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02-15-2015, 01:25 PM
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“Oh,” I said as the tiny thing introduced Like, okay. My Ma never treated me like a child, honestly (as far as I remembered). Well, at least, she never did it to my face. And she never talked down to me, or dumbed up her speech, or whatever shit like that that some people do with their young’uns. She just talked real shit to me and expected me to understand, and whether or not I actually did, she still gave me that little nugget of respect. But she didn’t scream cusswords at me, neither. So I was stuck momentarily in a state of self-consciousness as I faced this little girl whose virgin ears I probably destroyed—but I didn’t see any blood flowing down from ‘em, and frankly, she didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest by my toxic mouth (well I mean yeah, look at hers!). I cocked a brow down at her, wondering whose child this was to be running around by themselves spewing things at random strangers; I glanced around, but there was no one here, no one but me and Shawty here, so I guess her well being defaulted as my responsibility. “That was my ass-scratcher,” I said, some feeling coming back to my voice—and it turns out that feeling was a gruff one, because my ass was still itching and now that I was becoming aware of it again, it was annoying me. I backed up into another tree, one that was still whole and was probably grieving the death of his comrades; I groaned and grunted deeply in satisfaction, because that itch had been deep man, going passed the skin and whatever all the way down in my muscles ‘n shit. “Do, um…that one,” I said suddenly, my eyes looking up and pointing to another tree, a little thicker this time, a little ways down the creek from where we were. For good measure, I sent a bolt a that one too, the air sizzling and CRACKling as I smeared a blackened, ashy blob against the trunk—a perfect target for Shawty. I mean, fuck it. I was already practicing so…why not pull her into it, too? Teach her to aim at least. Fuck I hate thistles. |
