u/Dirt0o0o

Page 1
One morning, when Jamison Kowalsky awoke from troubled dreams, he found himself in a steel cage. Still thinking this was a dream, Jamison lowered his head, and the cold steel floor caused him to shoot upright. Whilst this was happening, his vision had been foggy with smudgy shapes. After rubbing his eyes, he lay on the floor with his back turned towards the bars, and gazed along the surroundings. His eyes soon wandered upon the empty space beyond the bars and he was now questioning if this was reality. Concluding that it must be real, and still stiff from awakening, he tried stretching his arms. Once he went to stretch his legs, there was nothing to stretch. Looking down, Jamison saw two pitiful nubs, one slightly larger than the other, both extremely sore. After seeing this, Jamison tried to speak, yet nothing followed other than the putrid stench of rot from his mouth. Jamison had felt something off in his mouth, kind of like something had been out of place, so he slid his fingers inside, feeling around, only to be met with the absence of his tongue. “Oh no. How am I going to explain this to my parents?” thought Jamison. He could already picture what they might say. “Who art thou? No son of mine will be useless. A useless person is no person at all!” “What must I have done to deserve this?” thought Jamison. He then curled inward as if he were a child. Twas this from some heavy sensation of his heart sinking painfully into his chest. “Oh no, the horror of what people at school are going to say. I cannot go on. I mustn’t.” Thought Jamison. Oftentimes, he had been outcast or ignored, yet he had always tried. Unseen, unheard, nonexistent, ’twas Jamison Kowalsky. Dreams often drifted through his mind, such as one in which he was being crucified, unable to fight back or tell them to stop. The horror of that dream lingered, for how purely real it had been. 

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After wiping his tears, Jamison tried to move. Due to the uneven nubs and his lack of experience, he was unable. He tried again—this time even more pitiful. Placing his hand flat against the ground, he attempted to push himself up. Once again, no use. As a last resort, he began to drag himself along the floor, each movement cutting into his flesh as he scraped across the cold, rough surface. Blood and skin started to follow as he inched along the floor.  Soon, he collapsed, slumping down with heavy, uneven gasps. Looking over he noticed some sort of bug who had been flipped onto his back. Unable to move and vulnerable sat both the bug and Jamison, but in an effort he managed to pull out ever ounce of strenth and dragged himself to the bug. Jamison then flipped the bug, and like most things do-it left him.

Page 1
One morning, when Jamison Kowalsky awoke from troubled dreams, he found himself in a steel cage. Jamison started looking around and saw the seemingly empty outer area beyond the bars. Jamison thought this was nothing more than some weird dream, so he put his head down. The floor felt abnormally cold against his cheek, this caused him to realize this was no dream. After stretching his arms, he tried to stretch his legs. 

When he did this, nothing moved. His legs were gone and had been replaced with two pitiful nubs. At first, Jamison did not seem to notice this, but he did notice the overwhelming scent of rot coming from his mouth. He tried to speak, yet nothing followed other than a putrid smell. Then he put his fingers into his mouth and began to feel around, only to be met with the absence of his tongue.“Oh no, how am I going to explain this to my parents,” thought Jamison.

Even worse, he thought about what people at school might think now that he was some mutilated, mute freak. Jamison was nude and felt extremely sick at the thought of there being some hidden audience watching him in this state.Thinking back to something his parents once said, he started to tear up. “A useless person is not a person at all.”

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Wiping his tears quickly, Jamison tried to move. He took his right hand and placed it against the floor. He began to push himself forward, but this was not helpful for long. His arms soon gave out from the strain, unused to carrying his weight. Jamison slipped and hit his head on the floor causing it to bleed.

 After this he took himself back up with the thoughts of his family and friends all encouraging him. “Keep going Jamison. You got this. You're doing amazing.” Thought Jamison. Even if it was unrealistic it was highly comforting. 

Jamison soon found a method for moving. He had to sort of drag himself along the cold, rough floor. This method was not reliable nor was it comfortable. Every movement hurt, and his flesh had been scraping against the floor. Across from Jamison had been a bowl of some sort of irregular meat and discolored water.

 Jamsion had no thought of eating this, but knew eventually he would have to. He started dragging himself across the floor and to the meal. After making it he reached his bloodied hand into the water and meat and grabbed a big chunk of it. He covered his nose with one hand and shoveled the food with the other.  

Page 3
After eating Jamison thought he should get to know were he would be staying. Jamison took a big whiff of the air only for it to smell like mold and boiled cabbages. The bars were close together and the cage was moderately big but felt much smaller. The cage was empty other than Jamison and the bowl of food, but it was extremely filthy. The floor was covered in dirt and grime along with Jamison‘s blood.

One night while Jamason Kolawsky was sleeping he had dreams in which he was in the process of being crucified. when Jamason awoke he found himself in a steel cage. Both his legs had been cut off-along with his tongue, and he sat on the very edge of the cage looking into the distance. The cage was abnormally cold and extremely cramped. At first Jamason didn't notice his legs nor his tongue. First of he had to comprehend the fact that he was in a cage.

 A seemingly empty outer area surrounded him, and faint sounds of people were being heard. He tried to speak but nothing followed. A heavy sensation started to crush him, and tears started to fall from his fearful eyes. Hoping no one noticed he wiped his tears. Jamson was nude and was extremely appalled by the thought of there being some hidden audience.To the point where he slightly gagged, but not fully vomited.

 “Oh no, how am I gonna explain to my parents how'd this happen.” Thought Jamason. Even “worse” he thought what would people in school think now that he's some legless,mute “freak”. Trying to put that aside for now he needed to figure out how to leave, but first how to move. In some pitiful attempt he managed to slightly drag himself along the floor.

 This wasn't much use. It just barely caused him to inch-like a worm. Thinking back to everything he had ever done, he was trying to figure out what he did to deserve it. He concluded it must have been a number of reasons.  Really pathetic like, he started trying to talk.

 Only mumbled grunts came out. “How is mother and father gonna feel now that I cant live up to their expectations.” Thought Jamason. He started shaking.

Page 1

One night while Jamason Kolawsky was sleeping he had dreams in which he was in the process of being crucified. when Jamason awoke he found himself in a steel cage. Both his legs had been cut off-along with his tongue, and he sat on the very edge of the cage looking into the distance. The cage was abnormally cold and extremely cramped. At first Jamason didn't notice his legs nor his tongue. First of he had to comprehend the fact that he was in a cage.

 A seemingly empty outer area surrounded him, and faint sounds of people were being heard. He tried to speak but nothing followed. A heavy sensation started to crush him, and tears started to fall from his fearful eyes. Hoping no one noticed he wiped his tears. Jamson was nude and was extremely appalled by the thought of there being some hidden audience.To the point where he slightly gagged, but not fully vomited.

 “Oh no, how am I gonna explain to my parents how'd this happen.” Thought Jamason. Even “worse” he thought what would people in school think now that he's some legless,mute “freak”. Trying to put that aside for now he needed to figure out how to leave, but first how to move. In some pitiful attempt he managed to slightly drag himself along the floor.

 This wasn't much use. It just barely caused him to inch-like a worm. Thinking back to everything he had ever done, he was trying to figure out what he did to deserve it. He concluded it must have been a number of reasons.  Really pathetic like, he started trying to talk.

 Only mumbled grunts came out. “How is mother and father gonna feel now that I cant live up to their expectations.” Thought Jamason. He started shaking

A barren town sat waiting for death in a hellish stretch of land. The air here was sour and harsh as if it consumed the evil deeds that happened here. Oh, how this town sat there decrepit and withered you wouldn’t expect people to live here, yet they did.They weren't really living- more surviving than anything. Nothing but ruble and scum. No matter how rich or how poor all just scum-hateful scum, but was there more than meets the eyes? Poverty prowled the streets, not humans. One gas station stood in the middle of town. The rich worked here while the poor slept outside. Death wasn't hidden here, it lingered in the open. A man could be beaten, and an hour later children would be playing in the same spot. That’s just the type of town it is.
 The people here moved like animals trapped in a rigid hierarchy. They  had a system like a food chain in which they had junkies and hobos being on the bottom and the “rich” being on top. Most things in the town were strange and almost unreal. Dogs always barked yet you never really saw the dogs, children cried, but were unseen, men screamed- you could always see them as if the town blocked out anything but violence. The screams  were heard throughout town and the victims were seen,for the violence of the corrupted was neither ethical nor needed but in this town it was seen as non-negotiable. Violence was seen as something to pass time. Fighting to death, something usually only heard of in movies or books-was normal in this town. It wasn't done out of hatred, it was boredom. Emotions weren't optional here- they were something people buried deep enough that they stopped feeling real.
 These fights became a way to release what they couldn't hold anymore-anger, pressure and emptiness but what came after it wasn't a relief, it was guilt. These fights revealed a chaotic side of humanity. They began with yells and ended in silence that felt heavier than anything before it. What is boredom really? If we create our own happiness does that mean we also create our own boredom or is it just the space between what we are and what we are not allowed to do. Once a child stared out of her cracked window watching one of these acts of violence. Her eyes wide as the violence raged  on. Once, she dreamed of being an artist of colors and paints. Now, that dream felt like a distant ghost, a drift in a tide of forgotten possibilities. Please sir, can you buy me some food? I'm hungry,”cried a little boy. He said this to one of the “rich.”

 What the man did next is too unspeakable to talk about, but the screams of agony were heard through the town. This man was bored too. The air got more sour that day, the world felt bleaker but only to the boy’s family who watched but didn’t dare to speak. The boy’s mother watched, appalled by the man’s actions. Her eyes filled with tears, and she felt as if her world shattered into smithereens. The boy’s father stared blankly into nothingness.The mother took her life. The boy and father were left alone and damaged. Both survived on the streets-with their hope slowly crumbling. Their lives were being watched,but not cared for-by a fight organizer. He looked at the boy's father as the perfect victim. The days went by until the inevitable happened- He was chosen to fight. Fight night is tomorrow. The fear is settling in. “dont be afraid my boy” whispered the man. The boy then laid in his fathers arms while whimpering. 
The time has arrived. One dirt pit surrounded by a crowd full of barbaric animals. A tree was nearby. Hanging from the tree was a burning corpse-the young boy tried not to look while others were embracing the savagery. Both men stepped into the pit- no clothes and covered in filth. The younger man had a clear edge, and this was noticed by the boy. No expression was on his face other than the fear in his eyes. He looked at his father and his father looked back, and for a moment he felt even worse than before-seeing the same fear in his fathers eyes. A man sitting on the tree screamed “FIGHT!” Both men started brutally pounding each other's faces- no gloves, no rules, no nothing. While watching the boy noticed his father slowly giving into death, but in a moment of hope the boys father started fighting back. He was throwing puch after puch until the younger man landed a hard hit on the mans jaw-breaking it and causing him to kneel. Someone had thrown an object into the pit. The boy watched in fear as his fathers opponent picked up the hammer. No one had said anything-letting the fight continue, and while the man was kneeling his opponent raised it over his head,  and “SLAM!” The crowd went silent. The boy watched but couldn't speak.From that day on his face stayed the same. The boy was now an “it” with no father, no money and no use-or at least that's how society saw him as. Years passed and this boy was now a young man. Along with him growing so did the population. More drifters and hobos piled up in the already crowded space. He now lives in a broken down shithole of a home-with one room and one bathroom. He had a cold expression on the surface.
 His face  looked empty from a glance. Deep down he is suffering from his own thoughts. “Oh GOD please end my suffering from this harsh world-I beg of you Lord please.” Cried out the young man. His eyes filled with tears and sorrow. He didn't have the guts to kill himself so he wished someone would just take his life for him. He stood in front of the mirror questioning his purpose for being here. He just concluded that some things just don't have purpose for this world. “Purposes? How strange is it really? What really is anyone's purpose? We are all here for a reason, but some reasons are more “vital” than others. Are some people’s purpose is to just be the useless scum of the cruel soul sucking world?” Pondered the young man. He then walked out of his run-down home. He tried to take out a deep breath of the air in hopes of it being fresh, this caused him to start wheezing.
 He then started walking along the dirt road. A wrinkled pug faced a man smoking a cigarette in nothing, but undergarment stood in the middle of the road. “Hey,” said the young man. No reaction from this old man, only crazy yells. He kept walking and eventually he stepped into an alleyway reeking of urine and mold. He saw a homeless man- named Marco. This man was someone he often came to visit. “Hello Donnie,” spat Marco. "It's Scotty,” said the young man. The man's memory was slipping like sand. “How is everything going?” said Scotty. The man spat on the floor. “These men robbed me last night- I was scared I was going to die then I was scared I wasn't". Scotty did notice the clear swollen eye of the man. He didn't think anything of it. The man then urinated on the floor and screamed. Scotty knew it was about time to go. This man had sudden outbursts like that one really often.
 While Scotty was walking he noticed  another homeless man.This man had no legs and reeked of feces and rot. Even for Scotty the stench was too much.  The man was getting around on both hands. This gave Scotty a sense of hope. “Wow-it goes to show you anything is possible.” Thought Scotty. Two boys walked past Scotty and to the legless man. Scotty didn't look back, but he heard the awful screams while the boys were hooting and hollering. The boys laughed sinisterly.This caused Scotty to lose the little ounce of hope he had. They then walked near Scotty, with red all over their faces and clothes. They reeked as bad as the man. Scotty didn't know why but he had to hold back tears from his empty eyes. Scotty had known about one of these boys-Roger Thomson, His father had been killed, and he is now a barbaric brute who looks for violence and chaos. Scotty wondered why he didn't turn out like that. 
He kept walking until he remembered he had to meet up with the man he worked for. Scotty came to a halt at an abandoned building. He  opened the door with his foot. Once he stepped in the air smelt like mildew and mold.The floor was dirty and the building was empty. It had too much space. Scottie wondered what it used to be. He often wondered what this town was like, and he always wished he could live in the better version of it or just leave all together. Preferably leaving all together, but he knew it wouldn't happen. As he walked through the building he felt an evil presence but didn't think much of it since that's how the whole town felt. Eventually he met up with a man named Pablo-Scotty who worked as a drug mule for him-this was one of many jobs Scotty worked at, but hated. Pablo looked at him in disgust yet he didn't say a word. “How much did they pay you?” questioned Pablo.
 “four hundred? Is that enough?” “You fucking idiot! They should’ve paid six hundred.”  Scotty felt as if he was getting smaller and smaller as his heart sank into his chest. “Oh man this is it.” Thought Scotty. Pablo looked as if he was gonna explode but he took a breath. “Show me who you sold it to.” Scotty hesitated but pointed out the man. In this moment he felt like he betrayed himself. He walked back home thinking the whole time not anything specific but just about everything.He thought what might happen to the man he rated out and the thought of it made him sick. Later when scottie arrived home he stepped into his bed about to sleep until he heard  the screams. Oh GOD the screams,They were just pounding in Scotty's head. He started pacing around. He then puked in his cracked sink and curled up into a ball on his dirty tile floor. He stayed up all night. 
Not laying, not moving but staring emotionlessly and empty. The morning came. The screams were gone and so was the feeling of guilt, all gone just like that. Today Scotty didn't have much to do. He woke up at around 12:30 due to lack of sleep. He woke up with his eyes crusted and skin greasy, he walked to his sink, still with a stench of puke, and washed his face. Scotty then took a blunt and a lighter out of his drawer. He walked on the dirt roads and into a grass field. He often came to this place because it was calming and basically the only place in town not destroyed and filled with chaos. For a moment he felt true peace. Once he finished a familiar sense of heaviness settled in his chest, dragging him back into the house waiting for him at home.  While he was walking back he noticed two boys dragging a dog into the woods. One of the boys had a lighter in his hand and the other boy had a stick.
 After walking past the boys he heard a loud yell he looked over and saw a man being held at gunpoint. Scotty noticed the man's family watching as they were crying, then BANG! Scotty then walked away. In this moment Scotty thought to himself why couldn't he have just intervened but he knew it wasn't worth the consequences.“Fuck-fuck-fuck” Cried scotty, while punching his head.” Scotty thought of his own father. He thought how he felt, and how those kids must have felt. “ Scotty often felt trapped. Not only in this town but his head too. He dreamed of making enough money to leave the town but he couldn't leave his home even if it was only one room. “Oh fuck my life” sighed Scotty. Back and forth Scotty passed in his small home. His mind was full of nothing but black scribbles. “Unheard-unheard un fucking heard. “I  hate this peice of shit town .” Screamed Scotty. 
 Hate-just pure hate filled scotties heart. No more feeling purely numb. Tonight Scotty got the best sleep of his life. Now Scotty felt a sense of determination to leave the town- no matter the cost. No thoughts in Scotty's head. He ran to Pablo's building. Scotty walked into the building. Pablo screamed at him for his money. “Stop bitching,” said Scotty. Pablo was not amused at this. He then lunged at Scotty. Scotty did nothing, but simply stabbed him and walked away. No remorse-no guilt-no nothing. Scotty stayed out late drinking. A red gloom fell upon the buildings. Scotty's face was covered by darkness as he stumbled along the road highly intoxicated. He noticed an old man. Scotty felt the same determination to get out of the town no matter the cost. He then lunged at the man. The man let out multiple yells as Scotty was brutally pounding in his skull.
 Scotty grabbed the man's cash as he ran home and left the man to rot in the rain. When the morning came it was all a blur. Scotty noticed his hands having blood and skull fragments on them. He started to panic. “Oh shit what did I do.” Scotty found the money in his pants-this made him more worried than ever. Scotty felt detached from his soul as if he awakened a new part of himself that needed to be caged. Scotty ran out of his home. He noticed the corpse of the man, “no.” Scotty walked over. He looked at the man's face, or at least what was left of it. “No please-no” It was the face of Marko. “ No-Why!!!!” Scotty screamed. Scotty referred to this man as “one of the good ones” now the one good thing he had was gone. Heartbroken and dazed, Scotty couldn’t help but run. He ran almost two towns over not even noticing his surroundings.
 He ran til his feet were raw. Now scotty breathing heavily he looks around himself and notices where he is. It looks heavenly compared to his home. He felt as if he needed to shed a tear-in which he did. Scotty curled up in a ball and cried til his eyes were red. Scotty then lied in the grass.

 

Awoken was I—not by some soundspilling dohickey, twas family and their little noise-event, all chatterspilla and noise-collapse like. Alone sat I. Though I fancy solitude now and again, solitude in company ain’t solitude at all- just coexisting is all. All unseen like, I slowstepped through the halls of my cas, quite as some crook. I crept to the bathroom, to that cracked-up, long-forgotten sink. Washed my greasy face, fixed my all-tangled hair, and spat a bit of vomit-spit from my gob. Still head-fogged from a night of numbing the old skullspace, no proper dorma at all. After emptying out , I cleaned up and threw on my fashion-cloth. Hair down, not too long, long black coat hanging off me. Pants all pocketed up too, for a smoke or some sly little doohickey.Mother and father got all hotheaded once they eyeballed what I spent pay on clothes. I said  I made my ends from odd-jobbing—walking pooches, helping old folk, but oh how that was far from the truth, oh how very very far. all mother ever soundspilled about was pay. Pay this, pay that. The old coot just mouthspilled the same three rot-things: money, the Index, and “fixing” me. And fixing me didn’t mean no bettering me—no, she was too red-faced to have a “pathetic” unconfirmata as a son. Confirmed by the Index, that is. All the ruleworms there believe existence ain’t automatic, it’s gotta be stamped, marked, confirmata proper. The Index took power some seventy years back for one reason, and I quote: “Too much unfiltered human attention creates instability.”They reckon ignoring a thing fixes it. Don’t eyeball it, don’t attend it, and it’ll sort itself out quite-like. Low-form crimes go unseen, unspoken—hoping the rotters just stop on their own. It don’t work. Never does.Old mother dearest had me hauled off to a loony bin over my so-called “troubled behavior,” and from then on everything twisted differenta. I had to wear a patch—unconfirmata. Ruined all my fashion-spill, that did, but I wore it. Had no choice. And with it, folk started treating me lesser, like I was half-there, half-gone.None existent to them, almost. Didn’t like that one bit. Oh, and as for why I got shipped off in the first place, well  it all started back about a fortnight ago. Old mother dearest finally caught me acting out a good old bloodbath on some real old brutto vecho. Now now before you come down my gob about beating some old vecho let me say the ver. I ways slowsteping down the citt on the strad  I veddy some real young razgaz-maybe about like thirteen or so, and shes was walking with this real old vecho. At first I thought he was like her nono or some sort. He started rubbing his manos all over this young razgaz. She didn't seem to like this one bit. So old dearest narrator started colping the man. All over I was like colp after colp all over his test even his corp. After I left him all pulvo like I took a big snort and spat in the mans gob. Now that i left this shad all bloodbathed and smashed I walked over to the real young razgaz. I offered here to come to my place and gave her a bit of the old vinzo and a few capsas, and oh how she was all foged out. Oh now little old me was all foged out to. Now I took hold of the young razzygazzy. Though I was feeling a little woozygoozy I still took part in the old lustywusty. Oh wowzy wowzy hows theys was kicking in. I've might've taken a couple to many of the old medy medy now I was laying all dirty in my bedy bedy. I slept for a bit until I woke up seeing old mother dearest sitting over my bed all crossed armed and such. I guess I didn't clean up my fist from the old bloodbath, and it was very clear I was fogged. “I saw what you did to that man. And I saw that young girl you had in here along with your drugs. Now get up now!” Screamed mother. She then grabbed me by the ear and took me to the auto. Now my dearest audience this is why I am now a unconfirmata.

THE ROLE YOU WERE GIVEN 

A barren town sat waiting for death in a hellish stretch of land. The air here was sour and harsh as if it consumed the evil deeds that happened here. Oh, how this town sat there decrepit and withered you wouldn’t expect people to live here, yet they did.They weren't really living- more surviving than anything. Nothing but ruble and scum. No matter how rich or how poor all just scum-hateful scum, but was there more than meets the eyes? Poverty prowled the streets, not humans. One gas station stood in the middle of town. The rich worked here while the poor slept outside. Death wasn't hidden here, it lingered in the open. A man could be beaten, and an hour later children would be playing in the same spot. That’s just the type of town it is.
 The people here moved like animals trapped in a rigid hierarchy. They  had a system like a food chain in which they had junkies and hobos being on the bottom and the “rich” being on top. Most things in the town were strange and almost unreal. Dogs always barked yet you never really saw the dogs, children cried, but were unseen, men screamed- you could always see them as if the town blocked out anything but violence. The screams  were heard throughout town and the victims were seen,for the violence of the corrupted was neither ethical nor needed but in this town it was seen as non-negotiable. Violence was seen as something to pass time. Fighting to death, something usually only heard of in movies or books-was normal in this town. It wasn't done out of hatred, it was boredom. Emotions weren't optional here- they were something people buried deep enough that they stopped feeling real.
 These fights became a way to release what they couldn't hold anymore-anger, pressure and emptiness but what came after it wasn't a relief, it was guilt. These fights revealed a chaotic side of humanity. They began with yells and ended in silence that felt heavier than anything before it. What is boredom really? If we create our own happiness does that mean we also create our own boredom or is it just the space between what we are and what we are not allowed to do. Once a child stared out of her cracked window watching one of these acts of violence. Her eyes wide as the violence raged  on. Once, she dreamed of being an artist of colors and paints. Now, that dream felt like a distant ghost, a drift in a tide of forgotten possibilities. Please sir, can you buy me some food? I'm hungry,”cried a little boy. He said this to one of the “rich.”

 What the man did next is too unspeakable to talk about, but the screams of agony were heard through the town. This man was bored too. The air got more sour that day, the world felt bleaker but only to the boy’s family who watched but didn’t dare to speak. The boy’s mother watched, appalled by the man’s actions. Her eyes filled with tears, and she felt as if her world shattered into smithereens. The boy’s father stared blankly into nothingness.The mother took her life. The boy and father were left alone and damaged. Both survived on the streets-with their hope slowly crumbling. Their lives were being watched,but not cared for-by a fight organizer. He looked at the boy's father as the perfect victim. The days went by until the inevitable happened- He was chosen to fight. Fight night is tomorrow. The fear is settling in. “dont be afraid my boy” whispered the man. The boy then laid in his fathers arms while whimpering. 
The time has arrived. One dirt pit surrounded by a crowd full of barbaric animals. A tree was nearby. Hanging from the tree was a burning corpse-the young boy tried not to look while others were embracing the savagery. Both men stepped into the pit- no clothes and covered in filth. The younger man had a clear edge, and this was noticed by the boy. No expression was on his face other than the fear in his eyes. He looked at his father and his father looked back, and for a moment he felt even worse than before-seeing the same fear in his fathers eyes. A man sitting on the tree screamed “FIGHT!” Both men started brutally pounding each other's faces- no gloves, no rules, no nothing. While watching the boy noticed his father slowly giving into death, but in a moment of hope the boys father started fighting back.

 He was throwing puch after puch until the younger man landed a hard hit on the mans jaw-breaking it and causing him to kneel. Someone had thrown an object into the pit. The boy watched in fear as his fathers opponent picked up the hammer. No one had said anything-letting the fight continue, and while the man was kneeling his opponent raised it over his head,  and “SLAM!” The crowd went silent. The boy watched but couldn't speak.From that day on his face stayed the same. The boy was now an “it” with no father, no money and no use-or at least that's how society saw him as. Years passed and this boy was now a young man. Along with him growing so did the population. More drifters and hobos piled up in the already crowded space. He now lives in a broken down shithole of a home-with one room and one bathroom. He had a cold expression on the surface.
 His face  looked empty from a glance. Deep down he is suffering from his own thoughts. “Oh GOD please end my suffering from this harsh world-I beg of you Lord please.” Cried out the young man. His eyes filled with tears and sorrow. He didn't have the guts to kill himself so he wished someone would just take his life for him. He stood in front of the mirror questioning his purpose for being here. He just concluded that some things just don't have purpose for this world. “Purposes? How strange is it really? What really is anyone's purpose? We are all here for a reason, but some reasons are more “vital” than others. Are some people’s purpose is to just be the useless scum of the cruel soul sucking world?” Pondered the young man. He then walked out of his run-down home. He tried to take out a deep breath of the air in hopes of it being fresh, this caused him to start wheezing.
 He then started walking along the dirt road. A wrinkled pug faced a man smoking a cigarette in nothing, but undergarment stood in the middle of the road. “Hey,” said the young man. No reaction from this old man, only crazy yells. He kept walking and eventually he stepped into an alleyway reeking of urine and mold. He saw a homeless man- named Marco. This man was someone he often came to visit. “Hello Donnie,” spat Marco. "It's Scotty,” said the young man. The man's memory was slipping like sand. “How is everything going?” said Scotty. The man spat on the floor. “These men robbed me last night- I was scared I was going to die then I was scared I wasn't". Scotty did notice the clear swollen eye of the man. He didn't think anything of it. The man then urinated on the floor and screamed. Scotty knew it was about time to go. This man had sudden outbursts like that one really often.
 While Scotty was walking he noticed  another homeless man.This man had no legs and reeked of feces and rot. Even for Scotty the stench was too much.  The man was getting around on both hands. This gave Scotty a sense of hope. “Wow-it goes to show you anything is possible.” Thought Scotty. Two boys walked past Scotty and to the legless man. Scotty didn't look back, but he heard the awful screams while the boys were hooting and hollering. The boys laughed sinisterly.This caused Scotty to lose the little ounce of hope he had. They then walked near Scotty, with red all over their faces and clothes. They reeked as bad as the man. Scotty didn't know why but he had to hold back tears from his empty eyes. Scotty had known about one of these boys-Roger Thomson, His father had been killed, and he is now a barbaric brute who looks for violence and chaos. Scotty wondered why he didn't turn out like that. He kept walking until he remembered he had to meet up with the man he worked for. Scotty came to a halt at an abandoned building. He  opened the door with his foot. Once he stepped in the air smelt like mildew and mold.The floor was dirty and the building was empty. It had too much space. Scottie wondered what it used to be. He often wondered what this town was like, and he always wished he could live in the better version of it or just leave all together. Preferably leaving all together, but he knew it wouldn't happen. As he walked through the building he felt an evil presence but didn't think much of it since that's how the whole town felt. Eventually he met up with a man named Pablo-Scotty who worked as a drug mule for him-this was one of many jobs Scotty worked at, but hated. Pablo looked at him in disgust yet he didn't say a word. “How much did they pay you?” questioned Pablo.
 “four hundred? Is that enough?” “You fucking idiot! They should’ve paid six hundred.”  Scotty felt as if he was getting smaller and smaller as his heart sank into his chest. “Oh man this is it.” Thought Scotty. Pablo looked as if he was gonna explode but he took a breath. “Show me who you sold it to.” Scotty hesitated but pointed out the man. In this moment he felt like he betrayed himself. He walked back home thinking the whole time not anything specific but just about everything.He thought what might happen to the man he rated out and the thought of it made him sick. Later when scottie arrived home he stepped into his bed about to sleep until he heard  the screams. Oh GOD the screams,They were just pounding in Scotty's head. He started pacing around. He then puked in his cracked sink and curled up into a ball on his dirty tile floor. He stayed up all night. 
Not laying, not moving but staring emotionlessly and empty. The morning came. The screams were gone and so was the feeling of guilt, all gone just like that. Today Scotty didn't have much to do. He woke up at around 12:30 due to lack of sleep. He woke up with his eyes crusted and skin greasy, he walked to his sink, still with a stench of puke, and washed his face. Scotty then took a blunt and a lighter out of his drawer. He walked on the dirt roads and into a grass field. He often came to this place because it was calming and basically the only place in town not destroyed and filled with chaos. For a moment he felt true peace. Once he finished a familiar sense of heaviness settled in his chest, dragging him back into the house waiting for him at home.  While he was walking back he noticed two boys dragging a dog into the woods. One of the boys had a lighter in his hand and the other boy had a stick.
 After walking past the boys he heard a loud yell he looked over and saw a man being held at gunpoint. Scotty noticed the man's family watching as they were crying, then BANG! Scotty then walked away. In this moment Scotty thought to himself why couldn't he have just intervened but he knew it wasn't worth the consequences.“Fuck-fuck-fuck” Cried scotty, while punching his head.” Scotty thought of his own father. He thought how he felt, and how those kids must have felt. “ Scotty often felt trapped. Not only in this town but his head too. He dreamed of making enough money to leave the town but he couldn't leave his home even if it was only one room. “Oh fuck my life” sighed Scotty. Back and forth Scotty passed in his small home. His mind was full of nothing but black scribbles. “Unheard-unheard un fucking heard. “I  hate this peice of shit town .” Screamed Scotty. 
 Hate-just pure hate filled scotties heart. No more feeling purely numb. Tonight Scotty got the best sleep of his life. Now Scotty felt a sense of determination to leave the town- no matter the cost. No thoughts in Scotty's head. He ran to Pablo's building. Scotty walked into the building. Pablo screamed at him for his money. “Stop bitching,” said Scotty. Pablo was not amused at this. He then lunged at Scotty. Scotty did nothing, but simply stabbed him and walked away. No remorse-no guilt-no nothing. Scotty stayed out late drinking. A red gloom fell upon the buildings. Scotty's face was covered by darkness as he stumbled along the road highly intoxicated. He noticed an old man. Scotty felt the same determination to get out of the town no matter the cost. He then lunged at the man. The man let out multiple yells as Scotty was brutally pounding in his skull.
 Scotty grabbed the man's cash as he ran home and left the man to rot in the rain. When the morning came it was all a blur. Scotty noticed his hands having blood and skull fragments on them. He started to panic. “Oh shit what did I do.” Scotty found the money in his pants-this made him more worried than ever. Scotty felt detached from his soul as if he awakened a new part of himself that needed to be caged. Scotty ran out of his home. He noticed the corpse of the man, “no.” Scotty walked over. He looked at the man's face, or at least what was left of it. “No please-no” It was the face of Marko. “ No-Why!!!!” Scotty screamed. Scotty referred to this man as “one of the good ones” now the one good thing he had was gone. Heartbroken and dazed, Scotty couldn’t help but run. He ran almost two towns over not even noticing his surroundings.
 He ran til his feet were raw. Now scotty breathing heavily he looks around himself and notices where he is. It looks heavenly compared to his home. He felt as if he needed to shed a tear-in which he did. Scotty curled up in a ball and cried til his eyes were red. Scotty then lied in the grass.