MCR inspired story about the youth of a small town and the events that shake where they stand as people.
Bout half a mile down from the Biston Cemetery, there's an old subdivision of apartments that the townsfolk know as "The Loop". Nobody's quite sure how or why it's there, but it's been there since your grandpa's time, and his pa's, as well. It's set off the highway, about five feet from every church in town- those churches often get called Desolation Row, you know, like that Bob Dylan song? But only because the people that go there are so out of there selves that they may as well be dead. And all those sons of bitches passin' them damn baskets can ship it straight to Hell.
Aunt May says I ought not swear- says the Devil best be left out of me, but she's gettin outta touch in her ol' age. Told me last week that I best have my legs crossed cause some boys fixin to put the lovin on me. "Like them boys want anything to do with me", I say to her majesty. Queen of Bullshit, that woman is sometimes. But God knows I loves her- I really do. She more like my mama then my own mama ever was. See, when I was bout eight years old, she be walkin out the door and leaving me to sit at home with that man. Kept me home from school all my life, that man did. Say'd girl like me ain't got no use getting an education. But, child, heaven knows he be at the bar, spendin our money on booze stead of even think about putting me in class. I ain't a damn fool- it was better for his liquor to hold me back. And when his trifflin ass home, he hittin me so hard I break things in his face, just so there a reason. So, I went out and gots myself a library card, tried to teach myself some decent English. That's where I met Aunt May. Couldn't even reach the top shelf, wit her stumpy looking legs. And mine, you better believe they reaching all the way to San Diego from a palm tree in Florida. I tried to hide my scars from that woman, but lord knows my canopy of black hair could not cover my purple face.
Been living with Aunt May for two years now, and she fight for me. Put me in high school and they say I'd be in the slow classes, with all the kids with disabilities. But she fight my case, sayin I only need tutoring and learning and care.
I'm already lots better than I be when I came to her. Everyday, I'm learning more and more. I couldn't barely write and now? I'm just another kid in the hallways, lookin for a way to make it out.