Not many people remember me. But I am pretty damn important. My name is
Louis Maynard. My face occasionally turns so red people think I'm going to
blow chunks. Fact of the matter is, I have a stomach of iron. I NEVER get
sick. Haven't barfed in years. Even so, I picked up my unfortunate
nickname at Camp Green Lake, the camp from hell.
Barf Bag, they called me.
It wasn't just my red face that persuaded them to that particular pseudonym. They also gagged at the mere mention of my past. I had told them the absolute truth of most of my life, and it repulsed them. They were disgusted by my presence.
Well, everyone except about half of D-Tent was.
The all-knowing Warden (note my sarcasm) placed me there, in hopes to avoid fights.
Fights can never be avoided. Truths can never be hidden.
I was called "Queer" and "Pansy" more often than Barf Bag. It was understandable. I'm really not a bad kid. Some stupid sons of bitches at my school decided to creatively "smear the queer" by "getting rid of the fag for good." They framed me for drug abuse and disturbing the peace. I've never even taken one hit on a joint, but who cares? The jury knew what I was. Some had kids in my school. They wanted to get rid of my "bad influence." It's not my fault. Not my fault.
What I did, taking off my sock and shoe in front of a rattler, that was suicide. Plain and simple. It was actually intended to BE suicide. I knew the yellow-spotted lizards were more likely to come out at night, and I was impatient. I didn't want a slow death. I wanted it fast.
Instead of my quick passing from the living, I was given weeks in a hospital. By the time I was fit to be released, Camp Green Lake had been shut down. I was free to go home.
Home sucks.
My bastard layabout father, Luther Maynard, was - and still is - a drunk. He's been beating me constantly since he found out I, as he so elegantly put it, "pounded ass." My mother is a dainty, pretty woman who can't seem to look me in the eye anymore. That hurts worse. She doesn't stay in any room with me for more than two minutes.
My brother is seventeen, and will start his senior year tomorrow. It was his friends that set me up in their twisted game of "smear the queer." It comforts me little that he didn't help them. But Adam's nice. He drives me around sometimes, jokingly stopping at random gay bars and pretending it's my destination. Despite his occasional foot-in-the-mouth syndrome, Adam is a decent guy.
"Hey," Alan, my friend from Camp GL grinned.
"Hey," I smirked back.
"Movie?"
"Def -" I was cut off abruptly. It's hard to talk around lips. And Squid's are definitely the best to muffle any noises I might be making. My boyfriend tastes rather good, I do believe.
*~*~*
Muhuwahahaha, the plot, she thickens! I do realize I said Squid was mad at Magsie and Zigsie for dating, but they lost contact, and he made a little discovery after an encounter with an old friend. He was originally against Barf, he was one of the half, and why am I telling you this? Next chapter: SQUIDSIE! What is it with me and ending everything in "sie" today? It's 12:10 A.M. and I'm entitled to my weirdness.
--Chronicles Bailey
Barf Bag, they called me.
It wasn't just my red face that persuaded them to that particular pseudonym. They also gagged at the mere mention of my past. I had told them the absolute truth of most of my life, and it repulsed them. They were disgusted by my presence.
Well, everyone except about half of D-Tent was.
The all-knowing Warden (note my sarcasm) placed me there, in hopes to avoid fights.
Fights can never be avoided. Truths can never be hidden.
I was called "Queer" and "Pansy" more often than Barf Bag. It was understandable. I'm really not a bad kid. Some stupid sons of bitches at my school decided to creatively "smear the queer" by "getting rid of the fag for good." They framed me for drug abuse and disturbing the peace. I've never even taken one hit on a joint, but who cares? The jury knew what I was. Some had kids in my school. They wanted to get rid of my "bad influence." It's not my fault. Not my fault.
What I did, taking off my sock and shoe in front of a rattler, that was suicide. Plain and simple. It was actually intended to BE suicide. I knew the yellow-spotted lizards were more likely to come out at night, and I was impatient. I didn't want a slow death. I wanted it fast.
Instead of my quick passing from the living, I was given weeks in a hospital. By the time I was fit to be released, Camp Green Lake had been shut down. I was free to go home.
Home sucks.
My bastard layabout father, Luther Maynard, was - and still is - a drunk. He's been beating me constantly since he found out I, as he so elegantly put it, "pounded ass." My mother is a dainty, pretty woman who can't seem to look me in the eye anymore. That hurts worse. She doesn't stay in any room with me for more than two minutes.
My brother is seventeen, and will start his senior year tomorrow. It was his friends that set me up in their twisted game of "smear the queer." It comforts me little that he didn't help them. But Adam's nice. He drives me around sometimes, jokingly stopping at random gay bars and pretending it's my destination. Despite his occasional foot-in-the-mouth syndrome, Adam is a decent guy.
"Hey," Alan, my friend from Camp GL grinned.
"Hey," I smirked back.
"Movie?"
"Def -" I was cut off abruptly. It's hard to talk around lips. And Squid's are definitely the best to muffle any noises I might be making. My boyfriend tastes rather good, I do believe.
*~*~*
Muhuwahahaha, the plot, she thickens! I do realize I said Squid was mad at Magsie and Zigsie for dating, but they lost contact, and he made a little discovery after an encounter with an old friend. He was originally against Barf, he was one of the half, and why am I telling you this? Next chapter: SQUIDSIE! What is it with me and ending everything in "sie" today? It's 12:10 A.M. and I'm entitled to my weirdness.
--Chronicles Bailey