Post by Emily Atrefos on Feb 25, 2009 19:45:47 GMT -5
Okay, so it wasn't actually my fault. This time.
"The retard hit me first," I snapped. "I'd already told him to shut his dang mouth...Your Honor."
The judge hadn't liked my excuses, and so the punishment this time was a few months' probation and twenty hours of community service within the next six weeks.
Well, it wasn't the first time I'd had to help clean up the community. Half the dang streets in downtown are probably decent-looking thanks to me.
As I stood at the front of the bus mulling over my latest run-in with the judge, the old man sitting behind me released a stink that ripped the my lungs free of their oxygen supply, nearly knocking me to my knees as the driver took a left. Gross. Keep sleeping, Grampa--you don't want to see your grandson gag next to you.
It was packed, but I felt less antsy about this than a lot of standing passengers. I liked standing. It gave me a good position to see who else was on without craning my neck, and it was easy to like it if you tried to anticipate the cramped journey as an adventure rather than misfortune. I'd had enough misfortune already. Edward really had hit me first.
The last time I had seen that skinny freshman, he and I had been charged for fighting on campus. It only stood to reason that I got the harsher charge for being a repeat offender, and that I was older and bigger than him hadn't helped my case when the judge (God take the senile bastard) heard the story. Thirty-seven witnesses saw me beat the living hell out of that kid. He came to court with a black eye, a broken arm in a sling, and a dislocated shoulder because he wouldn't shut his mouth. But it was worth it. All six months of probation and twenty hours of community service was worth seeing him learn to take his wise ass somewhere else while other kids were trying to work.
If I had to make him afraid of me, I thought as the bus came to my stop; 'Let him be afraid.'
I exited the bus with my backpack slung over my shoulder. The animal shelter I was volunteering for was having a fundraiser that early Saturday morning at the park, and I had to be there to take over from eight to noon, and then be back at two for a split shift. Working with animals didn't bother me as much as working with most people, but today had me doing both--taking donations from do-gooders and making sure all the cats and dogs in their cages weren't running out of food and water. It would be held in the city park and supposedly would be sponsored by some top-end members of the city council and finance district who would probably stop by that day. God, I hoped I could get gone by the time Kindergarten buses were letting off schoolchildren--I didn't need a bunch of yelling brats rattling the bars and shrieking at an innocent bark.
When I got there at seven, most of the tables were already set and the last of the animals were being unloaded--with any luck we could get some adoptions going for some of these scheduled to be euthanized. There was a cash box and several cats at the table I would be working at, with a description for each feline strapped to their respective cages. A do-it-yourself concession stand was being manned by three girls I got along decently with a few yards from where I was; big banners and balloons were flapping in the breeze on that cloudless sunny morning (which would get hot in no time). After receiving a review on how I should conduct business, I checked the cats for any needs they had and snagged a cup of water from the concession stand with its barbecue pit and other miscellaneous items--a twenty-second errand that took the rest of my time as I struck up a conversation over music with one of the girls. By the time I took back my post, it was go time.
There was nothing at all to tip me off to anything catastrophic happening that day, but a foreboding crept inside and nagged me as I stood there and people wandered by to have a look. But what could go wrong--nobody adopts an animal? It rains? Not likely. But it persisted even after I tried to shake it off for the first person that came by my table to have a look at the cats.
God, don't let this day suck too badly, please?
"The retard hit me first," I snapped. "I'd already told him to shut his dang mouth...Your Honor."
The judge hadn't liked my excuses, and so the punishment this time was a few months' probation and twenty hours of community service within the next six weeks.
Well, it wasn't the first time I'd had to help clean up the community. Half the dang streets in downtown are probably decent-looking thanks to me.
As I stood at the front of the bus mulling over my latest run-in with the judge, the old man sitting behind me released a stink that ripped the my lungs free of their oxygen supply, nearly knocking me to my knees as the driver took a left. Gross. Keep sleeping, Grampa--you don't want to see your grandson gag next to you.
It was packed, but I felt less antsy about this than a lot of standing passengers. I liked standing. It gave me a good position to see who else was on without craning my neck, and it was easy to like it if you tried to anticipate the cramped journey as an adventure rather than misfortune. I'd had enough misfortune already. Edward really had hit me first.
The last time I had seen that skinny freshman, he and I had been charged for fighting on campus. It only stood to reason that I got the harsher charge for being a repeat offender, and that I was older and bigger than him hadn't helped my case when the judge (God take the senile bastard) heard the story. Thirty-seven witnesses saw me beat the living hell out of that kid. He came to court with a black eye, a broken arm in a sling, and a dislocated shoulder because he wouldn't shut his mouth. But it was worth it. All six months of probation and twenty hours of community service was worth seeing him learn to take his wise ass somewhere else while other kids were trying to work.
If I had to make him afraid of me, I thought as the bus came to my stop; 'Let him be afraid.'
I exited the bus with my backpack slung over my shoulder. The animal shelter I was volunteering for was having a fundraiser that early Saturday morning at the park, and I had to be there to take over from eight to noon, and then be back at two for a split shift. Working with animals didn't bother me as much as working with most people, but today had me doing both--taking donations from do-gooders and making sure all the cats and dogs in their cages weren't running out of food and water. It would be held in the city park and supposedly would be sponsored by some top-end members of the city council and finance district who would probably stop by that day. God, I hoped I could get gone by the time Kindergarten buses were letting off schoolchildren--I didn't need a bunch of yelling brats rattling the bars and shrieking at an innocent bark.
When I got there at seven, most of the tables were already set and the last of the animals were being unloaded--with any luck we could get some adoptions going for some of these scheduled to be euthanized. There was a cash box and several cats at the table I would be working at, with a description for each feline strapped to their respective cages. A do-it-yourself concession stand was being manned by three girls I got along decently with a few yards from where I was; big banners and balloons were flapping in the breeze on that cloudless sunny morning (which would get hot in no time). After receiving a review on how I should conduct business, I checked the cats for any needs they had and snagged a cup of water from the concession stand with its barbecue pit and other miscellaneous items--a twenty-second errand that took the rest of my time as I struck up a conversation over music with one of the girls. By the time I took back my post, it was go time.
There was nothing at all to tip me off to anything catastrophic happening that day, but a foreboding crept inside and nagged me as I stood there and people wandered by to have a look. But what could go wrong--nobody adopts an animal? It rains? Not likely. But it persisted even after I tried to shake it off for the first person that came by my table to have a look at the cats.
God, don't let this day suck too badly, please?