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Playground

Playground

Many kids thought he was a circus act and treated him as such. I seen him as a friend.

You were pathetic then just like you are now.

There were times where he absolutely amazed me by the things he was able to do. Some of them I was jealous. Other times I was able to feel his pain.

Like that one time on the playground, he was ganged up on by kids older than us, that wanted to test out his freakishness. He was the talk of the school. They kicked him and punched him and threw hot water on him. They twisted his arms in directions they weren’t supposed to go. I felt all that. He acted like nothing ever had happened to him.

And yet, he had 4 broken ribs, a punctured lung, second degree burns and a broken arm, and here he was walking around like a man of steel.

He was no man of steel, he was not a freak of nature, and he was not going to let this stop him.

I remember that day.

I lost my best friend. I did not think it was possible but it was.

Dead, ironic… and yet I applaud you for everything you’ve been through. And I applaud you for embrassing this condition and not letting it control you. It has made you powerful. But at what cost?

It’s made you a tough soul. It’s made you this indestructable force to recon with. But every day is a day you are still here. Living with this soul that is waiting for that day to come.

You are Dead. And yet you are still Alive. Alive and Dead. Just like a Zombie from hell. So, I have been wondering. How do you prepare for someone that can feel no pain? How can your soul finally be collected?

His friend gave me that solution.

He died from internal injuries. Injuries he could not see or feel. Dead, at High Voltage this is my playground you’re stepping into. Not Mexico. I will incapacitate you. I will give your bruises, bruises. I will give you the beating of your life. And at the end of the night by the time I get done with you, all your bones will be broken and you won’t be able to move. Yes, you’ll still be alive, but you are at the mercy of everyone around you. A dead log for everyone to kick and roll and toss out the door like a piece of garbage. Or maybe as you lay there, poor gasoline on your sorry…

STOP IT!

Shut up you pathetic fool! Just because you don’t have the ball to do what must be done, doesn’t mean that you can stop me from doing it.

STOP I MEAN IT!

Go away. Dead, when gasoline is poured all over your sorry carcass and a flame is lit. You won’t feel a thing. Tell me how it would feel though if you’re on fire and you are looking up at….

GOD DAMN IT STOP IT RIGHT NOOOOOOOWWWW!!!

I’m in control now Bastard! Dead. Good luck at High Voltage.

YOU’RE SOUL WILL BE MINE!!

STOP IT!!!

Tureos