If you were to walk up to me and ask me, preferably with some sort of mild, uplifting mood, on how I felt about the basic ethics of writing chapters piece by piece everyday with consistent editing all in-between, I'd say I find the method being very convenient, allowing me to do stuff like this at my own pace, while also having time to lie on my bed, not do anything, and solely focus on doing more stuff on my own pace. A timely change from the one where I aimed for something new everyday, but a welcome one nonetheless.

Masato Nakajima: Thanks! I tend to put in as much description as I can, possibly in effort to immerse the reader into the story, maybe help hit things even more close to home than they were before.

ashira23: Thanks, comments like these are much appreciated.

So, you may be asking yourself as you read this page at school, in your classroom and on your phone hidden rather shitty in your desk, "How can I help out this guy out and motivate him to continue delivering top percentage each week?"

The answer is simple: Review, it doesn't have to be nice, I could do without the blatant praise, you could even tell me to fuck off, but at the end of the day, reviews tell me people are reading, and help me continue. So even if you lurk, give it a shot, I always give a response back come next chapter, thanks. Time to cringe.

Word Count: 3658 words.

Lament .04: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Spend the Day with Sluts

Consider it for self-approval, imagine a plethora of bitches, whores, and assorted whoremongers flooding the sunny slut-strutting streets with wide thighs, gaps the size of oblivion and beyond, and hips that could birth children from the heavens.

Scratch that memory from record, and imagine those same walking sperm-dumpsters, giggling with flip phones and accentuated breasts, leaving in socialized groups like packs of hungry, gossiping wolves.

There's one lone whelp, (Yeah, whelp.) left behind in the cold dust, staring all melancholic-like, while desperately envying them on the inside.

That pup in this one instance, actually isn't Tomoko Kuroki, but instead some other dumb, nameless shrew. For once, the lonely, shriveled girl has finally acquired an opportunity to act like the bitches she hates but wants to be like, and has seized the opportunity with open, albeit lanky, arms. That opportunity is today.

But then the weatherman shoots her down with a simple, "No, fuck you." and ruins everything.

Thunder crackles far away into the distance.

Lightning follows.

Tomoko stands shivering madly just outside the movie theater, sheltered somewhat from the hellraising drops. Her hair, matted, wet, threatening to curl up at any moment.

Clearly by all means she's anything but overjoyed.

Shivering with feminine rage, she slowly takes out her cellphone, barely used for anything that isn't a family call or as she personally puts it, slut-calls.

Teeth gritting and eyes twitching, she stares at the message she's only just received, some minutes ago.

I won't be able to make the movie today, the weather's gotten too bad! I'm so sorry, Mokocchi! Stay safe and dry!

She turns off the device with just one thing on her mind.

'Slut.'

If Tomoko ever deludes herself enough into creating a journal log containing all of the documented instances in which, for some ungodly reason, she missed a day at the movies with Yuu-chan, the results would be through the roof.

Fortunately the bitch is not all aware of the fact that Tomoko hardly ever gets any dick, lacks proper socialization skills, and has zero other friends to hang out with, if she did know, the pandering comfort would be too much to handle.

In this instance, however, not having any friends is justified. Tomoko would rather laze around, watch pirated anime, read pirated manga, play pirated games, read pirated light novels, eat ice cream that tastes like the sea and salt sailed over by a pirate. The problem is that no one else is interested in that.

She assumes Yuu-chan would be more than happy to frolic about, sucking the tits and dicks of her closest friends.

But not Tomoko because she's flat as a ironing board and practically has nothing to suck.

The thunder crackles again, lightning striking down.

Tomoko wipes her face, her strained expression never fading away.

'I can't leave, not now. It's too wet, I didn't even bring an umbrella!'

At the very least, she doesn't have to worry about the possibility of anyone stealing it.

'Guess I'll have to wait for this shit to clear up, but- wait, no! I can't!'

She stops herself mid-thought as a flashback hits her.

'Oh, you're going to the movies with a friend? Alright then, it's supposed to rain though, so please take an umbrella!'

'I'll be back before it rains. Bye.'

She clutches her stomach out of pure disgust.

If she goes home early, no doubt her mom would berate her not listening to her and hastily running out with that superiority complex elitist attitude, it's happened before and it'll happen again. Plus, she'll question why she's home too soon.

'What the hell am I supposed to tell her?! "Uh duhh, my slut friend is more worried about a drizzle than myself!" '

'Why? Why didn't I believe her?!'

She falls to her knees, groaning out of failure.

'The only way around that is if...is if I wait out here in the cold long enough- the same amount of time a movie runs- and when the weather clears, get home as soon possible! She can't bitch if she actually thinks I went and had fun!'

She quivers not just from the cold, but from those tail-end words. It feels nothing short of queasy to utter something like that.

The wind blows again, and Tomoko goes back to shivering from the rainy chill.

'That is if I don't fucking freeze first!'

Not even twenty minutes later, Tomoko is pacing back and forth through the movie theater entrance, contemplating going inside to protect herself from the cold. Plain and simple, she just can't endure anymore.

The rain gets harsher as she stares inside the theater lobby, where most patrons are busy with their own thing.

'I-I d-don't want to l-look like a loiterer!'

Her thoughts are conveyed like someone with chattering teeth would.

Despite her physical ever-lasting want to go inside and get warmed by the heater, she's too stubborn to risk getting called out for being a loner at such a public place. It's just too risky.

Another gust of wind blows, and it tingles through her entire body like static.

It's a godsend that the entrance shades her from the droplets of water, but it's not a big enough miracle. Warmth, warmth, warmth!

'You forgot to not make it cold as hell, you shrew of a god!'

Coincidentally, lightning strikes.

It's almost as if the chill is causing her to go crazy, to just totally, completely lose it, just drop everything, hold total disregard for sanity, and just go nuts. Crazy.

Crazy like a crazy cat lady.

The prophecy continues to fall into place, and it's more or less giving Tomoko the heebie jeebies. Right now she's resisting the urge to arch her back, twist her neck, lap out her tongue and make sexually explicit noises.

Goosebumps.

Goosebumps forming everywhere on her body, her arms, her legs, it's like her entire body is goosebumps. It's almost as bad as the time she attempted to use a vacuum cleaner to give her hickies.

Almost.

If the temperature drops even one more degree, it's over. She'll lose it.

She twitches frantically, heart racing, she's almost debating on fucking over her loitering concerns and just basking in the warmth of the movie theater, anything, even another dose of public humiliation would be worth freezing to death outside.

She can hear the geese on her bumps now, quacking, mocking her, mocking her for being afraid of just walking into a theater for warmth. Of course, geese can't speak English or Japanese, so they instead rely on their own substitute.

'Quack quack! Quack!'

'Quack, quack!'

'Quack, quack, quack!'

'Quack, quack! Quack quack!'

'Quack!'

The quacks get louder and louder, and ultimately unbearable. In the end Tomoko indeed, loses her shit.

She jerks the glass door open, hops in as fast as humanly possible, and lets out suggestive moans as the heat instantly wraps her entire body in a coat of warmth.

Basically everyone in the lobby stares at her with confusion, the pitter-patter of the rain in the background.

About five minutes, realization of context, questioning from cautious and confused employees, and a mental bout of self-scolding later sees the demented heroine back outside, the rain as horrendous as ever. The warmth was much appreciated, sure, but she could definitely go without the awkward stares that were, for obvious reasons, more pity-ridden than anything she receives on a daily basis.

It's no wonder one of the women inside tried to shield her defenseless child away in the midst of everything. In hindsight, she overreacted.

And that was an understatement.

'Back to teeth chattering then, I guess...'

In a rather desperate attempt to tide herself over until the rain stops, Tomoko's eyes dart all over the surrounding area, hoping that something, anything, will catch her attention and make her think.

Her smoldered eyes first meet an advertisement for a movie.

'Hm, that was the movie I was supposed to watch with Yuu-chan... A low-denomiator-pandering romance story. I read reviews of it last night, they said it was terrible and lacked "substance", but it seemed like the kind of movie she would want to see. Oh well, at least now I don't have to stare at my phone for ninety minutes. I can just pirate it later.'

Just as Tomoko begins to gander about for another topic to talk to herself about, the door opens.

She pauses and glances over at who exits from the building.

Sluts. Wolf sluts. A pack.

The quivering whelp can do nothing but gawk in fear.

And they're not just any kind of run-of-the-mill slut either, what tugs at Tomoko the most is the fact that they're familiar.

'Agh! It's...It's those bitches from school! The ones that always sing karoke and make shitty jokes!'

Thank fuck for the loose-caboose blonde one with the jumbo forehead, or else she wouldn't have been able to make the connection. Those bitches, and the male acquaintances of those bitches, all hanging out. It's almost infuriating.

Their faces, glistening with a not-so subtle teenage joy, something that Tomoko may never get to experience until a backwater one-night stand twenty years from now. She was indeed, somewhat envy. But she knew her place, especially around those guys.

And that place was far fucking away.

"Eh? I thought the rain wasn't going to start until later today!" exclaims one of the guys. Despite their distance, Tomoko picks up the scent of his man-musk, it reeks of his body, emitting (leaking really.) succulent hormones, from what might just be a well-toned chest.

It both disgusts and arouses Tomoko at the same time.

But regardless, it doesn't completely deter her from the task at hand. Avoid them at all costs. Being spotted by them or worse, acknowledged by them, is not at the top of her priority list.

She scoots to the nearest corner in hopes of avoiding the limelight, giving little care for the pooling bugs crawling all about the cement at her feet.

That particular corner hasn't been cleaned in a while, or exterminated.

The bitchy guy from earlier turns to the other guy,"I thought you said you checked the weather broadcast today."

The latter boy holds up his hands in self-defense, "Ehhh?! I-I did! Honest! They said it wouldn't happen until later today, it isn't my fault they don't know how to predict rain!"

All the while Tomoko sits fetal in the corner, rocking back and forth.

'Please have an umbrella. A ride. Someone to pick you up, something, anything!'

Jumbo forehead makes her way through the both of them, lamenting her woes while covering her face with a hand, "How are we supposed to get home then? I didn't bring an umbrella!"

'Too late.'

Her hopes have all but died a mercy killing.

Unaware that a few unsavory arachnids are starting to crawl up her legs, Tomoko stalks the wolf pack as they sit down and huddle together. Her lewd, distasteful mind can't help but draw a comparison to a five-way orgy.

In order to keep track with which slut is which, the unpopular wench gives the five simple labels, all based upon simple attributes. In this case, their generic teenage appearance.

In no such particular preference, the final listings are:

Mumbo Jumbo.

Ponytail.

Pinky.

Musky.

And That-Other-Guy.

It's much like naming the seven dwarfs, except there's only five of them and none of them look like disgusting, little old men. A real plus if you ask her, she's in no mood to ogle at old guys for the next hour or however long god decides to keep pissing all over Japan.

"So, what do we do now?" asks That-Other-Guy.

Ponytail interjects with hands on her hips, "Well since none of has an umbrella, we'll either have to wait it out, or send one of you two down to go buy some!"

Musk cocks a thin eyebrow, accompanying that is a lamenting frown, "Eh?! Why us? I don't wanna get drenched!"

In retaliation, Pinky steps in, on her knees and a tad offended, "And you're going to make a girl do it instead?! Do you even know how rude that is?!"

Musk apologizes like all Japanese do for anything deemed dishonorable, but Tomoko isn't paying attention. Her sullen eyes have instead found something bright and fluffy to stare at.

Like most people her age, Tomoko Kuroki is trapped in a horrendously rapacious harmonic libido. If even just one guy does one little positive thing for her, she'll most likely fantasize about it, from where it happened all the way back home, in her room, with a tissue box too.

Pinky's current position does nothing but propel that horny connotation into near outrageous levels. She doesn't even care that the slut and her friends are vexatious baboons who giggle at every single thing.

'Th-Those...those panties are really sexy!'

There happens to be two reasons she's called Pinky. Other than her top, the fine lacing and uncontrollably soft fabric of her panties were coated in a hot pink hue. It's practically illegal.

It's almost like a forbidden fruit. Actually, considering their genders, it basically is.

She wants to masturbate. She really does. It's a shameful kind of fap that does nothing but further demote Tomoko Kuroki's already non-existent reputation even more down the elastic shithole, all because of the lengths she would go to just to get it off.

During a rainstorm, outside a movie theater, in a daddy-longleg infested corner.

She continues to be relatively uninformed about the presence of the spiders, however, believing the longlegs prodding at her goosebumps to be nothing more than the sexual tension riding up her skin, brimming and brewing at the sight of such delicate fabric. It's nothing short of intoxicating.

To think this is the same girl who only years ago partook in watching local public-access educational puppet television shows with her mother and brother, back when they weren't embarrassed by her. It's almost a horrifying comparison.

How could a girl stoop this low and still keep stooping, one could wonder. Truly a mystery of the ages.

Fortunately, Pinky refrains from leaning forward not too long after Tomoko gets the heebiest of jeebies, stopping her before she could do something stupid and spotlight-stealing again. Her pink panties once again concealed by her skirt.

She makes a mental note to take pictures of it in class next Monday.

On a few occasions, her eyes sometimes meets theirs, and she fears she's been spotted, but everytime it happens, it just turns out they're looking at something else.

She isn't so sure if she's supposed to take offense to that.

Just as Tomoko's feminine boner is about to take off, her stiff nips are given a rest too soon thanks to a voracious voice cutting into the pack's conversation. The worst of all.

"It's the least the two of you can do! Stop being selfish!"

Mumbo Jumbo.

On an entirely honest level, Tomoko genuinely doesn't know why she detests her most of all. It could lie anywhere within the range of her blonde hair to her voice that just screams, "Dump it all over me!"

She has to suppress a cringe just to hear her voice, like nails on a chalkboard. Her forehead alone had to be covered in twenty pounds of grease and pimple pus, all prettied up and caked over by four- maybe five layers of whatever make-up is in style at the moment.

'Her panties probably have blood stains on them!'

She wonders to herself, why girls these days can't be more like precious Pinky and less like Mumbo Jumbo.

These thoughts are closed off as That-Other-Guy interrupts her choo-choo train.

"Alright alright, I guess we'll go-"

Musk butts in next, cologne "W-What? We'll?!"

That-Other-Guy is quick to throw his own rebuttal, "I'm not going out there on my own!"

A quick argument is settled as the two reach a stalemate, and in the end, they both hurry off the convenience store as fast as they can. The sound of their shoes eventually fades out ten seconds into their scamp.

Tomoko shivers, it's still cold as all hell. With the wolf pack of five now depleted to three, the whelp figures she might sport a higher chance of not being spotted.

As the girls play about with mindless chatter as soon as the boys leave, she figures she's right. They probably don't even know that she's there.

'How much longer is this rain going to last?' she doesn't have a watch, but she figures this whole ordeal couldn't have lasted any longer than a half-hour tops. Not enough to convince her mother that she actually went out to the movies with Yuu-chan.

It doesn't take long for the guys to come back. Sure, they're drenched from head to toe in water, and they might catch one of those dreaded "deadly" colds often talked about in slice of life anime, but they've done their job.

Five umbrellas, three for three cum dumpsters and two for two potential train molesters. Sexually explicit mathematics with a hint of underlying contempt at its best.

Mumbo Jumbo stands up with her arms crossed, the smuggest of smirks on her tramp face, "About time you showed up! I thought I was going to be here freezing forever!"

Musk frowns while wiping his face clear of any stray droplets, "Oh gee, thanks." he was clearly suspecting some sort of parade to be thrown for him, but it seems the tables were turned.

While Musk passes the umbrellas out, Tomoko plays on her phone. Stupidly enough, she's only just remembered that it's in her possession.

Indeed, the device confirms that a little over a half-hour has been spent getting hyped up on heater warmth and pink panties. A successful venture, if you ask her.

Once all the umbrellas get handed out, Tomoko assumes the group is on their way, and brushes a spider out of her face to see them on their departure.

What actually happens next fucks with her mind, oh so hard.

That-Other-Guy approaches her.

She pauses.

'Crap! He sees me, I knew I should have ran!'

She dreads a conversation, even though he holds a smile on his face. She takes note that something is behind him, but from where she's sitting at, she can't make out what it is.

Her heart stops at, around this exact moment.

What keeps her heart from spontaneously imploding is the context of their meeting.

He hands her an extra umbrella.

"Hey, I don't mean to interrupt, but you don't have an umbrella either, do you?"

Her heart is back up and in commission, and it's racing. It's racing like a behemoth.

"N-N-No..." she croaks out, voice cracking out of sheer nervousness. It's a guy. It's a fucking guy. It's a fucking guy talking to her. And it's not someone related to her.

It goes without saying that a wolf is still a wolf, but by this point the whelp is so cold that she doesn't even care anymore. Interaction is interaction. Fuck humiliation. Go with the crowd, go with the flow, jump into the flames and bask in the warmth of a million cats in a third-world cramped apartment building somewhere in Calcutta.

Not noticing her blatant communication issues, That-Other-Guy hands her the sixth umbrella with a smile that can only be matched by a bishie drawn by an artist who has no idea of the concept of anatomy.

"Here you go! No need to pay me back, it wasn't that much. It's just, I saw you there a while back and I thought you had the same problem as us."

'They knew the whole time?!'

She thanks him in moonspeak as she accepts the umbrella, now quivering from both the cold and slightly wet panties.

"Say, I don't think I've seen you before. What's your name? What school do you go to?"

'W-Wait, a minute, they don't recognize me from class!?'

She's half-pissed, half-relieved.

It's happening awfully fast, and the unkempt girl, reduced to a puddle of fear, has zero idea what to do. He's right there, a well-chiseled slut-penetrating face, he doesn't have the scent that Musk does, but he makes up for it in other fields.

If she wasn't a pure maiden she'd seriously considering hitching a ride on that.

However, since communication is a two-way highway, Tomoko is forced to give a response. In the end, and to save her identity from being blown, she fabricates a shitty story.

A shitty story comprised of a fake name and the name of a school that isn't hers, the latter of which she isn't even sure exists.

He doesn't find any faults with it, neither do the other four behind him listening in, so she assumes she must have made the right move.

"Well, alright then, we should hang out next time we meet!" suggests That-Other-Guy, a suggestion that gives Tomoko cold feet. She's fucking screwed for good the minute they spot her in school next class.

She lets out a mental groan, the hole she's dug this time is so deep that the only way she can get out of it is by hoping the status quo hits and by tomorrow they forget she ever exists.

She bids the five goodbye with a feigned smile and awkward laughter. And like that, she's alone again. Thank fuck.

Fortunately, the rain just happens to lighten up at that moment.

With the storm reduced to nothing but a light drizzle, a quirky Tomoko makes her way back home, both of her hands gripping to the umbrella.

'Maybe I'll just tell mom Yuu-chan got sick and we had to leave early...'

A fool-proof plan for a not so fool-proof whelp.

'I really hope they forget about me tomorrow...'