When I was in grade school, I worked so hard towards my goals in life, only to watch as my efforts become the opposite of what I expected. I never seemed to give or get enough, whether it be the place in the science fair, or the seat I wanted, or grade. I always tried what i thought I could do, only to make myself feel stupid, or dumb for not doing as well as everyone else. But I didn't know why.
I started to look for answer way back when I was barely able to touch the ground from the swing. When I had to literally jump in order to get on the rubber sling attached opt long metal chains, dangling precariously from the metal rod welded to other rods. I would always sit there, humming songs I barely knew as I stared at the sky, hoping that my life would get a little bit better. With no anvil, of course.
I was always the strange kid in class, though. Eating worms during lunch was my forte, along with picking fights with the older kids who only liked to hang in the back of the track, near the benches. My fashion was horrible back then, with my ripped up jeans and cheetah print Hello Kitty shirt. Not the best of intimidation outfits, but I've wore worse. But I always got in trouble for my fighting, and as I grew up and out of Grade school and into Middle, my fights only grew dirtier and dirtier.
These fights, however never gave me my answers, because my theory was that I could only see and think clearly when I had adrenaline pumping through my veins. A broken rib didn't help me think straight, all I could focus on was the pain which seemed to eat away as my body. But it was a feeling I grew addicted to. the thrill of the fight, the hunt, and the pleasure of knowing I was meant for something. Not entirely sure if that something means being a messengers for underground operations, but what can I say- it pays good money, and I can pick as many fights as I wish so long as I don't get arrested again.
This leads me to my explanation to why I'm sitting in a back alley, gun pressed against the base of skull as some creep who I bet hasn't showered in days while he makes empty threats about removing my wrist in order to get the briefcase handcuffed to it. Well, that wasn't a great way to take this conversation, I guess. Maybe I should explain a bit better.