This is a one-shot, hopefully to become one in a series of five. Reviews, y'all!
All standard disclaimers apply.
Can you feel it? Can you feel it, Larry?
This is my pain. This is my pain, right here.
So it hurts. So what?
You damn well better deal with it. Because I deal with it every. Fucking. Day.
And you don't. See, that's why you're here, and I'm here, and I will make you feel every fucking second of it, the same way it pokes and prods and kicks and screams in my ear every day.
Every moment I am under his eye.
"You wanna miss a match? You wanna blow your ride?"
Yeah, I know it's not fair. I know you're innocent. I know you didn't do shit to deserve anything.
Well, guess what. Neither did I.
Hey, you really want to know what your sin is, what you did to get this? Why I'm punishing you?
Because you were born.
You were born into your family. And you, your dad, your mom, your siblings, they're not my fucking family. That's your sin. Does you dad dominate your life? Huh, does he? Does your mom sink her fangs into you every time you so much as look funny at her? Does your sister, or your brother, or your fucking cousins scorn you for being the shrimp of the family? For not living up to your father's glory days, your brothers' college achievements, your sister's genius? Was your fucking grandfather a war hero? More importantly, does he rag on you for not being a man, not being a true Clark?
Fucking Clarks. My All-American family, the stars, the heroes. We've got a fucking legacy, did you know that?
And you. You're, you're a nobody. I bet your dad doesn't push y—
"Andrew, you've got to be number one! I won't tolerate any losers in this family...your intensity is for shit! Win. Win! WIN—"
Shut up, punk. I said shut up! You've got no call to be complaining.
Oh, does this hurt? Does it? ARE YOU WEAK ENOUGH TO CRY?
Yeah, you skinny, weak, little shrimp, don't you even pretend you're not going to run to your mother after this. Climb into her lap and sniffle all over her apron. And she's going to coo at you, and put bandaids on those little boo-boos, and tuck you into bed at night, and be all sweet and warm and caring...
God, I hate you. I hate you for not being me. I hate you for crying, for being weak, for being everything that's not me. I will beat your ass until you know what it's like to be me.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate y...I hate my old man—