on her feet, kinda dancing up and down the sidewalk (she had, up until now, been leaning against this random chunk of brick wall that’s slapped over the theatre entrance, like the rest of us), just snapping her arms back and forth, skipping and humming, but not well enough that you could tell what song she was screamin’ about, we still didn’t know. We, us, me and that guy Jason? Jimmy?, and those two girls who are kinda really stupid and never not around each other, and that guy, and his girlfriend, and the guy that guy’s girlfriend might’ve fucked last week, maybe, and that guy with the dreads that weren’t dreads so much as really greasy, uncombed hair that smelled like KFC, and that girl with, no joke, pink hair who speaks Japanese and always blogs about video games, and that asshole weasel-looking guy with a caveman laugh, and some other people, we’re all just kinda starin’ at this chick, who you wouldn’t look twice at normally (unless, like, she was in Compton or somewhere like that, where she’d stick out like a sore thumb, that’s the saying, right, like that). It’s weird, yeah.
So she’s shaking her ass like whatever, and so I’m getting kinda annoyed at her noise and shit, because up until now I was minding my own business, enjoying the quiet, whatever. So I stand up, right, I stand up and catch her by the shoulders and I ask:
“What up?” That’s kinda a stupid thing to ask, because there’s millions of things you could say to that--my favorite, I heard my brother say it once, “What’s up?” “The opposite of down.”--and, anyway, I knew what was up, she was happy about a song or whatever. Anyway, she smiles this big smile, and you can see her braces with the blue bands, the tiny rubber ones they can put on them if you want, and she says, all giddy and shit:
“Check this song out!” And I’m like, whoa, what the fuck? Anyway, she shows me the screen of the iPod, and it’s that song, by that band with the singer with pink hair, a proper faux-punk, this skinny-ass bitch who looks twelve, the one that was a huge thing awhile ago, at the time, I mean. And so, innocent enough, right? But me, in my head, I don’t know why, but I’m thinking these really…awful things about this chick I kinda know, not really, like I said. Like, not Stupid bitch shit, like Ugly little cunt, I can kill you right now, you idiot bitch slut whore, you deserve to be burned alive, I’ll BURN YOU ALIVE, I’llcutyouinhalflikethatTimRothmovie, I’ll CUT YOU, COW! Just, I don’t know why, and I’m not talking figure…fig-ura-tively, that’s the word, right? I’m seriously considering torturing this girl for freaking out over a song. I’m just raging inside my head, but outside, I’m kinda standing there, with maybe a tiny smile on my face, more like an accidental upturn of the lips, y’know?, and everyone else is getting into it, they all have that song on their iPods too, see?, and they all put it on and dance to it too, and it’s like a party or something, but so exclusive nobody else knows what’s going on, there’s these people, the people who go and see art house flicks, they go in and out of the tiny theatre, and they stare at us like, what the fuck?, but not me, because I just stand there imagining her death, and now all the other people’s deaths, just all these nasty things, like Hostel-level, y’know?
And so, like I said, I’ve always been like that. A bitch. Maybe not even a bitch, maybe it’s a personality disorder, like that guy? Like, I just have these bursts of seething, explosive, total fucking anger, over nothing, y’know? And it’s not the normal kind--I mean, why am I explaining? I just showed you.
Okay, there was this other time. It was, like, a year later, something like that, and I’m eighteen. I’m not in college, y’know, cause I didn’t really get any good grades, whatever, who needs college anyway?, so I’m just bumming around the neighborhood, y’know, all those other guys I was with before, the girl I wanted to kill, Jake or whatever, the whole gang, they’ve gone to college, got big corporate jobs in New York or something, I think one dude went to jail, and then that girl got pregnant and killed herself, not that it matters or nothing, just sayin. And so now I’m on my own, living with my dad, who’s kinda a bastard, but the asshole drunk kind, not the hitting, molesting kind, so whatever, ain’t so bad, I mostly hang outside anyway, which was what I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself. OK?
Anyway, so I’m bumming around wherever, I think it was mall, which isn’t much of a mall, more like a high school with the rooms all converted into T-Mobiles and Abercrombie & Finches and that pretzel stand, something with ‘Annie’ in it. And, so, I’m hanging out, with this group of guys, not even with them, just in their general, what is it?, vicinity. They’re smoking and shit, which I will not partake in, because my body’s a temple. Y’know?
One of them, this guy who looks like an extra from Dazed and Confused, the ones with the paddles, I swear to you, on my mother's grave--
Right. So one of the guys, a different one, he has this weird unibrow thing going on, but like he tried to pluck it with his fingers or something, and so there's this red patch in the middle of his forehead with lots of hair all around