| My cousin did this when I said I “might” get him the toy he wanted for his birthday. |
Robert was the only kid at my interdisciplinary high school who I knew that listened to death metal. Anyone who could recite all the words to Cannibal Corpse’s “The Bleeding” had to be my friend. |
During my 14th birthday party I found him on the floor of the garage pulling blood out from his arms with a syringe, then drinking it. I didn’t know him that well, and none of us knew how to react to that or him foaming out the mouth. It wasn’t until the paramedics came that we found out he had tried to commit suicide by overdosing on pills.
Robert lived but later on in life he got serious into the Nazi skinhead scene and last I heard he's in prison for manslaughter |
He sold ecstasy, heroin, acid, and coke to punk high school kids. His house smelt like Vicks vaporub. Over and over I watched him single out the sad loner girls, get them addicted to meth, and make them his until absolutely no one wanted them. |
My mother was a private investigator for abused children. Regardless of the situation, she rarely let me stay home from school. Even when I was legitimately ill, she’d make me go to work with her. She’d take me to migrant trailer parks rooted deep in the orange groves, secluded orange grove ghettos, and typical “perfect family” style development housing communities. I saw piss-soaked babies left alone on coffee tables, middle schoolers with black eyes, and kids cooped up in filthy homes crammed full of caged rabbits and animal shit. |
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